Interview Prep

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Chapter 1: Time for a tidy-up?

 

“We look forward to seeing you soon. Best of luck in the interview, Julia.”

“Thanks, I… uhm, yes, thank you. I look forward to it too.” Julia’s heart almost bursting out of its cage.

The call back from the recruiter ended, followed up with a blend of emotions. Primarily excitement and pride, but also anxiety. Finally, she’d bagged herself an interview. Getting carried away, Julia started imagining herself at her first real job. University qualified with a promising future, she was only in her early 20s, but she already felt like she was in over her head. Endless nights spent applying and little success in return, she had to make this count.

She threw herself into preparing wholeheartedly, barely perceiving the time that had passed. Days of virtually flat-out work. Time for a well-earned break, though even that was to work through her mental checklist. Every detail needed to be right – her ‘elevator pitch’, her answers to their questions, and her appearance. Julia paused momentarily, reaching the last of her mental notes, now hyper-aware of how quick the days were flying by.

“A quick trim would be ideal.” She figured, studying her hair in the mirror. “It’s been a while… A clean-cut, professional image could only be a benefit, and it’ll be quick” convincing herself it was a worthy pursuit.

Given the short notice to prepare, it was a frantic rush. Her regular salon – though she went so infrequently they probably didn’t consider her a regular – was booked out for weeks. No luck there, but plenty more to try. One by one, it was the same story everywhere she looked:

‘The Curl Crew’ – busy,
‘Julie’s Style Boutique’ – busy,
‘Sleek Hair Creations’ – not busy, but only because it’s closed while the owners are on holiday.

“Sorry, we’re all booked up for the moment. We can put you down for 3 weeks from tomorrow if that’s OK?” the receptionist chirping over the background drone of hairdryers, trying to be helpful.

“Uhm no, sorry… Maybe another time. Thanks anyway…” Julia signed off. “Well, that’s it” sighing to herself, exasperated from yet another hopeless enquiry.

‘CoiffureCraft’ – the new expensive French inspired place in the city centre – was the last place she could think of. She’d admittedly left it late, especially for the just-over-a-week she had to get ready. The first day or two after the call was spent in denial, putting off the whole idea. Do I really need to do it? Her mind had contemplated this for weeks. Hair was important to Julia. She’s a young woman, it’s part of her. Besides, surely, it would look good regardless.

Her mane was something to behold. It attracted all sorts of attention – predominantly admiration from other women. Though sometimes she caught a few mesmerised stares from the men she passed. It was a genetic gift. Just a tad darker than chocolate brown, scarce sun-kissed streaks left over from her last trip to southern Italy. Medium loose curls (a smidge tighter than 2C) that would twist and turn as you follow them, cascading down her back. Ending just about level with her elbows, its natural texture seemingly bringing it to life. Soft, shiny and silky, it suited her. Complimenting her fair complexion, although it could be argued it sometimes overshadowed her features.

Despite the impracticality, she wore it down almost all the time. Effortlessly hanging in a middle part, the lightly layered front pieces gently directed around the frame of her glasses. It was naturally thick, full hair, and without learning to control it, a real pain to deal with. For Julia, though, the effort was worth it for the sensations, the feelings it gave her. How it brushed against her back as she walked. The way it tickled her arms when she looked down at her notepad. The smell after a thorough wash and conditioning. It was comforting to her. Made her feel powerful, and she took pride in it. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, she secretly liked flaunting it.

Showing off her locks was often treated like a compensation tactic. Once someone saw past the hair, Julia was just, well, Julia. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it did slightly irritate her, being saddled with opinions of indifference. Of course, indifferent didn’t mean unattractive. A regular gym-goer, hiker, and cyclist, she led an active lifestyle, resulting in a semi-athletic build. Well proportioned, she maintained a pleasing silhouette. ‘Cute’ was the usual descriptor she got, her face still firmly in the ‘baby face’ category, restricting her from being ‘sexy’ or ‘exotic’ to most. Behind subtly framed glasses sat highlights of soft, rounded features, full cheeks and large opalescent blue eyes. Not unlike ancient artefacts of gold yet to be discovered, similarly hidden behind a jungle of their own.

Timid. That was always the problem. Growing up, the impression she left was minimal. Polite and friendly, but never notable or exciting. Introverted to a T, keeping to herself just felt organic. Julia couldn’t help it, it’s just who she was, and she’d largely accepted that. So far, she’d managed fine. Friends, hobbies, a few awkward encounters with crushes, it was a normal life portraying a more or less perfect ‘quiet girl’ stereotype. Often buried in a book, no doubt contributing to the intelligence that propelled her career.

Julia was undoubtedly not one for elaborate fashion. Simple, mostly conservative, described her go-to make-up look. Shying away from making a statement with her clothing too. Never straying too far from her staple wardrobe of tank-tops, sweatshirts, jeans, and whatever active-wear she had bought for her workouts. She was strong minded, never caving into the peer pressure of participating in the latest trends.

Concentrating on the upcoming interview, she picked out an outfit. She’d already jumped the gun and bought an outfit months ago, fielding previous interest that never materialised. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t go to waste. It was a modest and smart look. White blouse, grey jacket, black trousers and shiny new shoes. By all accounts, she had the look of a young professional. But something ate away at her as she gazed into the mirror, beginning to picture the situation. Deep down, she’d been debating for a while. Reasoning back and forth “long hair isn’t inherently unprofessional. But is that how a hiring panel would see it?” thoughts continuing to rage.

“It… It just doesn’t quite feel… enough” she told herself, now set on completing the ensemble.

With a burst of determination, she gave it another go, heading into town to see if there was any places she hadn’t tried yet. Just 4 days left, two of them over a weekend, the already tall order kept rising. It was starting to look bleak. Her once purposeful walk began to disappear as she slowly passed another salon. It was packed, along with a sign on the window declaring ‘Appointments Only’.

“There has to be somewhere. Just for a trim, nothing fancy” Julia reasoned, growing increasingly desperate.

