Harry Bath - A Walking & Talking Disaster (Chapters 1-19)

HAIRCUT

Hey, I'm Harry Bath. The well meaning, but totally disastrous living embodiment of shame and misfortune, here to share with you the last two years of my adolescent life.

It's been almost a whole month since the bonfire, and things had been relatively quiet at Hall Cross Academy.

Drama was proving the toughest, mainly because of a little play called 'The Taming Of The Shrew', which according to Tim was "a load of wishy-washy Shakespearian bollocks".

Media was fine, other than Jess taking time out of her day to say "I hate you" after I accidentally made Becki cry.

And as for I.T, I'd recently had 'plagiarism' written all over my work because I had actually used some good vocabulary that seemed too good to be true coming from a Hall Cross Student.

But by far the worst part of any week in those early months of sixth form was my enrichment task, namely The Duke of Edinburgh Awards Scheme.

At the very start of the year, Miss Blake had dragged each and every form to the gym only to tell us that we had to pick an enrichment to do on a Wednesday afternoon so that we could accumulate 'UCAS Points'.

According to Bruce Forsyth, points make prizes. But for me, they made social anxiety, boredom and loss of will to live.

At the head of all things D of E was Mr. Gardham. A bespectacled middle aged man who strikes an uncanny resemblance to Tin Tin. Seriously, put some glasses on him and he's a dead ringer for Mr. G

His genius idea was for our groups to create something that we could sell on the market, and in a town where literally everybody wants something for nothing, that is extremely difficult.

What our group decided to make is clocks. Yep. In a world filled of electronics and mobile phones we decided to pin our money making hopes on a stall-full of shitty clocks.

This wasn't our only masterplan though. Oh no. Our other business enterprise was to trawl around various charity shops, looking for old furniture we could "do up" and sell on for a profit.

Now I'm no snob, but the idea of lugging knackered old tables and chest of drawers around Doncaster Town centre whilst everyone watches on isn't one that appeals to me greatly.

I suggested many times to "take the money and go on a piss up", but unfortunately my group voted against the best idea that we'd had between us all.

By late November, after two months of knocking up shitty clocks and hustling charity shops, I'd had enough, and it wasn't long before I went off the radar.

One day I just stopped turning up. Mr. Gardham chased me down until January I think, which is when I finally escaped the traumatic experience that is D of E.

Meanwhile though, immediately after deciding that D of E could S my D, I finally thought it was time to plunge new depths.

I arrived outside the hairdressers 'Anarchy' at roughly 4:00PM on 29th November 2013. But before I reached the door, I felt a strange urge to ring my best mate, just to make sure I wasn't doing anything stupid.

Tim picked up, and when I told him I was about 3 feet from a hairdressers, he didn't believe me. I then sent him a picture on my favourite app (not) Snapchat. I don't even mind that Snapchat only gives you ten seconds to view an image, because that's all I really need.

When he saw I was for real, he rung me again and the only sound I heard for around 20 seconds was laughter.

Tim pointed out that this was a big decision, and I should think carefully before subjecting my hair to its doom.

My Dad was supposed to meet me, but he was running late for a reason I can't recall. I mostly needed him for money, but more so for moral support.

You probably won't see getting a haircut as a big deal, but for me it was the beginning of a new time in my life, and the end to an era.

I'm not a very attractive person on the whole, meaning having long hair really didn't dent my repulsive looks any further. But what it did do was give me something that made me different and interesting.

When I realised that my Father wasn't going to be turning up any time soon, I entered the premises with a sort of anxiety that I can't explain without sounding properly mental.

The nice gentlemen then sat me down, and told me not to look so worried.

Don't forget, I hadn't had a haircut in 3 and a half years, meaning the prospect of anyone going near my hair was frightening to say of the least.

He again reminded me to relax, and again reassured me by saying that the scissors were only for my hair, and I should "calm down".

So down I calmed, and I slumped into the big twisty black chair and awaited my fate.

Firstly though, I had to have my hair wet, meaning I was dunked into the nearby sink like a digestive biscuit. Next was the task of getting my hair down to a level where it could be styled.

The pile of hair that was quickly amassing was both saddening and sickening simultaneously. Three years worth of life, in a heap on the floor. That was my hair's legacy.

It was a few minutes after my hair had been chopped that my Dad walked through the door. His face said it all. His first words were "oh my god" followed by "where have you put my son?!". Up until then, I didn't think I looked that bad. But I was quickly regretting what I'd done.

We styled my hair, paid the nice man, and headed to McDonald's. My Dad was awfully nice to me about how I looked, saying that I looked like a gentlemen, rather than a "disgraced hobo".

He had a point. From that day forward, people on the street smiled at me, and people in shops looked at me in a nice happy way, as oppose to staring at me like I was going to steal something or stab the nearest old lady.

So the new, regenerated Harry had safely navigated the streets. But the reaction from school was still to come.

In my barely awake state the next morning, I woke up and immediately wondered why my hair wasn't over my face. After I'd worked out that I no longer had any hair, I woke up, showered, dried and dressed, and then had literally nothing to do.

I would've styled my hair, but I had no idea how. So in the end I just lugged it to school through Hexthorpe as I had spent the previous night at my Dad's. Unbelievable. The first and best chance to make a fresh start with my hair, and I couldn't even be arsed to style it.

As I walked to the gates, a few people started to twig onto the fact I'd cut all my hair off, but it wasn't public knowledge yet.

When I arrived in the common room though, its fair to say that literally everybody noticed immediately. Tim couldn't believe I'd actually gone through with it, whereas Sid and Brandon just plain couldn't believe it.

Sid was so shocked in fact that his first request was to have a 'selfie' with me. It's also fair to say that he was more excited than I was.

Everyone else jeered and peered for all of half an hour, before I went looking for the one person I desperately wanted to see.

I found Sofia outside and approached her not knowing what to expect.

When she saw me, she was speechless for a moment, before she asked "what's this?"

I replied with "it's the new me".

She reached out, placed her hand on my shoulder, and uttered the words

"I personally liked the old you"

And with that, I was left there with the feeling that I'd actually taken a step backwards in my quest for a happy loving life that involved Sofia.

I was right. But my hair had nothing to do with it...

Thanks,

Harry.