Lunch Break by Haircape
It was a hot, humid day that Saturday afternoon as she walked along Main Street. Laura had just stopped at the Post Office to get some stamps and was now looking for a place to grab some lunch. She hated it when it got this hot and humid, as was the case for most of the summer months in her northeast town. She wore her hair up in a bun to try to beat the heat, but it was to little avail. Sweat beaded up on her forehead and trickled down her neck as she moved along the sidewalk.
She was an elegant woman of twenty-eight. Long, slender legs, beautiful breasts, and a smile that could warm even the coldest heart. Her light brown hair hung below her shoulders. It was wavy and full, and she hated it when it was so hot. She had thought about cutting it shorter, but had resisted. She felt that with short hair she would not be able to put it up when it was hot, and she knew that since it was so full and wavy that a short hairstyle would look puffy. Still, as she walked along in the humidity, she wished she wasn’t carrying all that hair, but she was resigned to the fact that soon she would be back at work in the air conditioned office.
As she continued along the sidewalk, sweat trickled down her back, and on her legs under her white nylons. She suddenly caught her reflection in the tinted window of a car that was parked alongside the road. She stopped at the sight of herself. She looked awful, sweat beads on her face, and neck, and her hair was becoming disheveled and had started to come out from the bun.
“Look at me!” she exclaimed out loud, upset at her reflection. “I have got to get back to work and straighten myself out.” This time she spoke to herself and turned to continue walking back toward her office.
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A few steps farther and she noticed a man walking out of a storefront in front of her. The man caught her eye because he was sporting a short crewcut, and he was rubbing his head with satisfaction.
“I’ll bet he stays nice and cool.” Laura thought to herself.
A few more steps and she was in front of the storefront the cropped man had emerged from. Looking in the window, she realized that this was a barbershop. She could see that inside there were two old-fashioned barber chairs and five or six chairs for waiting customers. There was a customer in the chair nearest to the window, a young guy, probably 18 or 19. Like the man she had seen exiting the shop a few minutes before, this guy was getting a crewcut. She was taken in by the transformation, as she watched the barber move the clippers up the back of the customer’s head and the hair fell to the floor. She noticed that the barber and the customer were chatting and wondered what was being said. She also wondered why women never got crewcuts to escape the summer’s heat and humidity, and finding no answer she stepped inside the shop.
Once inside, Laura noticed that the other barber’s chair was also occupied. There was no customer in it, but a gray-haired man reading a newspaper. The man had on the same blue shirt as the barber who was giving the customer a crewcut. He looked very comfortable sitting in the large, leather barber chair. His legs were crossed as he read the sports page of the daily paper and she noticed a haircutting cape draped over one of the chair’s arms. She heard the sound of the clippers as they continued to liberate the customer of his dark hair, sending it flying in all directions landing on the floor, the cape, the chair, and on the barber’s arms.
She looked out of place in the barbershop, wearing her cream colored business suit and white nylons, but she knew why she had entered. The heat had gotten the better of her, and now she was going to get her revenge on the heat.
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice called from behind the paper, as the head of the barber sitting there turned to look at Laura. The other barber finished his clipping momentarily and both he and his customer also turned at the unusual sight of an attractive lady in the barbershop.
“I’m here for a haircut,” Laura responded.
“Well, have a seat miss, you’re lucky there is no wait right now.” The barber got up, put his newspaper on the counter and removed the cape that had been draped over the arm of the chair. As Laura walked toward the chair, the barber unfolded the cape and whipped it against the chair to signify that it was ready for its next customer. Laura had never seen this kind of ritual at her salon but enjoyed the whole “ceremony” that was unfolding.
Laura reached the chair and climbed into its soft, leather seat. She was beginning to enjoy this barbershop experience, with its unique sights, smells, sounds, and feels. She placed one foot on the metal footrest and crossed the other leg over it. The barber was now whistling and he placed the cape on her shoulders. Still whistling, the barber pulled what looked like a Kleenex from a dispenser on the counter. Moving behind her, he tied the tissue around her neck and pulled the cape tight fastening it with a metal fastener.
“Real hot out there isn’t it?” The voice came from the barber who was giving the crewcut next to her. She no longer heard the clippers, and turned to see that the barber was applying shaving cream to the shorn man’s neck.
“Yes it is, I can’t take it anymore,” Laura responded.
“Well you’ve come to the right place then.” This time her barber responded. “I take it something short?” he asked her. As he said this, he unfastened the pins that held Laura’s bun in place, sending her wavy light brown hair spilling over the light blue cape that was secure around her neck.
“Yeah something short, real short!” Laura turned toward the other chair as she answered the barber’s question. “Like that.” Her hand emerged from under the cape and she pointed at the cropped customer whose hairline was getting shaved by a straight razor.
