The Barbers

Yesterday I went to the barbers.

I can only liken the experience to the kind of thing that a science fiction writer of the 1960s might have scribbled down when they were drunk, and then the following morning they looked at their notebook and read:

The year is 2020 - disease is rampant as a pandemic rages across the globe. Hairdressing is rendered difficult but not impossible, with customers having to squirt alcohol cleansing formulas onto their hands with a foot pump when they enter, and then write down their name and address for the benefit of the health authorities. They must wear a mask as their hair is cut, and preferably pay with a card that allows you to give money via computers, although cash is acceptable for some hairdressing businesses if it is left alone long enough for the germs to die away. As each man's hair is cut, the sound of repetitive plastic electronic music fills every one of these places, and everybody is droning on about football.

...Then they'd rip that up and chuck it in the bin for being stupid.