Beyond a select few clothes outlets, she rarely went into town anymore. Continuing to explore, her mood shifted towards dejection as she attempted to persevere. Up ahead, nestled in a corner, a distant bright sign caught her eye. At this point, Julia was half tempted to march into one of the salons that had turned her away and begin pleading for this quick trim. The scene became clearer as she picked up the pace. After a brief power-walk, spurred on by this glimmer of hope, she found herself situated across the road from her destination.

“The Chop Shop – Unisex Salon… Walk-ins welcome” She read to herself, examining the enormous sign and accompanying window message. “Bold name, but you gotta stand out somehow, I guess. How did I miss this?” Temporarily dwelling on her online searches, time dictated she act fast.

Situated away from the core shopping centre, it was hardly the liveliest location, but quiet was bliss right now. Overhead, a large façade informed would-be customers of their business. Chestnut wood grain with a varnished effect tried to disguise the cladding, conveying a rustic feeling. It might’ve worked, had it not been for the modern LED sign turning the building into a faux lighthouse.

Julia crossed the road. A once powerful stride now a nervous shuffle towards the salon. She stopped briefly. One last chance to back out One last chance for the detail that might get the job… Her mind snapped back to clarity.

 

Chapter 2: Committed

 

“It’s just a trim, I’m being overdramatic” she reassured herself. “I’m going for a grown-up job; I should carry myself like one.” Her characteristic resolve making itself known again, using the last few steps to take in the fresh air, trying to maintain a calm appearance – at least on the outside. “Here we go…”

Opening the door, Julia had committed herself. The inside climate contrasted harshly with the outside. It was spring, uncharacteristically warm at 28°C. Caught in the middle, her dense curls struggling to be picked up by the breeze, while gentle hum and soothing crisp air from the AC unit invited her to cool off. She entered, trying to think positively as she stepped inside. Her gaze drawn to a stern-looking hairdresser whilst she figured out where to go. Tending to a client, she hardly acknowledged Julia’s presence.

“Hi, I was umm… Wondering if you have any availability… for a haircut. Today?” Julia asked, trying to sound as confident as possible. The hairdresser gave an unimpressed once-over, letting out a smirk before a quick response.

“Sure, but you’ll have to wait. Take a seat.”

Julia nodded politely and sat down in the waiting area, fidgeting with her hands as she waited. She couldn’t help but feel out of place. Almost immediately Julia had picked up on the stylist’s attitude. ‘No-nonsense’ particularly leapt to mind. Unnerved, in an environment full of unknowns, it took her best efforts to put on a brave face.

Absorbing her surroundings, she realized that the salon was quite different from what she was used to. It was a stripped-down, minimalist space. Two plain black leather chairs, each facing a polished mirror, with a counter full of tools occupying the wall below them. The windows we’re large, from the right position, like looking through a screen. Perspective determining if you saw passers-by or a stylist at work. Yet, somehow, natural light didn’t penetrate the room. Instead, fluorescent white ceiling lights provide practical but unflattering illumination. A clear departure from the cosy, houseplant adorned décor of the salons she’d visited before.

A solitary other customer kept the hairdresser busy. Julia gave a quick glance over, still trying to relax. He was middle-aged, dirty blonde hair being trimmed to a businessman’s short back and sides. It was quite unremarkable, but in an encouraging way given her situation. It was eerily quiet, aside from the sound of scissors snipping there was none of the chit-chat she sub-consciously expected.

She looked around for clues. Nothing. At least nothing to ring the alarm bells. A small amount of hair clippings swept into a pile in the corner. Everything was noticeably clean, too, like it was new. The chairs had no wear and tear. No scratches on the floor. There was something distinct about this place. Having never been, Julia could only equate the layout to what she imagined a barbershop to be.

“Wait. It did say ‘unisex salon’ on the sign, right?” Her thoughts began to race, trying to match what she was seeing to her expectations. “Stay calm.” She repeated to herself internally. “The stylist would’ve mentioned if she only did barbershop cuts. Besides, it’s a straightforward trim.” Frantically pumping the brakes as her imagination tried to run away. She hadn’t the time to fully calm down before she was startled by a voice.

“Next… Hey…” Called out the hairdresser, seemingly irritated by Julia’s lack of attention. “Sit.” She added swiftly, gesturing towards the empty chair nearest the window.

Julia complied automatically, her brain busy running in overdrive to establish what she had got herself into.

Back out now? Think of an excuse? No.” The reasoning section of her brain fighting back against her irrational fears. She’d made it through thus far, a few nerves weren’t going to defeat her.

Her legs reluctantly propelled her across the room. Now sitting, the room felt distorted. It wasn’t physically happening, but she could’ve sworn she was trapped. The lights blasting a beam of heat, seemingly just at her. The chair was bigger than she’d realised. Her feet just about reached the floor, giving her something to push against to hopefully stop the shaking that had started to develop.

She was handed a few more precious moments of peace, however, as the hairdresser was busy taking payment and cleaning her tools from the last customer. Another hurdle dispatched. The awkward bit presumably dealt with, now it’s just a case of sitting through the actual haircut. Julia’s inquisitive tendencies taking over again, analysing the hairdresser for any information.

“At least it’s something to focus on. Something other than a vivid imagination.” She told herself, not quite having the effect she’d hoped for.

For such an understated looking ‘salon’, she projected an image far beyond the commonly casual dress-code of similar businesses. The matte black flooring was interrupted with bursts of both colour and sound – cherry red heels, gleaming almost forcefully under the lighting. Julia’s eyes traced upwards. Following the figure, next were tights. Nothing special, but brought the outfit together, nonetheless. Next, a black skirt hanging several inches above the knee, if not for a keen eye, seamlessly blending into the figure-hugging silk shirt on top. Sleeves rolled up practically, displaying colourfully inked arms. She was a good-looking woman; Julia certainly wouldn’t protest that. Slim, but not slender, carrying curves in all the desired locations.

