The Parable of the Electric Razor – Prose

Hi--Here's a short story.

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Where had he misplaced the charger? Was it some exes’ house? Minnesota? for that trip with the boys? Maybe his mom and dad’s?

He couldn’t ever know, because he didn’t even know that he had lost it.

It was 10pm on a Sunday, not the usual time for a shave. He flipped open the clipper side of his electric razor and started to leave a shaggy stubble where a beard once was.

He had developed a habit of leaving the mustache for last. The habit itself came from a joke he would make back in college, where he’d slowly shave each end of the stache until only the middle, directly under his nose, was left. The thick black hair that he left was reminiscent to a German military leader, an actor, and some poor misinformed schmuck who didn’t realize that what he was doing was in bad taste.

And so, Dave did as he always does, he trimmed his entire beard, then flipped the clippers closed and shaved his entire face (sans the mustache). Once finished, he reflipped open the clippers and then slowly shaved end after end from the left and then right side of his mustache, leaving only the middle. He then walked into the bedroom, gave a half-hearted arm raise to his girlfriend, who responded with an eye roll and a sigh.

She was laying in bed, waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom so that they could go to sleep.

Dave, noticing the frustration, walked promptly back into the bathroom, reflipped open the clippers and pressed the little white button to turn the razor on. But it didn’t turn on.

He hit the button again, nothing. Again, nothing. Again, nothing.

He then shifted through some cabinets, and rustled through some baskets. “Where…” he said to himself as he pulled out drawer after drawer, revealing nothing but toothpaste, soap, and half empty boxes of q-tips.

“Uhh,” he began, “Justine?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s up?” she asked, sounding increasingly tired.

“My razor is dead.”

“So. Charge it,” she stated.

“Oh genius. Why didn’t I think to charge it. Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can’t find the charger.”

Dave heard an exasperated sigh, the sound of sheets rustling and then gentle footsteps, as Justine came into the bathroom. She shifted through the same cabinets, rustled through the same baskets, and pulled open the same drawers.

“Hm,” she said. She kept looking through the same boxes and never once looked up at Dave’s face.

“Yeah.”

“You can go to my place tomorrow morning and use mine before work?” She asked, looking through a basket of cords for the third time.

“Are you kidding? That’s way too early. I’ll just call in sick.”

“You’re going to call in sick on a Monday morning?” she said as she finally broke eye contact with the tangle of wires. Dave noticed her face soften when she looked at him. She wasn’t angry, but she didn’t find it funny either, she just looked kind of sad.

“Yeah. I don’t want to leave the house with this thing on my face.”

“Then how are you going to get it off your face?”

Dave hadn’t thought of that.

“Do you have scissors?” Justine asked.

“No, we had some but they were rusty.”

“Do your roommates have razors you might be able to borrow and then pay for?”

Dave thought of Glenn’s magnificent beard and how scruffy James’s face was. “Probably not.”

“Well, best of luck to you then,” Justine said.

“To bed?”

“Yes please.”

The next morning, Justine left for work and Dave called in sick. Justine tried to make it clear that this wasn’t a great idea, but Dave seemed self-certain.

When she left, Dave went through the bathroom for a third time, and then a fourth, and then a fifth. The charger was not there.

He took a shower, got dressed and grabbed his car keys, but then put them back down. What are the odds he sees someone he knows wherever he ends ups? Sure, this would have been funny for a 19-year-old, but Dave was older now, and it seemed less like a joke and more like an active decision.

But at the same time, he couldn’t live like this. For one, he didn’t have enough sick days. And for two, he really hated how well the mustache accentuated his cheekbones.

“Well,” he sighed to himself. He picked the keys up and headed out the front door.

It was 11am and the Target one town over had a self-checkout line. He was certain the razors would be in the middle area, near all the hair driers. He was never one for razors that required blades. They seemed like such a money sink. But right now, the $90 extra dollars he’d have spent on blades in life seemed worth it.

It was a fourteen-minute drive to Target, but he spent thirty in the car. Most of the time was spent sitting in the parking lot doing mental gymnastics to decide if it was worth him going in.

Eventually he worked up the courage and got out. He got several sharp looks rather immediately. Just about anyone who walked by gave him the side-eye. When he made it inside, it didn’t get any easier. The customer service representative came from behind the returns section at the front of the store and politely asked him to leave.

“No, see, I was shaving and my razor died, so I am here to buy a new one.”

The man stared at Dave and the thick mustache. Oddly, it looked right at home on Dave’s face. It framed his nose and his thin upper lip in such a way that it balanced out his facial features. It looked too natural.

Dave was escorted out by security that he didn’t realize Target even had.

Dave was shocked that this happened so quickly, it seemed like the sort of thing that could only happen in a story, but sure enough, here he was.

He walked back to his car, and found the entire driver’s side door keyed. Several people had seen him walk in, and now he started to wonder who could’ve done it. He quickly shook his head of the thought, there was no way to know and no reason to guess.

Dave drove back home, not as upset as he should be and ordered an electric razor on Amazon.

He then responded to some emails from work. Made some phone calls. Cleaned most of the house. And then watched TV.

Justine came by unexpectedly with a can of chicken noodle soup at 6pm.

“Heard you were sick,” she said as she walked up behind him.

“Ha. Ha,” he said, as she made her way around the couch.

“Why didn’t you shave?”

Dave told her what happened.

“Then just go to a different store?”

“Honestly, I was kind of mad about getting keyed.”

“That’s fair,” Justine began, “but at the same time it makes sense.”

“Why’s that?”

“I mean, you look like a Nazi.”

“So?”

“That’s a perfectly good reason to key a car.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean…”

“Are you for real?” Dave said, “there’s no good reason to key someone’s car. Not ever.”

“Would you key Hitler’s car?”

“That is, in no way, the question.”

“So, given the opportunity you would not key Hitler’s car?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I’d key Hitler’s car,” Justine said.

“That just seems like a good way to make someone who hates the world, hate the world even more.”

“You’re right. But at the same time, screw someone who hates the world enough to kill a large percentage of it.”

Dave was quiet.

“So, are you calling in sick tomorrow?”

“I’m just going to quit.”

“Funny.”

“No, I don’t want to call in sick. But what am I going to do?”

“I guess we can go pick one up for you and by that, I mean: you hide in the car while I get one, and then we can grab dinner, if you want.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Dave and Justine got into Dave’s car, they drove to the local Target, bought a razor. Dave flipped open the clipper section, and, using the mirror on the sun visor while Justine held a bag under his chin, removed the entire facial affront with a single pass.

He then closed the clipper and shaved away the stubble. They went to dinner, but broke up two weeks later as was statistically predictable due to their age.

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Hope you enjoyed!

Have a great week.