BarberBrad
Liz hadn’t had a haircut in over a year. Life had been a whirlwind—between juggling her job at the vintage shop, scraping by on a tight budget, and keeping up with her quirky circle of friends, haircuts had fallen way down her priority list. Her once-shoulder-length chestnut hair had grown wild and unruly, stretching past her collarbone in a tangle of split ends and faded waves. She’d always been the type to experiment with her look, but lately, she’d been too broke to even think about a salon. A trim at her usual spot cost $40 she didn’t have, and DIY cuts with kitchen scissors had ended in disaster one too many times. So, she’d let it grow, shoving it into messy buns and telling herself she’d deal with it later.
One crisp Saturday morning in April, Liz was driving her beat-up hatchback through town, running errands on fumes and a prayer that her paycheck would stretch. Her hair was a chaotic halo around her head, frizzed out from the open window, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. “Ugh, I look like a swamp witch,” she muttered, tugging at a knotted strand. That’s when she rolled past a little barbershop she’d never noticed before—a faded red-and-white pole spinning lazily out front. A handwritten sign in the window caught her eye: “1 ALL OVER FOR $10.”
Liz slowed the car, squinting at it. “One inch all over for ten bucks? That’s a steal,” she thought. She pictured a quick trim—nothing fancy, just enough to tame the mess and leave her with a neat, even bob. Ten dollars was exactly what she had rattling around in her wallet, a crumpled bill she’d been saving for coffee or gas. She pulled into the cracked parking lot, grabbed her cash, and headed inside, figuring this was her lucky break.
The barbershop smelled like aftershave and old leather, with two ancient chairs and a grizzled barber flipping through a magazine. He looked up as the bell jingled, nodding at her. “What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
Liz plopped into the chair, shaking out her tangled mane. “I saw your sign—‘1 all over for $10.’ So, like, take an inch off all around? Make it even?”
The barber—his name tag read “Gus”—grunted and set the magazine down. “One all over, got it.” He didn’t say much else, just draped a cape over her shoulders and reached for his clippers. Liz didn’t think twice about it; she assumed he’d grab scissors or a comb to measure an inch. Instead, he flicked on the clippers, and before she could register the buzz, he plowed them straight down the middle of her head with a #1 guard—barely an eighth of an inch left behind.
“Whoa, wait!” Liz yelped, her hands flying up as a cascade of hair hit the floor. “What are you doing? I said an inch off, not a buzzcut!”
Gus paused, clippers humming in his hand, and gave her a puzzled look. “Sign says ‘1 all over.’ That’s a #1 clipper cut, all over. Ten bucks. What’d you think it meant?”
Liz’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the mirror. A wide strip of stubble ran from her forehead to her nape, flanked by her untouched, shoulder-length waves. She looked like a reverse mohawk victim. “I thought… an inch trimmed off! Like, a regular haircut!” Her voice climbed an octave, panic mixing with disbelief.
Gus scratched his chin, unfazed. “Nope. #1 all over means buzzed to a one. Been cutting it that way for years. You still want me to finish?”
Liz’s mind raced. Half her head was already gone—there was no salvaging this into anything resembling her original plan. She could storm out, but she’d still look ridiculous, and she’d already handed over her ten bucks. Plus, deep down, a tiny spark of her old adventurous self flickered. She’d always loved a bold change, even if this one was a total accident. She took a deep breath, forcing a shaky laugh. “Screw it. Finish it. I’m not walking out looking like a skunk.”
Gus shrugged and got back to work, the clippers buzzing away the rest of her hair in quick, efficient passes. Liz watched in the mirror as her overgrown mop vanished, replaced by a uniform layer of dark fuzz. When he flicked off the clippers and brushed the stray hairs from her neck, she ran her hands over her head, stunned by how soft and strange it felt. She looked… tough. Edgy. Not at all what she’d planned, but weirdly, it worked.
“Well, damn,” she said, turning her head side to side. “Guess I’m a buzzcut girl now.”
Gus cracked a rare smile. “Suits you. Ten bucks well spent.”
Liz stepped out into the sunlight, the breeze hitting her bare scalp for the first time. She couldn’t help but grin, even if her wallet was empty and her plans had gone off the rails. Later, when she showed up at the vintage shop, her coworkers lost it—Sophie, the frizzy-haired one, immediately dubbed her “Buzzcut Bandit” and demanded the full story. Liz spun it into a tale of daring, leaving out the part where she’d totally misread the sign. By the end of the week, she’d embraced her new look, rocking oversized earrings and bold lipstick to match. And though she’d never admit it, she was already plotting her next cheap haircut adventure—maybe with a little more research next time