The ascending presentation proceeded further, neck barely peeking through above the collar, before being stopped. Trying to read this woman by how she presented herself, the showcase reached its culmination with her chosen hairstyle. Rather telling for a hairdresser, Julia supposed. Red, but unlike the heels. Instead, a dark burgundy hue fading ever so slightly around the roots, which were obsidian black. A fellow brunette, the similarities ended there. Fixed on her presence, Julia’s subconscious scrambled to remind her not to judge a book by its cover.

“She must experiment – different styles, isn’t that kind of a hairdresser’s thing?” Not wrong, even if it didn’t line up with her past salon encounters. A touch of colour, sure, but this clashed against the immaculate blowouts she pictured her usual stylist wearing. “What was her name, again? God. She’d kill me for doing this” thoughts trailing off as she was brought back to the current situation.

Julia didn’t know how to react, but the words steadily started to come to mind. ‘Meticulous’? ‘Precise’? There was no doubt she conveyed those. But at a basic, physical level? ‘Short’. Short. Julia had found what would ring her internal alarm bells.

Unmistakably a Bob but executed differently. In keeping with the image so far, this wasn’t some wavy, layered, ‘beach-girl’ lob that mass-occupied social media posts. Sharp ends – clearly trimmed often – sat at, or only just below, her chin. Differentiated by a mere centimetre or two. Naturally, it drew Julia’s now intense gaze along its perimeter, progressively getting shorter until reaching the nape. The angle wasn’t extreme, but it was there. ‘Defined’. Another word came up. Shaped impeccably to end in one continuous line, meeting in a blade-like edge as it curls ever so slightly inwards. ‘Sleek’. Well, a sleek finish wasn’t all that uncommon, but this was another level. Not a hint of a hair out of place; Dyed strands shimmering, the same way a new Ferrari might glisten in sunlight.

This ‘lady of the salon’, as Julia came to think of her, reached toward the tresses in question. Manicured nails – red, of course – sweeping one side behind her ears. Only now was awareness brought to the front. Nearly perpendicular to her, Julia kept watching, hoping her gawking wouldn’t be picked up. The distinct features persisted. Held closely above her eyebrows, lay a full, blunt fringe. She pulled it off, Julia conceded, having never mustered enough courage to ditch her light face-framing pieces.

One last shock shot through her body. As the side pieces were drawn back, an odd emptiness remained. ‘No hairline?’, she pondered, a slight sense of dread filling the back of her throat. The hairdresser took a drink, refreshing herself between clients, and revealing the final clue. Around her head, sections of her sculpted style split apart, unveiling the contrasting pale skin below. A brutally short undercut. From a distance, it was hard to confirm if there was any hair left at all. Julia’s eyes strained, managing to catch a faint difference in tone between where the hair should be and the rest of the skin. She’d proven it was there but added little comfort.

She had seen Bobs before, from time to time. Occasionally, even one as distinct as this. However, an undercut, especially one this bold, absolutely not. If hair betrayed a hairdresser’s biases as she believed earlier, what did this mean? Not that Julia had a minute to hypothesise, the unintentional captor now moving towards her catch.

Feeling her palms turning uncomfortably clammy, Julia sat cross armed, bracing for contact. Now directly behind, the stylist exuded a commanding presence. With the heels, she must have been at least 5’10”. Julia wasn’t exactly short, but here she felt like an ant. A wave of embarrassment hit, spine quivering as the cape was whipped over her, transmitting anxiety signals to every corner of the room. No words had been exchanged so far. In its place, rustles echoing while the client was prepped. Adding to Julia’s bewilderment, a strip of paper was arranged on her neck, but it was too late to question things now. Fastened securely, frankly uncomfortably, the unwrinkled cape settled. Eye to eye with herself, Julia studied what she saw. Face and hair protruding from the white mound as if a magician had separated head from body.

Previously a glorious mane, the harsh lighting accentuated each and every imperfection. Made all the worse by the crisp white of the cape juxtaposing her chocolatey locks. Luscious tresses now dominated by dullness, the wild, almost alive, texture inhibited by dead ends. It was in dire need of maintenance. The time had come, but Julia hesitated to speak first.

“An inch or two. Just let her know you need to look tidy and tell her an inch or two off the ends” her mind imploring her to speak up before anything happened.

The hairdresser circled like a shark, using her comb to untangle the tired curls. Each time Julia wanted to speak, she was repelled by the pulling, head being yanked in every direction. The anticipation elevating further with each passing moment.

Chapter 3: Contact

 

“Name’s Melissa. What we doing?” The stylist said, her blunt tone ever-present.

“Uh Hi. I… I’m Julia. Nice to meet you…” Melissa’s eyes pierced Julia through the mirror, making her aversion to pleasantries clear. “Anyways. It uh, it’s been like a year since I’ve gotten any trim or anything, ha-ha.” Her timid laugh a polar opposite to the laid back, confidence she thought it would portray. Comb pulling harder as Julia stumbled through her words, as if some kind of warning to spit it out. “Could I… Just. Just a trim please. I’ve… I’ve got a job interview soon.” Julia stalked Melissa’s heavily tattooed arms, waiting for another painful tug in retaliation.

“Nice and tidy for the interview. We can do that…” Melissa replied slightly patronisingly, voice trailing off as she looked over her canvas. Facial expressions brightening as the ideas began to flow, she turned to her rack of tools.

Whew, just ride it out” Julia relaxed, questioning if she should attempt any small talk. After the rollercoaster she’d been through, it was tempting to close her eyes and doze off. Lulled into a dozy state by the mellow hum of the AC unit as the nerves began to subside. “It might not be my usual pampering, but I do like getting my hair done…” complex thoughts fading away.

Not wasting a second, Melissa initiated the process, securing hair clips on the edge of the counter, ready to be applied. The combing resumed, this time more gently. Brought to its full extension, the hair rested an inch or so below the top of the chair. Pretty standard so far. Julia was already looking back on the day’s events in disbelief that she’d ever been worried. Melissa sensed her victim’s calm state and struck, professional grade shears in hand.

