A Mercedes Benz drove into the mall parking lot. It stopped and a gentleman stepped out.
He was extremely well dressed - indeed, perfectly dressed - in a hand tailored Saville Row pinstriped business
suit, Armani silk tie, starched white shirt, monogrammed cuff links, silver tiepin, Cartier watch, highly
polished black captoe shoes and black silk socks. He carried a Coach leather briefcases. At the age of 52, he
had a head of thick, silver hair. He was handsome and confident. His name was Timothy Wellington. He had it
all.
He was tall, distinguished, dignified, dapper and arrogant - and he had good reason to be. He was a wealthy
investment banker and this mall was being renovated thanks to his firm. He walked through the parking lot and
headed for the new luxury food court and atrium. He was scheduled to meet other important men who would help
plan the mall's future. He entered the mall and his $800 shoes clicked along the floor. Shop owners smiled and
greeted him.
"Good morning Mr. Wellington!"
"Good to see you here, sir~"
He nodded and smiled as he walked.
Yes, the mall was looking wonderful. He knew every shop. OR - he thought he did....
When did that barber shop open? The one with the old fashioned barber pole and the dusty, dirty window.
Timothy Wellington stopped and opened the door.
A very old man in a barber smock looked up and grinned. He looked the banker over from head to foot.
"Nice to see you, SIR" said the barber.
There was something in his tone. Was it mockery?
“I am Timothy Wellington – the investment banker who is providing funds for this mall. How long have you been
here?” His tone was authoritative and his manner was smug.
"A fine pair of shoes you got there!" said the barber. "And a fine head of hair!"
The banker smelled the thick, heavy odor of oil and cologne. He was about to tell the barber to clean the shop
and scrub the windows when his head felt light.
“What is that smell?” murmured the banker.
“Walk into my shop SIR! Just breathe it in! Let it enter your lungs! That’s right! You’ll get a whole new
outlook on your life!” The barber pointed at the banker's gleaming shoes. "Those sure are FANCY shoes you got
on! So shiny I can see myself in them!"
"I...I...thank you..." said the banker. His sharp blue eyes were slightly unfocused. The sweet, sickly,
pungent odor filled his nostrils. It was repellent – yet strangely fascinating. “I…I’ll be going now”
He had forgotten why he had entered. As he left the shop as he head the barber say "Thanks for dropping by
sir! Come again boy!"
The banker looked in again and said "Did you say BOY?"
The barber just grinned and said "Enjoy your day!"
Timothy Wellington walked on. The thick air in the barber shop seemed to stay with him and he felt as if
something had entered in to his body and his mind. He then laughed it off. His mind cleared as he reached the
food court and settled into a well-made leather sofa and placed his briefcase on the low table.
Then he looked at his shoes. He noticed that what the barber said was true - they were glistening with polish.
The black leather shone. He felt the usual pride and smug self-assurance about his appearance and his
expensive clothes.
Then he noticed something else - an old man standing next to him; it was the garbage man,
and he was emptying the trash can.
"Why are you wearing those boy?" said the old man, pointing to the shoes. “You shouldn’t be all dressed up
like that! Well? Why?!”
The banker’s mouth dropped open. “WHAT?” he snapped. “Do you know who I am? How dare you say that to me! I am
Timothy Wellington – a banker!”
Then the old man said, again. "Those shoes are so expensive. Too fancy for somebody like you. A man like YOU
has no right to wear those! YOU! You didn’t even graduate from high school!”
Timothy Wellington was angry. “I’ll have you know that I…..” He was going to say he graduated from one of the
finest universities in the world, but suddenly he realized that his memories of his university days had
vanished from his mind. Instead he saw himself – was it really him at the age of 20? Yes! – scrubbing floors
in an old building.
Again that feeling of something else inside him troubled his thoughts. More memories came to him. But they
were completely new to him. His years at prep school disappeared as well. He tried to think of his early days
as a successful young hotshot. That was gone. His ex-wife had disappeared, and his growing up in a wealthy
family. He remembered growing up in a dirty, rundown house with a drunk father.
