Mr. Invisible by Dawn Armstrong

I thought to myself “Really! This guy is fuckin crazy!” Of course I couldn’t say it to him. He was sitting in my chair waiting for me to start cutting his hair. He was, after all, a paying client. Between the small talk we exchanged I was wondering if he was on some kind of drug. Would it be appropriate, I thought, for me to refuse to cut his hair the way he wanted me to cut it. After all, when people asked him “Who the hell cut your hair like that?” he would tell them. Do I want that type of reputation? Does it even matter? After all, I have my regular clients that know my work. But still, it’s like sculpting someone’s head and I don’t want to be thought of as a lousy sculptor. Half an hour later he looks at himself quizzically in the mirror. His head tilts from side to side and back to front. I spin him around and hand him a mirror to look at the back of his abstract head. He spins around again so he is facing the mirror. He looks up at me and I’m waiting…. He speaks. “Hmmm, I think I may have to get used to this.” And with a look of puzzlement, surprise and amusement he says “You did exactly what I asked for. You really listened to me! No one usually does.”

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