Schnick. A bolt of lightning ripped through Julia. Schnick. She looked on in slow motion, eyes fixed on her hair, or what was her hair, plunging beside her down to the floor. Her heart went supersonic, everything came flooding back tenfold: the fear, the anxiety, the anticipation. Melissa had inflicted the first cut level with the outside of Julia’s shoulder. Stunned, eyes widening, and mouth agape, her unspoken protests going unacknowledged whilst she sat like a deer in headlights.

Struggling to hide her devious delight, Melissa pressed on. Schnick. With a slow, steady rhythm, she worked her way around, shaking fallen strands off her feet as if they were nothing. Schnick. Schnick. Now on the left side, each cut still excruciating clear. Schnick. Schnick. One last teasing pause, comb lightly tensioning the last portion. Schnick. The interaction between scissors and hair was deafening. It was over. 8 inches detached, practically in an instant. Julia was caught out, uncertain as to whether she should look down and calculate the losses, or up at her newly gifted shoulder-length hairstyle.

“Hmph. There’s some of the bulk dealt with. So much easier to work on now it’s off the back of the chair.” Melissa’s words cutting Julia to the core.

“BULK??? WHAT DOES SHE MEAN BULK???” Julia’s brain was now a stirring pot, confusion and anger rising to the top. “I… Ju… Just a uh a little trim, though” She spoke so softly even she couldn’t hear it. Convinced she was dreaming; Julia forced her eyes shut. “3, 2, 1…” Counting down inside, willing herself to wake up, expecting to see the ceiling of her bedroom. “No, please. Please. This can’t be happening” realisation hitting, the mirror calling her to see the result.

‘Chop Shop’ seemed an adequate name for the establishment, beautiful hair sliced in such a careless fashion. Brutally blunt ends exaggerating the uneven cuts. Julia was dumbfounded. Given the manner of what had transpired, she looked to Melissa, who carried on like this was a daily occurrence. Hands gripping the armrests for dear life, irreparable damage – at least for the near future – had been done. Despite better judgement, she remained silent, in fear she might provoke further action. However, it would’ve been incredible if her shyness didn’t block communication off anyway. Praying for the scissor-happy stylist to have gotten whatever motivated this out of her system, Julia’s anticipation grew evermore, forbidding the release of any tension.

Meanwhile, Melissa switched back to the focus of her work. This battle was well underway, and her opponent hadn’t fought back. “Now let’s have some fun” her thoughts turned devilish. She’d paralysed her victim in the initial strike, she couldn’t just leave it at that. Trusty comb in hand, Julia’s hair was sectioned with force. Manoeuvring around her head, she took several tries at each partition, dragging out the process and keeping the client guessing. Using the previously prepared sectioning clips, a pile of curls were secured on top, spilling forward into Julia’s view. The back and sides left down, presumably to begin tidying up what was left.

“A job interview, eh? That’s exciting. Can’t leave you looking untidy, can we?” Melissa said, her tone markedly lighter than before. Inviting an unexpected chat, her words somehow twisting to make Julia seem complicit.

“… I uh, yeah. Excited but, uhm, nervous” Julia responded, just about, now unable to feel her face. “And yeah, uh, just. Just tidy the en…” Melissa stopping her before she could finish.

“Aww, sweetie. You don’t get nervous, do you?” Once direct and commanding, her voice now took on a supportive tone. As unconvincing as it was, Julia’s adrenaline blinded her to the act. “Let me take those from you, honey…” Melissa said comfortingly, lightly removing Julia’s glasses and placing them on the counter. Luckily for Julia – and perhaps Melissa – she could see mostly fine without them, so long as there was no fine print to read. The picture was all too clear from behind the chair, though. Julia sat, unmoving, jaw clenched under now beet red skin. Taking the lack of response as confirmation, Melissa set up her next move. “Don’t fret, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Anyway, just relax and let’s get to cleaning you up, shall we?”

Julia letting out a deep breath, sinking back into the chair as she processed Melissa’s words, leaning back into her expectations “normally, there’d be a shampoo & conditioning about now. Maybe they just wet it as they go? It’s been unorthodox so far… who’s to know?”

“Chin down for me, love” Melissa instructed as she pressed Julia’s head down, not giving any room for refusal. Julia was trying her utmost to unwind. Letting her head dip forwards, stretching her neck muscles for a welcome reprieve. Attempting to gauge her surroundings, she looked up through her brow. Blocked. A mass of hair in between her and the mirror.

“It really is a shame she can’t see my face” Melissa considered for a moment. A sadistic smile took centre-stage, burgundy lipstick matching her hair. With the prey’s vision obscured, she unwound the cord and inserted the plug. It was a tough task in itself not to let out a burst of gleeful giggling.

Click. Humming filled the room.

Melissa’s assessment of her control was correct, Julia jumping at the initial sound, before becoming a statue in Melissa’s sacred chair – it often had a similar effect on those unfortunate enough to be led there. An imposing hand gripped Julia’s shoulder, whilst the other brought the clippers close. Scooping below the still fairly long hairs to be positioned at the hairline, the first pass would be slow and deliberate. Steadily, the Wahl pro clippers marched up Julia’s nape. Her head rattled with the vibrations. Mind attempting to decode the mystifying sensations. Tone deepening as it tackled the dense forest of curls, the clippers were making quick work in spite of Melissa’s best efforts to prolong the suffering.

Julia’s blood pressure skyrocketed as the clippering commenced, almost passing out. So much for being shy, she tried lifting her head, preparing for conflict but was immediately overpowered. Without a word, Melissa pressed the defiant head back down, holding it in place. Sensing some fight left in Julia, she applied more pressure with the clippers, letting her know who was in charge.