IT COULDN’T BE HAPPENING! Where was his life?
His mind was reeling. His mouth was dry. He stuttered: “Yes….you’re right. I…never graduated from high school.
I have no…no education….”
WHY DID HE SAY THAT? He struggled desperately to say “I am Timothy Wellington, investment banker!” but his
mouth would not cooperate. “I…I am….nothing, nobody important…just a dumb working man.”
Again he thought: “WHY DID I SAY THAT?”
“Because it is true” said a voice in his mind. “You never went to college. You never got an MBA. You never
became a banker. You have no assets except the clothes you are wearing. You have nothing”
“NO!” cried Timothy Wellington, out loud.
The wrinkled old man said reached over and grabbed the long, thin manicured hand of the ‘banker’.
“You ain’t never SEEN a college! You won’t be needing this anymore!” he snapped and laughed. He grabbed the
university ring from his finger and pulled it off.
“My college ring!” said Timothy Wellington. But the cloud of doubt and fear settled further into his mind. How
could he forget all about his education?
“What is happening to me?” begged Timothy Wellington.
The old man grinned. “It’s the essence of CYOC. It transforms whoever it chooses as a victim. YOU are the one
today! It loves to bring down someone who is too uppity. And you were way up there. Not anymore boy!”
“CYOC?” whispered Timothy Wellington. “So some energy is doing this to me? Destroying my identity?”
The old man said “Yup! And givin’ you a NEW one! A whole new attitude! New life! New name! New job! And
there’s no goin’ back! We were talking about those shoes you have on, weren’t we?”
Timothy Wellington struggled and wrestled in his mind. How could this be happening? His life was slipping
away, and this new personality was taking over. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The old man continued, relentless, smirking. “Those nice shoes are so shiny – MUCH too nice for YOU to wear.”
“You’re nothing. Nobody” said the voice in Timothy Wellington’s terrified mind. “How DARE you wear a banker’s
shoes and socks?”
Finally he surrendered and whispered. “Yes, they are too upper class for someone like me. I don’t deserve to
wear shoes like this. “ He felt horrified saying it – yet he knew it was true.
“Fine” the old man said. “You are learning your true place in life. Now apologize for wearing them”
“But I….” The formerly strong willed, powerful and ambitious banker looked at the old menial worker in front
of him. “Please don’t force me to…”
“I said apologize!” snapped the old man. “AND TAKE THEM OFF!”
“Please forgive me for wearing expensive shoes…” and Timothy Wellington’s voice trailed off. He reached down
and untied his $800 Italian shoes. Slowly he slid his feet out of them. He looked at the outline of his long,
thin feet through the thin black dress socks.
“Now take off your banker socks” demanded the old man.
Timothy Wellington groaned and reached under his suit cuffs and found the tops of his dress socks. He pulled
down one and then the other – over his calves, heels, soles and toes.
He was barefoot – in his impeccable pinstriped business suit.
The old man smiled, and picked up the shoes and socks.“Your transformation is just beginning. Look at
yourself! You’re two people now – Timothy Wellington, banker, and Timmy Boy - but not for long. Timmy Boy is
taking over”
Timothy looked in the large wall mirror in the food court. He was dressed to the nines – except for his feet.
The garbage man sneered “Look at that head of hair! You can’t keep that pretty hair in your new life, boy. You
know what to do! And take these shoes and socks. You know who gets them now.”
Timothy DID know what to do. He seemed to be under someone’s control. He stood up, picked up his leather
briefcase, and walked with glassy eyes into the shopping area, padding on bare feet instead of clicking on the
smart Italian shoes which he carried carefully.
He found the barber shop. He opened the door. The seductive smell hit him again. The barber looked up. He
smiled.
“Come on in boy!” said the barber with a smirk. He stared at the former banker’s bare feet and at the shoes in
his hand. “Now look what happened to those beautiful shoes you had on when you were here before. You’re
carrying them – not wearing them!”
