You look around the room. You see haircuts for a mondern time. "Are there any pictures from, say, the 1950's?" you ask. "Of course," said the barber handing you a book of haircuts from the fifties. You flipped a few pages until you spotted one that you couldn't help but want. "I want this one," you say showing the barber the picture. He smiled and asked, "Are you sure? Once I start I can't stop until it's done." "Yes," you say getting into the chair. "Alright," he said putting the cape around your neck. He picked up his scissors and started cutting hair. You kept looking at the picture, not noticing the chair having to be pumped up a few times. Soon, you hear the clipping stop. You turn and see your reflection and notice that something is off. You look younger and your face doesn't look the same. Then you hear the clippers switch on and see more hair fall. You keep looking at your reflection watching your face start looking younger and younger. When you thought he was finished, you hear him say, "I'm almost done. Let me finish you off." A part of you was thinking he sounded normal while another part thought he was starting to speak with an accent. As you wondered what he meant, your thoughts were interrupted when you felt him apply some kind of gel to your hair. You look back at the mirror to see him part your hair. Then you notice that you are definately not who you started as. As the barber removed the cape, you saw how small you were. But that wasn't all. You notice that you were indeed dressed in 1950's clothes but in a British Schoolboy Uniform complete with school crest on the jacket, grey flannel shorts, and knee high socks. "What have you done to me?" you ask. Suddenly your hands shoot to your mouth because your voice sounded like a child's. Not only that, you spoke with a british accent. "Only what you wanted," said the barber with the same accent. You jump out of the chair and run to the window. You see familiar yet unfamiliar sights. The boys memory told you that you were in London. "Look," you say, "I wanted to be in the "American" 1950's." "Then you picked the wrong picture," said the barber, "You were in the England section of the book." "Quickly," you say, "Give me an Americ-" The door opened and a woman in a blue dress came in. "Oh, you're already done," she said, "How much do I owe you?" "That's not neccesary," the barber says, "It's a special offer I'm running now. All haircuts for boarding school lads are free this week." "'Lads'," you think. "Boarding School?" you say out loud. "Yes," said the woman, "If we don't hurry, you'll miss the train. Now thank the barber for your haircut, John." "Uh, thanks," you say. "You suddenly remember that the woman was your, actually, John's mother and that your name was Johnathon Cromwell. Your mother took you by the hand and led you out the door.
Where do you go next?