Starting with the lower portion, Julia’s nape was cleared of the roughly 10-11 inches of hair left over from before. Fallen locks began covering the base of the chair, swift flicks of the wrist sending more and more. Working her way across the back, Melissa made use of her exquisite barber training, making each pass ruthlessly felt without going too fast. She wanted to savour this. Longer strokes followed. Julia’s head becoming lighter as the clippers worked their way up. High. Terror filled Julia; this instrument of torture kept going. Up, past the nape. “OK, around the middle is fine” bargaining with herself at this point, not telling a word to Melissa. Further it went, surpassing each expected stop, halting marginally below the start of her crown.

The almighty shearing continued, the back now completely clear of its former concealment. Click. Silence. Much to Melissa’s delight, she noted Julia’s hands trembling under the cape, prompted by a mixture of feelings: shock, fear, anxiety, and most viscerally, the cool conditioned air hitting her exposed nape. Melissa had instigated a break in proceedings, slowly twisting the chair. Julia was now at an angle, peripheral vision now able to either see out the window or into the mirror. Melissa’s grand plan was coming together, encouraging more taunts.

“Can always rely on a good barberette to sort out a mess like this.” Julia felt betrayed, Melissa erasing any notion that this was ever truly a ‘salon’ and that she could have ever left with ‘just a trim’. “Oh darling. You are gonna LOVE this” Melissa spoke as if trying to convince someone to switch sides, joining her in the short hair ranks. In her own eyes, she’d been charitable so far. Sure, there’d been the hacking off at the start, and the undercut went all the way to the crown. But she’d used a #3 guard. For now, anyway, it was still undecided if she wanted to impart the full experience.

With the carefully positioned Julia now able to observe, Melissa restarted, tilting the soon to be shorn head to the side. Click. Bzzzzzzz. Now there was no escape, eyes stretching to see the destruction. Bzzzzzzz. There went another strip, bristles left in the clipper’s wake. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Melissa helpfully provided Julia a new direction to look, directing clippings straight into her lap. She was defeated, forced to watch her crowning glory being demolished.

Melissa, on the other hand, was elated. Overjoyed at this, rarer than once in a blue moon, opportunity. Technically, it was true that her salon was, in fact, a salon. It said so right on the sign. Skilled in hairdressing, colouring and styling, her real talents shone as a barber – or barberette as she preferred. When ‘The Chop Shop’ opened, the dream was to service a variety of clients, making each day unique, cutting anything from long, colourful shags, to simple crew cuts. After all, ‘unisex’ meant they’d take anyone. So far, it hadn’t quite turned out like that.

 

Chapter 4: Not Her First-Shorn

 

Lumbered with the same old regulars, crew cuts and short back and sides were pretty much the extent of what she got to do. In the last couple years, 15, 16, maybe up to 20 separate women had entered. A few of them her friends. Most others only returned a handful of times, eventually scared away by Melissa’s heavy-handed ‘recommendations’. Looking back, there were times she’d tried to push people into styles ‘before they were ready’, as she liked to think of it. Truth be told, women who want to cut 10”, even 15” plus off are exceptionally hard to find, much less women who can be talked into it. Just the other day, Melissa had been reminiscing over her past triumphs.

“Oooh, Leah. Such a memorable one, I was sweeping that hair for ages. She really opened herself up to it, though. And Natasha. Sweet little ‘Tash, she was just like Julia, probably too shy to say anything…” Melissa flicked through her records. “Oh and Harry… Poor innocent Harry. I almost felt bad, maybe I should’ve sent him away with a beanie…” now chuckling at fond memories. Under the make-shift reception desk she kept a secret catalogue. Photo after photo, usually of the aftermath before the cape was even removed, taken under the premise of promotional material.

Externally, Melissa’s desire was, in many ways sadistic. To her, it was a way of showing people what she thought best – and to have some naughty fun from time to time, of course. Quite honestly, she herself had experienced a dramatic, not entirely wanted, haircut. She wasn’t always the ‘lady of the salon’, the ruthless barberette. A short hair convert ever since, experimenting drastically in the following years.

She believed in supplying these mandatory epiphanies, ‘it’s good for ‘em, they’ll see’ her instincts told her. It started opportunistic. A passing mention of ‘you’d look great with it a bit shorter’. Then there was the white lies, ‘I needed to cut off all the damage’ usually worked. Her skills in coercion grew, and with it, her audacity.

It had been at least 4 months since the last one, and the yearnings were stronger than ever. By now, she was no stranger from resorting to intimidation and downright domination, as Julia was finding out. The ‘Dominant’ title she wore well, in a few cases, it carried her services went well beyond a haircut. But right now, her focus was on Julia.

Click. The clippers fell silent once again, the right side of Julia’s head reduced to an even fur coating, one centimetre long at most. Melissa took great satisfaction in the way she exhibited her art, turning Julia’s barbershop throne agonisingly slowly to face the other way. Clippings of all lengths were strewn across the floor and Julia herself. Her lap was filled already. Thick, luscious, long brown curls piled up on the clean white cape. There was no mistaking this massacre. Just as she started to rotate, a passer-by locked eyes through the window, reminding Julia that she was on full display.

“This must look insane” she thought, as she looked back helplessly, people beginning to gawk at Melissa’s show as they slowed their walk. Facing away from the window, she knew that yet more shearing was imminent, but now she felt every pair of eyes behind her. With that, her head was tilted once again. Click. Bzzzzzzz.

Less teasing this time around, Melissa was only finishing up what she had started. That didn’t stop the waterfall though, noticeable weight taken off with each pass. Heaps continued forming, with this avalanche the base of the chair was lost, a river of hair encircling it. The stacks of hair were dense. Dense enough that as they collected in her lap, it was difficult to see the white of the cape through the brunette tones. After finishing, Melissa stood back to admire.

“My goodness, what a mess. That must feel so much better…” Melissa knew Julia wasn’t exactly going to be replying cheerfully. She grabbed handfuls of hair from the ground, holding it up and letting it fall onto Julia’s lap. “mmhmm. I know. I said I’d get you cleaned up proper, and don’t you worry, we’ll do just that.” Caught up in the thrill, Melissa had made her decision. Julia would get Melissa’s full ‘short, sharp and shocking’ experience. The chair was turned once again, placing Julia directly in front of the mirror.

