Headache for the head: an exigent discussion with a hair-cutter in the saloon
The hair-cutter shows the catalog and said, “Sir, please choose one as you prefer best to fit for you.”
I said to him, “I’ve no choice anymore; you’re the hair-cutter. You know which would best to fit.”
The hair-cutter smiled in reply, “Sorry Sir, how can I choose the best. I’m not the valued owner of your head. The choice is up to you Sir. It’s your headache to choose the best. Please choose one from the catalog.”
I told him, “It’s unpleasant for me you know to choose the hairstyle. Look you’re the cutter. The headache should have depended on to you that which would best for me.”
He smiled again to answer me, “Yes Sir, am the cutter and dresser but not the selector of your choice Sir. My cutting depends on you and it’s would be safe for us both. Why should I take the responsibility of your choices? I appointed here to cut you by your choice, not mine. Please choose one, before the queue is going bigger.”
I bit angered and told him, “You’re clever than your age but what you forget my friend you cannot avoid the rule that you are my master to cut me, so that my wife and boss could say, “I’m a complete society-man with matching hair style.” You’re like the safeguard to me. Let choose one to save our valued time.”
The hair-cutter then shut the catalog and replied to me, “Sorry Sir, I’m ineligible to cut your hair by following the catalog. I think it would be better if you pardon me. Please find another for your sake.”
I smiled and then replied to the hair-cutter, “Why do you try to avoid me. A cutter is cutter and nothing is different here. Okay, let forget the catalog and cut me by your own choice. I think it would be a better option for you to shaping and beautifying me to a new-look.”
The mortified hair-cutter takes the cutting machine to say, “Sorry Sir, I have to say now that you’re clever than your age, but what you forget that a hair-cutter is not a risk-setter. Nobody in this world is responsible to take risk for the other, only the almighty could do that. He is the planner and choice-maker. You tell me to acts like the almighty but I’m an ordinary saloon-man. My duty is to beautifying your head in style you select, and if you adverse to do that am not permitted to do for you. Please try to understand Sir, I’m requesting you to understand it.”
The saloon was trembling by the stylish customers. They were eagerly waiting to sit the whirling chair to sacrifice their head under the scissor’s cut. The scented shampoos and shaving cream hypnotized them to bow-down to the beauties. I feel bit anxious to think that time is running faster and the queue perhaps impatient to me for the delay. I told the hair-cutter in low voice, “Hi! Why you be act like a stubborn mule. Don’t worry, I will not blame you for the decision. Cut and dressed my head as your choice.”
The peeved hair-cutter takes the machine with grumpy face to told me, “Sorry Sir, don’t mind my language, the mulish is everywhere and you’re seeing them to the surround. For God’s sake, only He knows who is mulish here. I think the bald-headed men are the happiest person in this world, because they have no headache that which style is befitted for their valued head. When you are going to be bald, then you’re free from the burden of beautification, and I could try to pluck your hair from the root if you permit me to do that.”
His proposal was albeit rude and exotic but heard logical to me and I said to him, “You’re a ruthless Guy as like your almighty God. He uprooted the first pair of human from His imperishable garden to avoid His responsibility that He was the choice-maker for them, when He commanded the famous angel to show his obedience to the newly created creature. The famous angel denied doing this and cursed as a devil then. You appeared in the saloon to do the same for me.
Anyway, I’ll never mind to balding me. Switch your machine and uprooted my hair for the permanent. I think my wife and the big boss will never mind seeing me bareheaded. It is certainly a risk-free style than the other. How life would have been nice if there was no headache to beautify your existence according to the order and discipline of the society you born to carry it. My friend, I’m ready to sacrifice my masculine beauty to get a headache-free head. Let move.”
The saloon was trembling by the fragrance of shampoos and shaving creams. It was glazing by the sharp noise of razor and scissors and hair cutting machine. I bow-down my head to the machine to beautify my existence as a permanent bareheaded Guy.