North Ireland in the late seventies
Because the night belongs to the IRA!
Chief O’Conner has released Lynn for the rest of the week.
The next morning she stands in front of the mirror and tries to make something out of her cut hair. No chance, I have to go to a hairdresser, maybe he can save something.
She puts on a headscarf and leaves the apartment.
Which hairdresser? She has never been to a hairdresser.
She walks aimlessly through the neighborhood.
Here? No! Maybe here? No, I don’t want to go to the hairdresser.
But I have to. What am I saying?
O’Brady`s since 1948 hairdresser + master wig maker
She opens a shop door, an older tall woman behind the counter.
Lynn looks around briefly, women on the right, men on the left.
On the right she sees two women sitting under hoods.
“Do you want?” Asks the woman. “I would like to have an appointment.”
“Gladly, when would it be right?” Lynn hesitates. “Maybe it’s the same?”
“Hm. What should be done? Wash, cut, blow-dry? Unfortunately, that won’t work. But tomorrow. ” Lynn takes off her headscarf.
“But child, what did you do with your hair? Did you get under a lawn mower? ”Examining, she reaches for 3 cm short hair on the front of her forehead.
“You can only make a short haircut out of it. If you don’t mind being served in the men’s department, you can take a seat straight away. ”Without waiting for Lynn’s answer, she pushes Lynn to the left to the first chair by the window.
“The men’s salon is at least empty,” she thinks.
“Here, please.” Her strong hands grasp Lynn’s shoulders and push her back so that the completely stunned Lynn lands on the barber chair.
“Alfred!” She calls back. “Customers!”
She pulls a crepe paper off the roll and puts it around her neck. A large white cape waves her and is buttoned up. An older man appears.
“You know, here in the men’s salon, my husband, Mister O’Brady,
“Look Alfred, the lady has blended something.” She explains to the old man while combing Lynn’s brown hair. Alfred examines them and he also firmly believes that a short haircut is the only salvation.
“How short do you have to cut it?” Asks Lynn and sees her shoulder-length hair on the sides. The old woman grabs her short hair again at the front. “If it weren’t for it, maybe we could do something with a perm. But so … ” Without further answer to her question, Lynn’s barber chair is jerked up. While Alfred is combed her hair back, he sprays it wet with a water bottle.
Since Lynn has never been to a hairdresser, she has no idea what to expect.
Of course, she has seen many women with short hair, but mostly older people. Some even wore their hair so short that their ears were cut freely. They looked in their eyes as if they had been to a barber. That would never be an option for her as a long hair fan.
The majority of women wore shoulder-length hair, or like them, really long. But where am I sitting here?
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Alfred connecting a cable from a motor hanging from the ceiling to a strange device.
“Now head forward, please,” she hears Misses O’Brady say, two hands grasping her head and pushing it into the desired position. An electric motor hums and a comb runs into her hair from below. A short whir as the knives of the machine run along the comb and cut off the brown hair hanging out. Again and again the comb runs into her hair from below and the whir again and again, every time a little higher. At the back, the thick brown hair falls to the floor. Only the few millimeters short stubble, corresponding to the thickness of the comb, remain.
Uniformly short to the very top and Lynn sits on this armchair with her head tilted far forward and has no idea what the old man is doing with her hair.
“So now keep your head to the left and forwards.” And his wife brings Lynn’s head into the new position in which she still doesn’t see anything.
With the comb, he picks up the entire side of her hair and lifts it up over her ear. A good 15 cm of her damp hair pattered onto the cape with a pull of the machine. Now she sees the long, damp strands falling on the cape below her.
What is he doing? But the comb starts higher after every move with the machine. Her head is pushed to the other side, no chance of escaping those hands. From the corner of her eye she can look out the window. In front of it are some children and adolescents who are extremely amused watching the procedure and laughing. That is so embarrassing.
Finally your head straight. Lynn sees herself in the mirror. Fear!
Your ears! Big and clear to see. Both sides shaved short to the very top. My hair! Where’s my hair !? But Alfred runs his comb into her hair from the front, lifts her 1 cm. And now she sees the machine. A train with the knives and the hair sticking out of the comb falls over her face.
He shaves my bald head My ears! Big and clear to see. Both sides shaved short to the very top. My hair! Where’s my hair !? But Alfred runs his comb into her hair from the front, lifts her 1 cm. And now she sees the machine. A train with the knives and the hair sticking out of the comb falls over her face.
He shaves my bald head!
Now everything is too late! Stunned she has to watch in the mirror how her hair is trimmed on top of 1 cm Mecki.
After an eternity it is over and Alfred opens her cape and removes the ruff. Lynn tries to jump up, but Misses O’Brady stops her.
“Just a moment. My husband would like to clean the contour a little more.
You should look really chic.”
Her armchair is pumped up further, then she sees the opened razor knife in his hand. Fear turns into panic, but on the outside it remains completely motionless.
The knife attaches to her neck and cleanly scrapes off any brown stubble that the machine has left underneath her earlobes.
Misses O’Brady takes the cape off Lynn and holds the hand mirror behind her.
“Doesn’t that look lovely!” She shouts.
Alfred is also enthusiastic and runs his palm over her ultra-short Mecki.
The headscarf is put on just two steps away from the salon, and Lynn takes an oath: I will never enter a hair salon again in my life!
Just a day later, she appears again in full uniform on the guard.
When she takes off her hat, they all stare at each other.
Of course, the whole story got around quickly.
Lynn sits silently at her desk. There is a ghostly silence.
The first claps, the others join in.
It is respect for their courage. Tears run down her face.
Especially the male colleagues tell her that they are their ultra short
Find the pixie cut really great and he looks really good on her.
One even asks: “May I feeling over it?”
Now Lynn has to laugh: “Of course you can.”
The spell is broken.
After 6 months, her hairstyle no longer has anything to do with a Mecki and a colleague slides a note to her.
Another two months later, she stands in front of the address on the crumpled slip of paper. And that’s where she meets Dave.
And a short haircut is the perfect reason to visit a hairdresser often and regularly without it being conspicuous! And that now for almost 5 years.
(Actually, the story could finally be finished, but now we’re back in the present and it would be a shame if we missed something.)