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You ever notice how barbers have this magical mirror they show you at the end? It's like the "before and after" reveal on a home improvement show, but for your head. They spin you around like you're about to enter a new dimension, and there it is—the masterpiece or the disaster, depending on their mood that day. I always feel like I should applaud or give a speech, like, "I'd like to thank my barber for not turning me into a walking meme today." And then you're expected to gaze at yourself in the mirror for a solid minute, appreciating their work. Meanwhile, I'm just hoping my hair grows back fast in case I need to go into hiding.
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Barber shops are like therapy, but with more hair. You sit down, and suddenly, your life story spills out faster than the hair falling to the floor. My barber is like a silent confidant, listening to my deepest secrets while pretending to care about the weather. And don't get me started on the small talk. They always ask, "Any plans for the weekend?" and I'm like, "Yeah, I plan to avoid any social situations where people can see the disaster you're about to create on my head." But I smile and nod because, in the barber shop, honesty is optional, and flattery is the key to a good haircut.
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You know, the moment you step into a barber shop, time works differently. I swear, they have a time machine hidden in there somewhere. You sit down, and suddenly, you're transported to the 1950s. There's always that one old guy in the corner who's been waiting since the Cuban Missile Crisis, and he's got stories that make your life sound like a children's book. I asked my barber once why the wait is so long, and he said, "It's the time vortex, my friend. Once you're in, minutes become hours, and your plans for the day become a distant memory." So now, I bring a book, a snack, and a survival kit, just in case I get stuck in the 1980s next time.
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You ever notice how going to the barber shop is like entering a whole different universe? I mean, it's the only place where you willingly put your head in someone else's hands and hope for the best. You sit down, they throw that cape around you like you're about to reveal your superhero identity, and suddenly, you're at the mercy of the person behind the scissors. I went to my barber the other day, and he asked me, "What are we doing today?" Now, I don't know about you, but when a barber asks me that, I feel like I'm on a game show, and the wrong answer means I'll be stuck with a haircut that will haunt me for weeks. "Survey says... no mullet, please!
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