But not before the State of Oregon did it first.
I visited Clairissa for my monthly lawn-mowing. She finished chatting with a customer, gave me a hug and said, “You just missed the inspectors.”
“Wha-wha-what?” I looked around.
“The health department or Board of Barbers or whatever just came through. Every place I’ve ever worked has freaked out when the inspectors come. Since I’m a new shop, I called and asked them to specifically come by and tell me if there’s anything I’m doing wrong or need to fix.”
“How did you do?”
“They only found two violations. I need to get a new type of clipper lube-”
“That sounds naughty,” I interrupted.
“-and my Barbercide has expired.”
“Barbercide? Is that what the straight razor is for?”
“No, dahling, that’s for cutting your throat if you keep making awful jokes…”
“Then what happened?”
She continued. “There were two; a jolly, Santa Claus-type guy who played good cop. The other guy was an Asian with a mullet and a mustache. He played bad cop, especially after he saw my sign.” She pointed to the desk placard that said, ‘Sorry, out of rat-tails and mullets.’
“Did he take offense?”
“Nah, but his buddy thought it was funny when he asked if he had a mullet. ‘Ohhh, yeah,’ I told him. I offered to correct it for him, free of charge. That’s when he told me that I didn’t sweep often enough, and he could cite me for that as well.”
“Did you panic?”
“Hell no! I offered him the broom and dustpan, and told him if he wanted his mullet corrected he’d have to sweep my floor first. They decided to leave. No citations.”
“And that was it?”
“No, dude, this is the best part. They saw my mannequin and started laughing. So insisted they spank my monkey.”
Clairissa has the male torso of a mannequin hanging from the ceiling, with a Curious George doll protruding from the pair of shorts. George was a little droopy at the moment. “They did what?”
“I heard one ask the other, ‘Whose underpants you think those are?’ I immediately told them they were mine, which fucked with their shit a little.” (Mannequin and George are wearing a pair of earth-colored boxer-briefs, and yes, she does wear that style. My little tomboy…) So I sprung into action.”
Demonstrating, she leapt across the room, reached into her own underpants (the ones on the mannequin) and snatched Curious George from his perch. “I held him out, and they each took a turn smacking his cute little butt.”
She offered him to me. “Would you like to spank my monkey?”
“More than you’ll ever know…”
“Okay, stand up then.”
I got up from the barber chair, let the apron fall to the floor, and looked her in the eye. She took a dog collar from her bondage case and tried putting it around my neck. “Damn, I’m gonna need a belt for you, Mister Neck.” Instead, she took some Scotch tape and attached the collar to the sides of my still hairy neck. “You make the most darling leather daddy…”
I smacked my hand with the other collar, my instrument of discipline. “Okay, just a second…” She brought out the Fuji disposable camera, and I put on my best ‘This is gonna hurt me more than it does you’ face. She snapped as I went into wind up, and we will soon see if it translated onto film or not.
I repositioned Curious George, upright in a ‘Hey look at me!’ way. I stuffed one of his little hands into the front gap of the undies, as if he was scratching some persistent itch. Speaking of persistent itches, it was time to finish my haircut.
She trimmed my neck hair, applying it to the growing ball on top of her shelf of knick-knacks. Then she saw a rogue hair on my forehead, got a funny look on her face and said, “I just can’t kill this little bugger. I’ll fix him. I’m going to put it with your others…”
Somewhere she has a long eyebrow, a chest hair, two or three forehead hairs and an electric-red pube, stashed away as keepsakes. I watched in the mirror as she leaned over me like a vampire, brought her lips together on my forehead, and used her teeth to pull this one little hair out. She fished it out from between her teeth, took a piece of tape and attached it to a spot on the shelf.
I caught my breath. “Damn, that was hot. You could have warned me…”
She winked. “You know I don’t give all my customers that kind of treatment, don’t you? Boys, anyway.” She punctuated by rubbing a steel-tipped nipple in my ear. “Look at you blush!”
As I stood, her co-worker in the other booth nudged her client, and they both gave me a combination dirty look/smile. “He’s redder than his hair!”
I’m sure I was. It was a long bus ride home…