Melissa made a conscious decision to re-section the long hair still on top of Julia. Using multiple clips, she twisted it up and out of the way, making Julia’s view crystal clear. Click. Bzzzzzzz. Clippers fired up again, now with no guard present to provide protection. Expert barber technique was demonstrated, once again beginning at the nape. A slow pass of the Wahl’s, all the way up, as before. Julia’s ears felt cold after the last round, but now her scalp itself did. Deep down, way deep down it was a strange feeling for Julia. At the surface she was pissed. Really fucking pissed. But this vibration, the tingling of the clippers, was pleasing. It was totally new to her, and, under different circumstances something to savour.

Meticulous clipper work persisted. Once the back was clear, Melissa positioned herself at Julia’s side, waiting to see the reaction in the mirror. Firmly placed under her sideburn, Melissa pushed on. Julia watched as the clippings fell, tumbling along the clippers onto to her barberette’s hand. It continued up the side of her head, carving out a pale road which peaked out from below. The colour drained from Julia’s face.

Bald… I… It’s bald…” understanding what she’d been reduced to, she looked to Melissa. Her face, however, was beaming. Pride on full show, pearly white teeth on show as she owns the smiles she was previously hiding.

Melissa’s Wahl clippers had no difficulty navigating the prickly fuzz. From right to left, the unbearably slow shearing gave Julia at least some consolation. Nothing she could do to change the result, she stopped resisting, letting the sensations intensify. In her acceptance, the built-up anticipation swayed towards positive. All the wrongness, in a way, compounded, giving rise to a feeling of mischievous. It was totally unlike Julia, but that made it all the more exciting. Daring. Bold. All the things she was told she wasn’t. It was liberating.

Melissa had, meanwhile, had finished using her clippers to full effect. A zero undercut, all the way around, all the way up to the crown. The harvest was bountiful, the clippers earning their keep well today. Pulling back, an idea shone in her head. Energized, she rummaged through the draws under the counter, retrieving her next implement. It meant nothing to Julia, but this was Melissa’s house, and this meant she was serious. She checked the charge, ‘full’, as expected Click. This sounded different. Quieter, but higher and harsher pitched. It wasn’t often needed, but Melissa adored using the foil shaver. She almost squealed with delight, ‘now this is an undercut’.

A true barberette at work she worked carefully, and now anticipating the rest of the cut, quickly. Foil shaver in hand, she followed the back of Julia’s exposed head up to its natural curve. Ending up around mid-ear level, Melissa initially thought of giving her a fade, but fading into a zero didn’t quite give the satisfaction of a good skin fade, so skin to the top it was. Julia sat patiently, secretly enjoying her transformation, to a degree. Tempted to reach out from below the cape, just to touch. Touch any of it. The freshly shorn hair waiting in her lap. Or the undercut.

“This is all so strange and wrong… But… But I can’t wait. I can’t wait to feel it.” Julia thought, dwelling on her moment of liberation.

“Not much more to go now, Hun. Sit tight, you’re already starting to look like a professional.” Not even Melissa’s goading could distract Julia from the barberette’s delicate fingers brushing up against her freshly shorn, skin-tight hair. Her scalp transmitted everything, Melissa playfully dragging her nails along what was now unrecognisable as hair, a faint grey tint sitting below the mass left above.

Chapter 5: Sharp Looking Professional

 

Melissa removed the sectioning clips, bringing down the unruly mess. Such long, dense hair now felt strange, especially so as it interacted with the baldness underneath. Curls sunk equally around Julia’s head, before being shaken to life by a hairdresser’s touch.

“There’s a familiar face, eh? Don’t get too attached.” Melissa poked at Julia once again, signalling more to come. As if Julia hadn’t been through enough of a change. Though she was back to hairdresser mode, the barberette inclinations remained strong as ever. Scissors left on the countertop; the combing started with wetting from a spray bottle – Melissa’s own concoction of water and a leave-in conditioner. The barberette’s special sauce, which she often called to ‘cutting lubricant’ to make its intentions clear, left a surprisingly pleasant smell. Even with such a vicious name, Melissa had to concede it left the uncut remains elegantly soft.

Julia flinched awkwardly as the spray hit, Melissa making sure some of the cool liquid hit her freshly scalped areas. She was slipping back into her emotions. The rollercoaster had taken her from anxious, to shocked, to outrage, briefly liberation, and now sadness and regret. Taking the chance had, to her, backfired spectacularly. She choked back tears as she gazed upon herself in the mirror, realising these would be the final minutes with long hair for a really, really, long time.

Hair pulled tightly; Melissa’s salon grade tools were at the ready. She repeatedly re-took the same section of hair between her fingers, standing marginally to the side, allowing the outside onlookers a chance to see how much was coming off. Having been untouched since the initial hacking, this hair was still over 20” long dry, easily covering the undercut. It wouldn’t end up as short, but comparatively to its current length, there was an enormous difference to come.

Schnick. The first incision was made. Wet locks – easily in excess of 13-14” – sailed towards the floor.

Julia didn’t have to use too much imagination to picture what her tormentor had done, Melissa made damn sure of that. Icy, stainless-steel shears pressed at her nape. ‘The Melissa Special’ appeared in Julia’s mind, emotions predominantly the same, with a twinge of eagerness in there, somewhere, waiting to see the result. Hair pulled again. Schnick. Her head swayed reluctantly as tension was applied and subsequently released via the hair.

Melissa’s excitement was reaching a breaking point. This was the most liberty she’d taken on one of these kinds of cuts. At least without convincing the poor soul in the chair to give her the instruction themselves. She’d fully committed to it, as well. With the hair wet, the precision cuts were made just above the hairline at nape, accounting for Julia’s curls to spring back as they dry. Next the back corners. By now Melissa knew that Julia probably realised the hairstyle she’d been given was modelled on her own. ‘Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery’, Melissa almost chuckled thinking of that. Julia would be imitating her style, but only because it was cruelly inflicted upon her in sadistic fashion.

