November 12th 2016
Today I was viciously attacked with a pair of scissors. And a comb.
I went for a hair cut, and endured what can only be described as mild ABH. From the minute I sat in the chair he started attacking me. I asked for a number 3 around the sides, and he started smacking me with the shaver, too hard for my liking. I was tempted to ask him to chill out, but I didn’t have the courage, and he hadn’t drawn blood yet.
The shaver was bad enough, with him repeatedly bashing it into my skull, his scissor control was only mildly better, and I gasped (internally) when I saw him draw a switchblade from his pocket. He tidied up his chainsaw work by grating my skin with a switchblade. He drew blood on both sides of my face.
I mean, those are only little cuts and scrapes, but he wasn’t finished yet.
He was yet to wield his most dangerous weapon.
A plastic comb.
Whilst scissor cutting the top of my hair, he managed to bash my forehead with his comb and cut me open. I was beginning to think he was doing it on purpose.
Imagine the ferocity and velocity with which you would need to hit someone to draw blood with a plastic comb.
When blood began to trickle down my forehead he finally stopped and reevaluated the gusto with which he was performing the hair cut. Our eyes met in the mirror. I should probably mention that by this point he had still not spoken a word to me. I sat in his chair, said the words “three back and sides and scissor cut on top” and he got going.
Only now he had physically drawn blood did he mumble something half way towards an apology.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, and he continued.
I let him continue, and I didn’t complain. He didn’t even give me a tissue to wipe the blood with.
When he was finished, I got out of the chair, and he said “twelve pound”. I paid and left, giving him a cursory “cheers mate” as I want.
Only when I got out did I realise the severity of my injuries. And yes, “injuries” is a strong word for a couple of cuts and scrapes but let me please remind you that these injuries were sustained whilst getting a fucking haircut.
It is not in my nature to complain. It is not in my nature to speak up. Not even when there is blood dripping down my forehead.
I should have gone back in there and demanded a refund, if not for the injuries sustained but for the fact that actually, in all honesty, the haircut looks pretty shite as well.
That’s the worst thing, it wasn’t even a good haircut. I could’ve dealt with the pain and abuse if I left and was happy with my hair cut, but it was shite.
Until tomorrow, that literally adds insult to injury.