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Hair Cut September 26, 2007

Posted by K in Fiction.

Olmert Oble wanted a hair cut, but nobody was willing to cut it for him.

The barber wanted a nap. The barber’s assistant was practicing being Head Barber by cultivating the artist’s atitude.

Olmert’s mother was a sweet old lady, but if there was one thing she stopped short of, it was wielding silver on a Wednesday.

The neighbour hesitated, but finally decided against it, because what would They Say, she an unmarried woman, and he, obviously on the lookout for a wife.

Finally Olmert came to me. Now I can do most things, and it would be a fair to assume that cutting hair would be included in my jack set.

Olmert has funny hair. Actually, he has very little hair, but most of what he has, is funny. It looks like mice have nibbled on it. It looks as if mice have had an unsatisfactory nibble at it.

When my daughter came into the room and Olmert told her that her Papa was cutting his hair, she looked startled. She took the clove out of her mouth and said, “But Papa, Olmert Oble has no hair!” And before the situation could get uglier, she stuck the clove back in, and went off to the kitchen to get more.

Olmert promised me two cans of plastic paint for my services. “I can’t pay you, you understand…you are not my barber. I cannot not pay you because you are not my friend…” He solved his moral dilemma but reaching a compromise- a can of paint for half his head. I did try to point out to him that not more than half his head needed a grooming, but he is hard of hearing at times.

Olmert picked my orange stool, and white towel. “Go, then, neighbour. Shear away, but prudently.”

And so I did. I must admit, I am rather fascinated by scissors. The shiny silver and the way they go ‘clip, clip’. My wife claims silver hypnotises me, but silly woman, there’s not much she gets right. Snip, snip, snip.

Olmert held the mirror behind his head. “Hold me head and position it, will you?”

He looked left-centre, then he looked right-centre. “Hm. You have made me rather bald, haven’t you? You Papa (to my daughter) is a particularly incapable hair dresser, isn’t he?”

Sucking on a clove she looked at him, blinking as little girls do. “Want a clove?” she asked.

“No.” he said.And picking up his hat, he turned around and left.



1. abcd - September 27, 2007

anti semite.

2. sporadicblogger - September 28, 2007

Hello, anonymous commenter, much as I appreciate anonymous comments, I expect the commenter to explain an accusation.

Anti-semite? You are calling me an anti-semite? Or are you calling the post anti-semitic? Either way, I have the same question- how?

3. abcd - September 28, 2007

i was calling the post anti-semite because it quite obviously has a life of its own where it reigns as a sort of hitleresque dictator in the atavistic world of blarf

nevertheless i appreciate your attempts at distancing yourself from such sentiments – never give up keep dreamin n do whats in your heart! cheers bro.

4. KnotKeats - September 29, 2007

How anybody could read this story and find a trace of antisemitism is beyond me.

abcd’s comment reminds me of a line of Tom Lehrer’s, “I know there are people in the world who do not love their fellow human beings, and I hate people like that!”

I’m glad you are writing these little short-short stories. I envy you your language skills. I’m not always sure what the point of the story is, but they are fun to read and they make me think.

5. sporadicblogger - September 29, 2007

abcd- I’m not sure I understand what your are saying. Anyway, thanks for stopping by. You have been here before too,haven’t you.

Knotkeats- Hello πŸ™‚ I have been a bad blogger of late, and have not been reading blogs. I have seen you are back to poetry though πŸ™‚

Often my stories don’t have a point. The first sentence just pops into my head, and I have to type it out. It is only when I have an agenda that I sit down to create a story with meaning. For this one, there was no agenda. Olmert Oble, like Malapade Tankade, had to have a story. It is about an individual in society, I don’t know if you have come across the sorts-they live in a curious bubble and are often pedantic to the point of being unbearable. He wanted a hair cut, despite the fact that he was nearly bald, he had to know what the proper payment for a neighbour cutting his hair was, he had to announce it to the daughter that the father was cutting his hair. And after the act, he had to express dissatisfaction. He didn’t even smile at the girl.

The first few sentences also make sweeping comments about superstition, human ego and social gossip/stigma.

The father is slightly psychotic, he has an unnatural fascination for scissors. I can easily see him in one of those trashy teenage horror films- the Scissor Killer

The mother is non-existent.

The daughter likes cloves and is eccentric.

Nothing more can I read into this. It’s just a blah story, in that regard.

6. wild iris - September 29, 2007

“blah”! i LIKE πŸ™‚

7. ibasu - September 30, 2007

Damn. Killer πŸ˜€
I love. I LOVE. Write more of these and publish them together?? It would make a fantastic collection πŸ™‚

8. sporadicblogger - September 30, 2007

Kriti- Thanks πŸ™‚

Indrani-that is the cousin in you speaking, and for that you get two hugs. πŸ™‚

9. ibasu - October 1, 2007

Not at all =/
I mean it, because I love it ! Hmpf ! πŸ˜› *still greedily laps up the hugs* πŸ˜€

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