So the other day I go to a barber shop and get myself put on the waiting list. Three guys deep. That should mean about 15 minutes. I am cool with that. This always turns into my opportunity to catch up on Sports Illustrated...pictures that is. In no way does SI appeal to me. I know that is not normal but unless it has electronics or computer section or an internal combustion engine, generally of the two wheeled sort or a lovely young lady sitting on the latter, I am not interested.  But on certain occasions such as waiting for a hair cut or at the dentist office guys are left with no choice. So we look through a mag that is geared towards the kind of person who looks at the pictures whether we are interested or not. Finally I hear my name...here we go thru another purely male experience of trying to communicate what we want done to our hair whilst not having the ability to get across what we want. We usually say things like, "Just a little of the top" or "above the ear". This conversation is typically short and doesn't really seem to have any effect on the outcome. I think they just give you a shorter version of what you already have. I promise my self one day I will go in and say "I am looking for something completely different. A whole new look", just to see what happens. So I have that conversation with this girl who seems a little distraught. A little off the...over the ear...shave the neck...blah blah blah. Her cell phone goes off and she excuses herself. She steps around the corner into another booth wear I can still hear her. She is obviously talking to her boyfriend and she is not happy. I could hear her talking through her teeth like she was ready to start yelling out loud, then whoever she was talking to obviously hung up. She came around the corner and the veins in her forehead were still visible. I asked her if she was OK and she assured me that everything was fine. She picked up her scissors and started in on me. She repeated every question that we had been through the first time. She said "So you want it above the ear? And blocked in the back?" I said "sure” in an attempt to just be easy. She was cutting my hair like she was mad at it. She began to explain that her baby’s daddy had just informed her that he was sleeping with her sister who lived with them at their apartment and that they were packing her shit up so she could move out. Right about that time she jabbed me in the side of my head with the scissors. Being absolutely positive that she had made contact with the inner regions of my brain cavity, I reached to slow the blood from spilling onto my shirt. When I did, I actually stuck my index finger in between the open scissors of which she promptly squeezes the shit out of, slicing into the last section of my middle finger. At this point I am fearing for my life. She quickly throws a towel in my lap and begins franticly explaining how bad she needs the money and she is so sorry. I'm thinking I need and ambulance. About that time her sister walks in... this/ I can only guess because she starts screaming at her. "How could you sleep with him?" and the sister says says "I love him". So I take this chance to head for the door. At this point the now maniacal stylist has got the scissors in her hand like a butcher knife held by a serial killer. My fresh blood dripping from the ends, and she is going after her sister. "YOU BITCH. I"M GONNA KILL YOU". Now I am running for the same door that the sister is running to, both of us thinking this could be it.....
This was an exercise from a creative writing book that I am reading in which I was supposed write about a scary haircut. Thanks for reading it! I am only supposed to write for ten minutes so sorry about the abrupt ending.