“I…I took them off. I don’t deserve to wear expensive dress shoes. The garbage man told me to give them to
you” said Timmy boy. He obediently handed his own shoes to the barber. “And my socks are there too, sir!”
“Not YOUR SOCKS NOW! And that’s true. You DON’T deserve to wear the shoes OR socks. Teach you to be so high
and mighty. Now come in and take a seat, my barefoot boy. Time to give you a new hairstyle” The barber
laughed.
He placed the highly polished Italian shoes on a wooden pedestal on the counter that could be seen all over
the store. “I’m gonna keep these here! You can’t touch them. But you will be sad whenever you see them –
although you won’t really remember why.”
The barber took the long black dress socks and attached them to the wall with nails.
He took the former banker’s briefcase, opened it and dumped the business material out. He put it on the
counter and filled it with bottles of shaving cream and brushes.
Timmy boy sat down in the barber chair. He looked at his dazzlingly handsome face and perfect hair in the
mirror. His thick silver helmet of hair was immaculately groomed, parted down the side. He looked at his
pinstriped suit and tie and the collar of his white shirt. He looked at his socks hanging from the wall like
black ribbons. Had he been wearing those only a short time before? He looked at the beautiful shoes on the
wooden pedestal and felt the metal under his naked feet.. He sighed. The barber picked up a powerful pair of
clippers.
“You look much too good for your new life, Timmy boy – too handsome, too classy, too dignified. You don’t need
all this Silver Fox hair and all these fancy, big shot clothes anymore. I’m gonna shave your head bald”
The barber dragged a white barber cape over his business suit and tie and white shirt. It fell to his ankles.
His naked feet rested on the dirty metal pedal of the chair.
Timmy boy stared at his reflection. Part of his mind was still holding on to his old life and was horrified
that he would be shaved; he was so proud of his silver fox hair. But a growing part of him knew that he didn’t
deserve to look handsome and well groomed. The barber picked up scissors and sliced off the curtain of silver
hair at the front of his head.
Then he placed the clippers at his forehead and pushed them through,.
“I don’t deserve to wear shoes or have hair” he whispered, as tears fell down his cheek and his gleaming bald
head emerged as his full head of hair disappeared.
The silver hair fell in sheets to the ground. The barber buzzed and chopped and mowed down all of it. Then he
poured wax on what was left and the result was a shining bald dome of flesh.
“Stand up boy!” snapped the barber.
Timmy boy stood up.
“Bald and barefoot – but STILL all dolled up in those clothes! We got do something about that. You’re two
people now. You’re still Timothy Wellington for a little while, and we got something to do before he
disappears completely. Dressed to the nines! ”
The door of the shop opened. A young man who owned a health food store in the mall came in. He stopped and
stared, stunned at Timmy boy. “Mr. Wellington! Your hair is gone. Good. I envied your hair. Now your comin’
down to my level. Look at you – Mr Bigshot walking around BAREFOOT! AND THOSE ARE YOUR HIGH AND MIGHTY SHOES
ON DISPLAY!”
The barber greeted him. “Hey Jimbo – this man is making some changes in his life! You know what to do Timmy
boy”
Timmy boy said in a shaking voice to Jimbo the health food shop owner: “Please take my Cartier watch, sir. I
am no longer allowed to wear a wristwatch. It cost $4,000” He pulled off his watch and handed it to the young
store owner, who stared and then grinned.
“I’ll take it!” he snatched the watch. “And I want your car!”
The former Timothy Wellington suddenly came back. “NO – NO you can’t have my Mercedes!” But the thick, sweet
heavy air of the shop filled his nose and his mind. He crumpled. He hung his head. He pulled out the keys from
his pocket and gave them to the young man, who ran out of the shop.
The barber smiled. “Timothy Wellington won’t exist soon. The car would disappear when he does if you still
owned it. Now it belongs to him.”
“EVERYTHING! It’s all being taken! My life! It’s wrong!” cried the former banker, but the new personality of
Timmy boy created by the CYOC energy muffled and crushed his cry of independence, drowning him in his new low
status. “I…I apologize. I know that I am forbidden to drive or own a car. “
The door opened and Billy, the eccentric pet shop owner from across the mall came in. The banker had
threatened to foreclose on his shop – when he was still a banker.