“Ohhh, honey, please. Don’t cry. You look a million times more hireable already. No one would’ve taken you seriously before. Not with all those gorgeous, long luscious brown locks…” Melissa twisted the knife verbally.

Julia was on at the edge, and now was being sent over. Tears began rolling down her cheeks. She was overwhelmed, letting out quiet whimpers as she sobbed. The freeing feeling didn’t help so much anymore. She could be as brave and bold and daring as she wanted, but she was hung up on the words of her merciless barberette.

Her inner voice ganged up on her. “She’s right… Beautiful. All my hair. My beautiful, gorgeous hair. Gone without a second thought. Is that all I am now?… Hireable.” She could hardly look up into the mirror anymore. The shortest she’d gone before was to her shoulders, and she was quick to start growing it back out. She’d felt so awkwardly visible then, this was a million times worse.

Melissa’s ‘scissor-happy’ streak continued as she got directly beside the chair. Using her own tresses as inspiration, she set out how Julia’s would lay. Applying the same, angled side profile, the front edged out the back by fine margins. Schnick. Schnick. Her baseline cut encroached ever forward. Schnick. The right side was done, onto the left. Schnick. More locks fell, sound muffled by the mountain of buzzed hair sitting below. Schnick. Schnick.

It was coming together; Melissa could already see herself adding the picture to her catalogue. Schnick. Looking down, Melissa basked in the glory of the destruction. Long hair, 12” and over sat drying atop hair just as impressive, in combination with short clippings of various lengths. She took a moment to reflect on the fun she’d had buzzing all of it off relentlessly. This was becoming a desire she couldn’t, wouldn’t, supress with the right victim in her chair.

She promptly continued working away. She’d not done this with such curly hair before, it was an experiment to add to her results. Julia sat demoralised, taking in the mirror’s sorry picture. As Melissa worked on, adding a slight layering around the bottom to complete the look. One final surprise. Melissa leaned over her, combing the hair forward into her face. Schnick. Schnick. One eye exposed. Melissa was delivering her own promise of an imitation haircut, now it was time for her to cut in the fringe. Julia, numb as she was, looked on in horror.

Schnick. “Nothing to hide behind anymore…” Melissa said, not taking her eyes away from the precise slicing. Schnick. Chunks of damp hair rained down. Heavy with moisture, Julia could feel each one impact below. Some rained on the cape, most hung on to her face. Schnick. Schnick… It was slow and purposeful. Finally, brushing the severed strands and short clumps off, Melissa leaned back. Julia was looking back at a stranger.

“Pop these back on then sweetheart. Let me grab a dryer, and you can get going…” Melissa eagerly handed back Julia’s glasses. She’d already seen the damage, but now it was as clear as it would ever get.

Rushing back, Melissa flipped on the hairdryer, giving a quick blast of warm air. Tactfully extending the difference further, she used a round brush to smooth out the natural curls. It really was beginning to look like a copy of her own hair. Mostly dry, the length was representative of the final shape. At the front it came to a point, resting above her chin. Rounded to a fine edge, it followed around to her nape, where it lay at almost in-line with her ear lobe. Oh, and the fringe. A fingers width above her eyebrows, perfectly straight across her forehead.

She didn’t know how to react, sitting silent and still waiting for further instruction. Melissa didn’t wait for permission; she was snapping away with her phone capturing all angles of her latest masterpiece. The side. The front. The back. One lifting the hair, showing off the undercut. Several of the floor and Julia’s lap pile. This was all going in.

The moment of truth, for Julia at least. Cape unfastened by the proud barberette, and swiftly whipped away, depositing the hair with its kind on the floor. Julia remained still. No more was the continuous flowing brown waterfall. Removed, with no substitute in its place.

“C’mon. Don’t mope around or I’ll take more off. Besides, you got off lightly, I mean, you asked for it…” Melissa words came out automatically. She did contemplate for a moment if she went too far. “She’ll get over it. They always do after a while…” Internally dismissing wrongdoing on her part, after all, she just went with what she thought was appropriate – a sharp, clean, cut to enforce respect in the workplace. The magnitude of the shearing just happened to be a bonus.

Julia leaned forward, pushing herself up from the chair. Moving felt bizarre. There was nothing to brush against her back or arms, nothing to crease on her shoulders. She couldn’t will herself to touch it. Not yet, that would make it too real, and she needed time for it to sink in. Instead, she looked down. Hair. Her once precious, even praised, mane lay across her feet. Tentative first steps as a short haired woman were taken, hesitantly lifting each shoe, pushing her way through the pile that proved the massacre. Her head recoiled up, towards the window. Outsiders inched along the window, slowing to observe Julia. She wanted to cry out, telling her tale of kidnap and torture, but she couldn’t. She could only cry, the tears welling up once more.

Snapping away from her audience, the lack of movement connected to her head hit her again. Her steps were gradual, wobbling like she was trying to find her ‘sea legs’ despite being on solid ground. Evidently Melissa’s lure was strong, Julia travelling to the reception desk, unsure what drew her there. No words were exchanged. Most would think Julia was mute at this stage, Melissa simply relished watching this part. It was like seeing a new-born taking their first steps, in this case, a metaphorically new person, fresh from their enlightening.

Julia placed £20 on the desk. Less than most salons would charge, but Melissa didn’t care, she’d gained plenty from her time with Julia. With her head hanging down, both in defeat and embarrassment, she walked away. Trying to sneak out of the situation, she reached the door…

“Good luck, my sweetie. I’ll see you back her soon. For a clean-up, yes? Julia…” Melissa slightly shouted across the shop, teasing tone and all. Julia stopped, just for a second or two. In silence, she looked down a little more with the extra defeat, opening the door to the outside world.