“I think we can handle that,” the barber replied, and whistling again he turned to the cabinet that was in front of Laura. He opened a drawer, and a pulled out a large pair of clippers, undid the cord and plugged them in. He flipped the switch and the clippers began to hum. Again he reached into the drawer, pulled out a small bottle of oil and squeezed some onto the blades of the clippers. The humming sound became much smoother as he let them run. He attached a guard to the clippers and looked at Laura.
“Take it all off,” she said. “I need to get rid of this hair!”
Again he started whistling as he moved behind Laura with the clippers. She could feel the cord of the clippers rubbing against her left arm. She didn’t flinch as she heard the humming of the clippers move behind her, she continued to look straight ahead in the mirror at the head poking up through the light blue cape and tissue with her hair spilling around it. Behind her , she heard the sounds of the clippers and the barber’s whistling. As the sound of the clippers grew louder it droned out the whistling, but Laura was focused on the image directly in front of her. She was calm and relaxed considering what she was about to do, and as she looked at her reflection, a smile began to form.
As she continued to stare straight ahead, she saw a hand appear in front of her, just above her eyes. The hand moved up her forehead and pushed her hair back. Behind her, she saw the barber follow his hand with the clippers. He moved his hand away, and her hair fell. In the same instant he pushed the clippers back over head. She was fixated on her reflection as they moved over the top of her head and hair fell from her head to the floor. When the clippers reached the back of the crown, the cord hit her in the nose. Laura giggled as the clippers were lifted and the hand again rose to her forehead. The same process was repeated. The hand was removed and the clippers mowed another path of soft 1/4-inch fuzz in their wake. Laura was enjoying her haircut and her head could begin to feel the cool breeze of the fan in the corner.
Three more times the process was repeated, the hand on her forehead followed by the clippers. She looked funny now, the sides and back of her head were still full of long wavy hair, in fact, if she put a hat on, no one would even know that the top of her head had been shorn. Again she smiled, as the barber pulled some of the shorn hair that had clung to the hair on the sides of her head, and placed it in her lap.
The clippers were again raised this time to her left cheek. The barber had moved next to her and she could hear both his whistling and the humming of the clippers clearly in her left ear. The barber lifted her hair and placed the clippers under it. As he dropped her hair, he pushed the clippers up, and small piles of hair began to fall into the cape. When the clippers reached the top of her head, which had already been shorn, they sent a large pile of hair onto her shoulder, where it was pushed to her lap by the cord of the clippers as they were brought to her ear. The process was repeated, and when her left side was shorn, the barber ran the clippers behind her ear as he bent it forward sending small tufts of hair into the air.
Again the barber mover behind her , and again she felt his hand on her head. This time it was at the top of her crown where the shorn top met the fully-haired back.
“Head down,” he instructed as he pushed her head down so that her chin moved toward her chest.
Her eyes moved from the mirror to her lap and the floor, both of which were covered with her hair. She could still see and feel long hair from the right side of her head brush her cheek, and there was still plenty in the back.
“You’ll be gone too,” she thought with a smile
She felt the barber’s hand reach under her hair and felt the clippers push up the back of her head. Out of the corner of her eye she watched a mass of hair fall across her shoulder and float to the floor. The barber repeated his movements and in two minutes there was no longer any hair on the back of her head, and the piles that she was watching on her lap and on the floor had grown in size.
“You can pick your head back up,” the barber offered as he moved to her right side, dragging the clipper cord across her chest. This time, he started at the back of the right side, picked up the hair, placed the clippers under it, and pushed them up. Hair fell to her shoulders and clung to the hair still on her head. The process was repeated, then the barber brought the clippers to her temple and pushed them back spilling a rather large pile onto her lap. Soon the right side was finished as the left had been.
Laura felt great and sexy, but her haircut was not over. The barber was very meticulous, he picked up a pair of shears and a comb. Combing over the fuzz that remained on her head, he snapped the shears open and shut a few times. Laura felt this was more ritual than practical as any hairs would have been too small to cut with the scissors. She was right as the clippers were snapped on again and run over her head. The barber removed the guard and moved the clippers over her neck and in front of her ears. The cape was unfastened, the tissue was removed and replaced by a white towel. The barber then applied shaving cream to her neck, behind her ears, and on her hairline by her cheek. He took out a straight razor and peeled way the shaving cream quickly and with precision. When he had finished, he removed the towel and wiped off the remaining shaving cream with it. He removed the cape shaking it so the pile from her lap joined the pile on the floor. He then took a brush and dusted off all the small hairs that had been left behind.
“All off,” he pronounced as he stepped away from the chair with the cape in his hand. “Just as you requested.”
Laura looked at her reflection in the mirror for the final time and rubbed her cropped head. It felt soft, and she was very pleased with what she saw.
“I love it!” she said as she paid the barber and turned to leave. As she walked out of the shop, she placed her sunglasses on and felt great. She headed up the street and noticed a woman with long hair and sweat on her forehead looking at her reflection in a parked car. Laura smiled and returned to work.