“I hear there is free stuff! Too bad I missed your car” he smirked. He looked at the former banker. “Well look
at you! How the mighty have fallen! All your nice hair is gone – how does it feel to have all your hair gone
mister cueball? I asked you a question hotshot”
“Answer Billy!” the barber demanded.
Timmy boy hung his head in shame. “I...I had to give up my hair. I looked too good. It is better this way”
“That’s right” sneered Billy the pet shop owner. “And no shoes on your feet. No car. But you still have that
fancy business suit, and I need a suit. Let’s take a look”
He circled the former banker, like a cat round a mouse. He grabbed the neatly folded white handkerchief in
the suit pocket. “You used to be a real pretty boy! Started out today in a three piece suit all decked out!
Now how much did that suit cost you boy?”
The former Timothy Wellington was disgusted and outraged by the question. He tried to say “HOW DARE YOU ASK ME
THAT!” But his new Timmy Boy voice took over:
“I paid two thousand for it sir”
Billy smirked: “And you DARE to wear it?! Strip off that suit. I want it. NOW”
“Of course - I am forbidden to wear business suits. Suits are for men of quality and distinction” Timmy boy
unbuttoned the jacket of the $2,000 three piece pinstriped suit with the satin lining and removed it. He then
unbuttoned and took off the pinstriped vest.
“And drop your PANTS!”
Timothy Wellington suddenly rebelled. “No! I won’t take off my trousers in PUBLIC! This is my SUIT!”
All three of his tormentors yelled: “TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!”
Timmy boy – the former banker – unbuckled the belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pinstriped suit pants. They
dropped to the floor. He stepped out of them and handed them to Billy.
Jimbo came back to the shop “Now I own a Mercedes! Looks like the former Mr. Wellington, investment banker, is
getting undressed!”
The barber pointed at the necktie. “I get your silk necktie”
Billy, the pet shop owner pointed to the $200 shirt. “Gimme the nice white shirt boy. And the cufflinks”
Timmy Boy had to move fast to keep up. He unfastened his cufflinks. He untied the beautiful silk tie and
pulled it off. He unbuttoned the white shirt.
“Well look at the fancy underwear! Looks like silk to me!” said Jimbo.
Jimbo said “Take off your tee shirt. I want it. I always wanted a former banker’s skivvies”
The barber smirked. “What are you waiting for boy? Strip off your skivvies!”
The beaten, broken down former investment banker took off his underwear and stood naked and bald and
humiliated by the terrible force that had transformed him. The barber grabbed his designer shorts and draped
them over the mirror, along with his necktie. He pulled out a pair of coveralls.
“Put these on boy! You got a brand new job!”
Timmy Boy had almost entirely taken over the identity of Timothy Wellington. And his IQ was dropping. The
brilliant banker found his intelligence and judgment diminishing rapidly. From 135 to 80.
The barber grinned as he watched the struggle and fear. “You won’t be needing all that intelligence and
ambition now. Remember – your education doesn’t exist anymore. You are just a big dumb man who works as a
handyman in my shop. You will be shining shoes for other men and sweeping floors – but you are gonna stay
barefoot every day as punishment for your arrogance for wearing expensive shoes over the years. Your hair
will never grow back. Your gonna sleep in the back of the shop. Put these coveralls on!”
The barber went on: "You are STILL too pretty for your new life. The CYOC won't let you stay so handsome"
Suddenly the former banker's aristocratically handsome face was changing too – his nose cracked and broke and
widened. His lips grew thicker. His sharp blue eyes turned a cloudy grey. His cheekbones cracked and widened.
His cleft chin receded.
His long thin hands grew stubby and dirty. His long thin feet followed. he shrank - losing a foot in height,
from 6' 2'' to 5 feet.
the barber smiled - "Now that's better!"
Timmy Boy stepped into the dirty coveralls. His new life had begun.