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That Saturday in March when the clippers died and the shop turned into group therapy
So this goes back to a Saturday afternoon in March, back when I worked at a four-chair shop in Toledo, and the day was already strange from the start. We had a walk-in rush of 17 guys crammed in the waiting area by 11 am because the barber down the block had a plumbing bust and sent everyone our way. Around 2 pm my senior clipper just quit in the middle of a fade, and I had no backup blade except this dull spare in the drawer. The guy in my chair, a retired mailman named Walt, laughed and said he'd been through worse at the post office, so he sat there patient while I finished the edge with a straight razor and some sheer nerve. My boss dug out an old Oster from the back room that hadn't run since the 90s and we got it humming after cleaning out a nest of hair clippings. Funny thing is, that chaos made the whole crew closer than any slow Tuesday ever did, and we ended up splitting a pizza at 8 pm after the doors locked. Anyone else remember a shop day that fell apart in the best way possible, and what did you do about the dying tools?
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