After I graduated from college I worked for a manufacturing company located in a town an hour north of my home. In that town was an old barber with a one-chair shop in the back of his house, and who the locals told me charged only $5.00 for a haircut. "Wow," I thought, "that's quite a bargain."
Feeling adventuresome, I stopped by one day after work, and submitted to his tonsorial treatment. All was well, until he trimmed the hair above my collar. I heard his gently buzzing electric clipper make a brief noise that sounded like it jammed, then it resumed its bee-like droning. Strangely, after he finished, he did not offer a hand-mirror so that I could see the back of my head, but that was alright because what I could see looked good.
When I got home, my wife positively appraised my cut, until I passed by her and she got a look at me going away. "Oh, my goodness, what happened!" It turns out that the barber took an inch-high hunk out of the hair along my neckline. That explained the noise that I heard, and his failure to offer me a hand-mirror.
The next day at work my boss grinningly-recognized that I had patronized this particular barber, and subsequently informed me that the old gentleman suffered from occasional involuntary twitches in his right hand. "Why didn't anyone tell me that," I asked. "What," he replied, "and miss this fun?"