I went to a barber shop in North Park Mall in Dallas to get a haircut. When I walked in, the barber was just finishing up with someone else. Although I didn't know how much the haircut was going to cost, I sat down in the barber's chair. Even though my hair had been cut by a different barber in this same barbershop only a couple weeks before, it had already grown quite long. I told the barber I only wanted a trim. I also pointed to some hair hanging over my ears and told him I wanted it cut off.
He began cutting and asked me how I wanted it cut around my ears. I said something about it not having been cut correctly, and he said it should be pulled over the front of my ears first, and then cut. I wasn't used to having it done that way, but I told him to go ahead and do it that way.
As the barber continued cutting, several other people wanting haircuts came in and sat down to wait. Finally the barber walked away from me for a while; I just sat there reading a book. I began thinking I was actually in
Portsmouth. I thought some bands were going to be playing around town tonight. One band was "Buffalo Springfield" with Neil Young as singer. Two other professional bands were going to be playing in other places. I would like to see one. I thought one band was in the black section of town; I might want to go there. It would probably be a sellout. I might want to buy some tickets in advance and then sell them for a higher price. After I had sat here thinking quite a while about the matter, I realized one of the other people waiting to get a hair cut was a singer in one of the bands. I was intrigued by the fact.After I had waited about 15 minutes, I realized the barber had gone to eat in a neighboring room. He would sometimes walk back into where I was, but he would then go back into the other room. I had been here since around 5:30 and it was now around 6:15. When he walked back into the room again, I said, "Are you going to finish cutting my hair?"
He said he would get to it when he was good and ready. I sat for about 10 minutes more, and finally decided I couldn't wait any longer: I was going to have to leave. I stood up, took off the apron and brushed myself off. I walked over and picked up my billfold and calling cards which I had taken out of my pockets when I had sat down. As I walked toward the door, the barber ran up and grabbed me. I could tell we were going to have a struggle. He put me in a judo-hold and slung me around. I thought he was going to sling me into the wall, but instead he threw me onto the ground, then fell down on top of me and told me I was going to have to pay.
I lay wondering if I should scream to someone to call the police. The barber had no right to do what he was doing since he hadn't finished his job. Perhaps I should just pay him, call the police and have him arrested when they came.
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