Cut

I had my hair cut on Saturday morning, and in the process I discovered that the staff at my local barber shop have been replaced by pod people.


Normally when I go in to get my hair cut, around once a month, I'm treated with bland, indifferent politeness. They sometimes have a vague recollection of how I like my hair, but I usually have to remind them of the details.


This time was different. A new girl, possibly the commander of the pod people, offered me a seat and threw an apron around me. A moment later the senior barber bustled up and cried, in a tone usually reserved for long-lost brothers, “Well g'day stranger! We haven't seen you in ages! How have you been?”

“Er... I've been fine... thanks,” I replied, completely thrown.

“What have you been up to? And who's been cutting your hair?”

“Um... I was in around three weeks ago."

"Really?"

"Maria's done my hair the last two times.”

"Oh, okay. Espresso?"

"What?"

"Would you like an espresso?"

"Er... yes? Please?"

"I'll go get that for you. You just sit there and relax!"


And so a few minutes minutes later there I sat, sipping the first espresso I've ever been offered in all the years I've been going there, wondering exactly which beloved customer they'd mistaken me for. However they remembered the details of how I like my hair cut, so maybe they did actually know who I was.


I can therefore only conclude that they are pod people, perfect replicas of my barber and his staff but from an alien species unfamiliar with the human emotion of “disinterest”. Presumaby they have the twin aims of destroying all humans and achieving excellence in customer service.