Having just survived a rather hairy summer session, I made my way to the barber shop (three chairs, no waiting). The first chair, manned by the weirdly-bearded old surfer dude, was occupied by an older man who was being made to look more distinguished. The third chair, manned by the clean-cut young mountain biker, was occupied by a young Asian-american who was working on making his spiky hair even spikier. He was very particular about it, and the result was not so much a simple haircut, but a continuous dialog between barber and client, punctuated by an occasional snip snip snip. The second chair, manned by a new guy, was open, so I took it.
Halfway through my haircut, the third chair was vacated. It was soon occupied by a nine(-ish) year old boy who was waiting patiently with his mom. As he trundled over to the chair, he presented the barber with a printout from a computer, and said with a mixture of shyness and bravado, "make it like this:"
To his credit, clean-cut young mountain biker set to quite professionally, without the snicker that I would have been unable to suppress. I didn't stick around to see the result, but I was thinking that the mom would surely take a picture of the boy--and that she would have potent blackmailing ability in a few years.