A Pinch Of Assault

(I am an independent contractor in a barbershop. This means that, while I am a representative of the shop name, I build my own clientele, keep my own cash box, and pay the shop out rather than the other way around. The owner recognizes that we all are independent people and have different methods of building our clientele. Some can rattle off past haircuts, building an important rapport; I cannot. My memory is awful on the best days, and I have a hard time connecting 200+ heads to cuts monthly. Many of my clients understand this, due to working with the public themselves, and know I like confirming information, anyway, to ensure the best cut. I build my rapport with my clients through comics books, video games, horror, and the mouth my sailor father gifted me. I had one client yesterday that decided that wasn’t good enough.)

Client: *sits* “You remember my haircut, right? It’s easy!”

Me: “Sorry, [Client], you know my brain isn’t wired that way. I remember you, of course. Your haircut, not so much.”

Client: “What would it take for you to remember it, huh?”

Me: “Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do. There are maybe four cuts in the last six years that I can remember consistently, and even then, I always double-check in case I remembered an old cut, instead.”

Client: “What if I pinched you? You’d remember it then, right?”

Me: “What? Dude, you’d just be the d**k that pinched me. That’s all I’m going to remember.”

Client: “I think it’s worth a shot.”

Me: “I actively have sharp objects in my hand. Don’t pinch me.”

(The rest of the haircut goes through a similar conversation, him amused, myself annoyed. I finish the cut and he hands me his payment.)

Client: *pinches my arm as soon as he lets go of the money* “Pinchy!”

Me: *swats* “Ay, a**hole!”

Client: *running out the door, giggling* “Next time, you’ll remember!”

(It’s been fifteen hours. I’ve already forgotten his haircut.)

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