(Interior of a suburban hairdressing salon. A customer comes in. The barber is standing in a white coat washing his hands at a basin. His hands and lower arms are thoroughly covered in blood.)
Customer: Morning.
 |
Barber: (turns around, flinching) Ah... good morning,
morning, sir, morning, morning.
I'll, um, ah, be with you in a minute. (Seems embarrased
by the blood on his hands, turns quickly back to the
basin.) Customer: Fine, fine. |
(Customer sits in barber's chair. Barber carries on washing, trying frantically to get the blood off. Barber turns and smiles humourlessly at customer. At last he has finished washing. He dries his hands thoroughly, turns and comes over to the customer. There are very obvious blood stains on his coat and his lapel is torn off. One stain could be the mark of a bloodstained hand which has slipped down the length of it.)
| (He picks up a sheet and shakes it out. Sound of heavy objects falling on the floor. He throws it around the customer. As he knots the sheet at the back, he is about to pull it tight and strangle the customer. His face sweats, a wild look in his eyes. Then with a supreme effort he controls himself. Customer smiles reassuringly at him.) |  |
Barber: Um, how... how would you like it, sir?
Customer: Just short back and sides please.
Barber: How do you do that? (sudden apprehension in his voice)
Customer: Well it's just... ordinary short back and sides...
Barber: It's not a, uh, a... razor cut? (suddenly, losing control) Razor, razor razor razor cut blood spurt artery murder... (controlling himself) Oh thank God, thank God. (sigh of relief) It's just a scissors...
Customer: Yes... (laughs halfheartedly, thinking the barber must be having a sick joke)
Barber: (lowered voice)You wouldn't rather just have it combed, would you sir?
Customer: I beg your pardon?
Barber: (conspiratorily, trying to warn him off) You wouldn't rather forget all about it?
Customer: No, no, no, I want it cut.
 |
(At the word Cut barber winces.)
Barber: (suddenly)Cut, cut cut cut cut cut blood spurt artery murder Hitchcock Psycho blood Dammit!... (regains control) right sir... I'll, um... well ... (swallows hard) I'll just get e-e-everything ready. |
Customer: Good.
Barber: In the meantime perhaps you could fill in one of these.
| (He hands him a bit of paper then goes to a cupboard
and opens it.)
Customer: All right, fine, yes. (On the inside of the door there is a large medical chart labeled: 'Main Arteries'. His shaking hand traces the arteries and he looks occasionally back at the customer.) |  |
Customer: Excuse me, er...
Barber: (slamming the door shut, turning quickly) What?
Customer: Where it says: 'next of kin' shall I put 'mother'?
Barber: Yes, yes yes yes yes yes yes. (turns back to cupboard and continues looking at chart)
Customer: Right, here we are.
(Barber turns around, shutting the cupboard again. The customer hands him the form)
Barber: Thank you. (tears up the form and throws the pieces over his shoulder detachedly) Right!
 | (He gets scissors and comb ready and, laughing, comes up behind the customer. He tries several times to begin cutting, but each time, he tries to stab the customer with the scissors.) |
| (After controlling the third attempt, he goes to the cupboard again, gets a whisky bottle out and takes a hard swig. He laughs halfheartedly and tries to come up behind the customer again. He rushes him with the scissors and just barely manages to not hit him. Whistling, he fakes a few quick snips and steps back quickly.) |  |
Barber: There, I've finished.
Customer: What?
Barber: I've finished cutting,(getting carried away again) cutting cutting cutting cutting cutting cutting, your hair. It's all done.
Customer: You haven't started cutting it!
Barber: I have! I did it very quickly, your honour... sir! Sir, Sir, sir.
Customer: (getting rather testy) Look here old fellow, I know when a chap's cut my hair and when he hasn't. So will you please stop fooling around and get on with it!
(The barber bends down to the floor and drags out a tape recorder which he places behind the barber's chair, talking as he does so.)
 | Barber: Yes,
yes, I will, I'm going to cut your hair, sir. I'm going
to start cutting your hair, sir, start cutting, now!
(He switches on tape recorder and then he himself cowers down against the wall as far from the chair as he can get, trembling.) |
Tape Recorder: Nice day, sir,
Customer: Yes, flowers could do with a drop of rain though, eh?
Tape Recorder: (snip, snip) Did you see the match last night, sir?
Customer: Yes. Good game. I thought.
Tape Recorder: (snip, snip, snip; sound of electric razor starting up) I thought Hurst played well sir.
Customer: (straining to hear) I beg your pardon?
Tape Recorder: (razor stops) I thought Hurst played well.
Customer: Oh yes ... yes ... he was the only one who did though.
Tape Recorder: Could you put your head down a little, sir.
Customer: Oh, sorry, sorry. (his head is bowed)
Tape Recorder: I prefer to watch Palace nowadays. (electric razor starts up again) Oh! Sorry! Was that your ear?
Customer: No no ... I didn't feel a thing.
(The customer turns around to look at the barber as he speaks, only to see the tape recorder. He looks over towards the far wall and sees the cowering barber. Angered, he bursts out of the chair)
Customer: Hey now, what's going on? I came here for a haircut!
Tape Recorder: Yes, it's a nice spot, isn't it.
Barber: (pathetically) It looks very nice, sir.
Customer: (angrily) It's exactly the same as when I first came in.
Tape Recorder: Right, that's the lot then.
| Barber: (comes over, switches off the tape recorder) All right... all right, I confess I haven't cut your hair ... I hate cutting hair. I have this terrible un-un-un-un-un-un-uncontrollable fear whenever I see hair. When I was a kid I used to hate the sight of hair being cut. My mother said I was a fool. She said the only way to cure it was to become a barber! So I spent five ghastly years at the Hairdressers' Training Centre at Totnes! Can you imagine what it's like, cutting the same head for five years?! I didn't want to be a barber anyway. I wanted to be a lumberjack.... |  |
(And if you think I'm going to include the goofy lumberjack song and spoil this nice sketch about a homicidal maniac, you're crazier than I am.)