At the Barbershop
It was just three days until our next exam, and I decided to go get a haircut. A friend of mine decided to accompany me, so we went together. When we arrived at the barbershop, there was blaring music that made the atmosphere lively and entertaining. The place was well lit with white walls, creating an alluring sight.
The barbers had two other customers who were already seated and getting their haircuts. We took a seat on a comfortable sofa while we waited for our turn. The sofa was so cozy that you could easily fall asleep on it. There was even a charging socket nearby, so you could plug in your phone while waiting.
My friend and I were having fun, chatting and laughing until it was finally my turn. I left my phone on the couch and walked over to the barber’s chair. He greeted me with a friendly smile and started trimming my hair, engaging in light conversation as he worked. I could see my friend occasionally glancing at his phone, and the upbeat music provided a great backdrop to our experience.
As I relaxed in the chair, I felt a sense of relief from the upcoming exam stress. Once the haircut was finished, I looked in the mirror and felt a wave of confidence wash over me.
When I returned to the sofa, I reached for my phone, only to find it missing. A knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. “Hey, have you seen my phone?” I asked my friend, who looked up with a puzzled expression.
searching his face to see if he was tricking me, maybe hiding my phone just to get me anxious. But he looked so innocent, wearing a genuinely bewildered expression. Even so, I couldn't help but pester him. “Come on, just bring out the phone so I can pay for the haircut, and then we can get going,” I insisted.
He stood firm, adamantly denying that he had taken my phone. After some back-and-forth, with hesitations and arguments, it became increasingly clear that he truly hadn’t touched it. My heart sank as I realized the worst: my phone was actually gone. It had been stolen.
I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I took a deep breath and made my way back to the barber. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I think my phone has been stolen. Did anyone see anything?”
Unfortunately, the barber's response was far from reassuring. He couldn't provide me with any reasonable or responsible reply. I could see he was busy, but the lack of help was disheartening. In that moment, a heavy sense of loss settled in. I knew I had lost something tangible, something that held not just value but many of my personal memories and contacts. I could already feel the dread creeping in, knowing there was no way I would be getting it back.
The barbers had two other customers who were already seated and getting their haircuts. We took a seat on a comfortable sofa while we waited for our turn. The sofa was so cozy that you could easily fall asleep on it. There was even a charging socket nearby, so you could plug in your phone while waiting.
My friend and I were having fun, chatting and laughing until it was finally my turn. I left my phone on the couch and walked over to the barber’s chair. He greeted me with a friendly smile and started trimming my hair, engaging in light conversation as he worked. I could see my friend occasionally glancing at his phone, and the upbeat music provided a great backdrop to our experience.
As I relaxed in the chair, I felt a sense of relief from the upcoming exam stress. Once the haircut was finished, I looked in the mirror and felt a wave of confidence wash over me.
When I returned to the sofa, I reached for my phone, only to find it missing. A knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. “Hey, have you seen my phone?” I asked my friend, who looked up with a puzzled expression.
searching his face to see if he was tricking me, maybe hiding my phone just to get me anxious. But he looked so innocent, wearing a genuinely bewildered expression. Even so, I couldn't help but pester him. “Come on, just bring out the phone so I can pay for the haircut, and then we can get going,” I insisted.
He stood firm, adamantly denying that he had taken my phone. After some back-and-forth, with hesitations and arguments, it became increasingly clear that he truly hadn’t touched it. My heart sank as I realized the worst: my phone was actually gone. It had been stolen.
I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I took a deep breath and made my way back to the barber. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I think my phone has been stolen. Did anyone see anything?”
Unfortunately, the barber's response was far from reassuring. He couldn't provide me with any reasonable or responsible reply. I could see he was busy, but the lack of help was disheartening. In that moment, a heavy sense of loss settled in. I knew I had lost something tangible, something that held not just value but many of my personal memories and contacts. I could already feel the dread creeping in, knowing there was no way I would be getting it back.
