Prompt and Circumstance

Shearly Beloved

'buzzer' (June 10-12, 2016)

Confidence. That's the first thing. Have to get a grip on my own and theirs too, straight up. Gotta smooth out their fears before their 'wobblies' take a hold and became fully fledged terror.

He thought at length of ways to distract his lambs to the slaughter. A spot of casual conversation, maybe - anything that worked to lull them into a more relaxed position. A joke might do it. Even if they didn't appreciate the humour in the midst of their fears, temporary relief was a possibility. He knew, from years of practice, how difficult it was operating on an unwilling victim.

Skill? No worries there. I'm damn good at my blades - ALL of them. And let's face it, I have quite a collection.

From the beginning, when he first chose the path he would walk, despite its unpopularity, he had taken inordinate pride in having the blades with highest standard of polish, the sharpest edges to be honed with ultimate precision. And he'd achieved each and every degree with his own obsessed efforts. The old-fashioned cut-throat razor gave him particular satisfaction.

And the chair he used for manipulation of his quaking captives. Did they appreciate the thought and expense involved in procuring an authentic antique like that? Never. They were usually too busy squirming in dread or frozen stiff with apprehension - eyes fixed straight ahead as if expecting their worst nightmare to come true.

His mind wandered to the names he'd considered to describe his exploits. A few classic twists had first caught his attention, like -

A Midsummer Night's Dreads, and
Nearer My Shears to Thee, and
Head Hunters,

but he'd found himself unable to go past the most apt for his particular calling -

Cut It Again, Sam,

and his decision was made.

And another thing. He hated buzzers with a passion close to paranoia. The noise grated on his senses for some reason. Not like the clean, silent cut of a razor, he thought, the steady snip of the scissors, and he twitched his lips and smiled. His choice of a recording of a prize-winning Barber's Quartet warbling instead, had been easy.

In place of a buzzer,

'Down—by— the— old—Mill—Stream-m-m-m,
Where—I— first—met—you-u-u-u... '

greeted each customer as they came through his door. There'd be no monotony at his place... he had a collection of other popular top-liners to swap around, like -

'Yes Sir, That's My Baby', and
'I've been Working on the Railroad', and
'Wait 'Til the Sun Shines Nellie', and
'Sweet Georgia Brown', and a heap of others.

Returning customers would always have something pleasant to remember him by... apart from that superb haircut. Oh yes, and a shave, maybe. And don't forget the snip of nose and ear hairs, and tidy of shaggy eyebrows on some of his older customers—

BZZ-ZZ-ZZ-ZZ-ZZ... What the devil? Oh no-o-o! With ultimate pain, he realised he'd totally forgotten the timer he'd set to remind him to unlock the front door and put the sandwich board advertising his new shop out on the pavement.