Do Not Want
The girl at the barbershop was giving me a beard trim and assumed I wanted a fucking goatee.
She assumed incorrectly.
So she'd had it knocked down to a respectable length — which she showed me in the mirror and I approved of. Then she tousled my hair, smiled and said "Okay… We’ll get to work on the rest of this now.". I assumed she meant my hair. Then she picked up the clippers and turned me away from the mirror. She started by trimming the stray hairs at the top of my cheeks and then pulled down way further than I’d expected.
“What are you doing?!”, I asked frantically. “Are you taking my whole beard off?!”
“No… I’m just giving you a goatee.”
“I wanted you to trim my beard, not give me a different one.”
“Oh… I’m so sorry.”
This is the first time since late 2005 that I haven't had a full beard — and I don't like it one bit. At least it didn't cost me anything.