Client

The day began as usual, the scent of hairspray.

A guy, about twenty years old, with thick, dark brown hair.

It's obvious he takes care of himself. He sat down in a chair, glanced in the mirror, and clearly outlined the task.

—Remove an inch and a half from the sides and back, just trim the top, leave it long. And please, no razor blades, only clippers.

You nodded and put the nozzle on. A thought flashed through your mind. -What a beautiful texture, it’s a pity it’s so short. And then it happened... Your hand, accustomed to the movements of the scissors, seemed to rebel. Instead of a calm upward motion, you abruptly moved the clippers from your temple to the back of your head, without the guard. A quiet, final whizz sounded like an explosion. In the middle of the perfectly even haircut, an ugly, smooth strip of skin shone. You froze, staring in horror at your creation. The salon was silent. He looked up and met your horror-contorted gaze in the mirror. His face, initially indifferent, slowly began to change.

His brows drew together, and a real fire flared in his eyes. He slowly turned his head, looking at that very strip that could no longer be transformed into anything.

-What did you do?

His voice was quiet and cold. He was no longer holding back. He demanded to see the manager, he demanded to see the owner, he demanded that everything be fixed immediately.

You answered:

"But how can you fix shaved hair? You can only grow it out."

He pointed his finger at that strip and barked

"I want my money back! It's compensation! And I want your boss here, right now!"