 

Chapter 6: Shorn, Shamed and Unshackled

 

It was a brisk walk home. Every part of her was shaking in spite of the warm weather.  Painfully, she’d have to negotiate the town centre. The memories came flooding back as she was reminded of her past. Back then she felt awkward with only shoulder-length hair. Staring. In every direction she felt the staring of the general public, she couldn’t blame them. Morally, everyone knew it was rude to stare but, conscience be damned, it was a spectacle no one could look away from. As she progressed through what felt like crowds of intrigued spectators, she kept her gaze low, following the lower walls and windows of the local businesses. She didn’t dare look anyone in the eyes.

Nearly home, her heart was beating like a fugitive on the run. A gust of wind lashed from behind, thrashing her hair into a frenzy.

“Oh… My God… It’s so, so short…” Her immediate thoughts upon the wind hitting, now lifting her locks with ease.

The feeling stopped her in her tracks, undercut bearing the full force. From behind, the air directly providing a cooling caress. Up front, the hair was shoved into her face. Impulsively, she went to tuck it back behind her ears, accidentally making first contact with her own bald head, hands instantly leaping away in terror.

The door of her apartment flung shut, Julia leaning back against it. Relief flooded her veins. Relieved to be home, and none of her neighbours saw her. Relieved to be in private. Alone in private, far, far away from that butcher. The day’s proceedings ran on repeat through Julia’s head, she slumped herself on her bed, facing her full-length mirror. With the promise that no-one could see, she began her exploration.

Cautiously, she reached up to her shoulders, hands trembling. Phantom hair phenomena? Rose to the forefront of her mind, likening the sensation to the feeling amputee’s express. Fingertips grazed along her feminine neck, curious excitement building. Her whole head was so light now, it felt like her neck was longer than before, no longer weighed down. Seconds later, her fingers wrapped around where her hairline had been.

“Ahh…” A whispered gasp escaped, glaring contrast from the day before challenging her synapses.

Her hands journeyed onwards, tenderly brushing their way along. She began affectionately rubbing the undercut all around. It was mystifying. Never had she felt short hair – like a boy’s – much less bald, taken all the way to the skin short. A secondary transformation was arising, negativity draining as euphoria came pouring in.

Expedition continuing, Julia began playing with the bob part of her new, well, bob. Some comforts endured to live on, still shiny and bouncy. And soft. Submitting to the sensory inputs, she let out impulsive noises, purring like a cat.

It felt so unbelievably silky. Julia ran her hands through the drastically short hairstyle. Even viewing in the mirror, the ends caught her by surprise as they fell away from between her fingers. It’d been so long, fresh cut ends felt so unbelievably heavenly. Straight hair was another oddity, her curls were so… her, she never really tried to straighten them. She ruffled her fringe, uncertain as to what to do with it. Regardless of the style, the execution was of the highest quality, and it showed.

“I… actually… I can’t believe I actually sort of… like it?…” Her thoughts swung tumultuously, this wasn’t still her, was it?

It was a lot to comprehend. So short, viciously short, and razor-sharp. Literally every element opposed everything she’d ever know about hair. Extraordinarily, however, she acknowledged the image in the mirror. She felt… cute, despite her stereotypical belief that short straight hair was for grumpy, strict teachers and businesswomen. Further than that, she felt brave. Brave for enduring the shearing. For watching as the hair was snipped, buzzed, shaved and lopped off in almost every way imaginable. Brave to accept the taunts and stares. And if she survived that, maybe she was brave. Maybe she could be more lively and engaging. No more shy girl trying to hide away, not with this haircut.

“Ohhh wow… So pale… Hehe” She answered her thoughts playfully as she lifted her tresses, twisting to get a full view of the undeniably bright hairless side of her head, the boundary clashing with her fair European skin.

Piecing it all together Julia experienced a deep, warming swell within. She was tingly and giddy. She was biting her lip, checking herself out. Posing, modelling the look for her reflection, Heartbeat accelerating. Aroused? She gasped, almost letting out a squeal as the realisation hit. A new world was opening up to her. Freed from a timid character, time to start owning it.

Persuaded, by the most forced, unusual method, that she had the courage to be confident, possibilities started emerging. Even growing it out would put her through stages of unique styles. Shorter? Perhaps not a realistic thought, not just yet. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. The interview dawned on her again. What would that be like now? What would they say? What would her friends, neighbours and family say?

Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt.

Her phone interjected her theorising. Julia sat back, looking first at the time. Evening had turned up out of nowhere, any concept of time warped by the enormity of the day. Two notifications sat waiting. Firstly, a friend request, from… Melissa? Her barberette had tracked her down. Julia was astounded. The nerve. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to accept, in doing so leading to the second notification. Her eyes almost doubled in size when it opened, a link to ‘The Chop Shop’ business account.

Pinned to the top. The highlighted feature. Trophy piece of the salon. Julia. A whole album of pictures… of Julia. Captioned ‘A trim for this young lady. Needed to look good for her interview”, she swiped through. She didn’t even remember the photos, but sure enough, here they were. A before shot, and a myriad from after. Julia’s screen was captivating, confronting her with the evidence. Pictures of all angles: sides, back, front, one capturing her lap full of hair, a wide angle showing the full aftermath. One final tease, Melissa holding a handful up to the camera, her wide eyes and broad smile in the background.

Julia blushed, recognising her mega shearing was publicly available for all to see. The blushing wasn’t the same as before. Less humiliation, more light-hearted, almost enjoying that people would take a second glance. Would people recognise her?

“I’ll find out, I guess… I’m sure Melissa will have something to say…” Julia thought as she focused back on her interview prep, sub-consciously arranging an appointment to see Melissa after the interview, awaiting what the result might be.

6 responses to “Interview Prep

  1. This was so well written and just an utter delight to read!

    Melissa’s allure and taking charge of her prey was so exciting to imagine, and was a very evocative experience. Thank you for sharing this story!

    1. Thanks. I used a free program called ClipChamp (on Microsoft Store) that has built in text-to-speech with quite a lot of choices. It’s a basic video editor so it can all be put together in that and sound effects were mostly just downloaded from youtube videos.

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