Angry Barber

I asked for my cut hair and he went ballistic. It's on the floor, full of bacteria, he said I want to sell it online if I become a famous writer, I explained. You'll spread disease, you fiend. Where are you going to keep it? In a bowl, I said.
Which you will use to hold soup for guests and they will see one hair floating to the top and vomit. You beast.
By then his face was flushed and he gasped for breath. I told him to calm down. he called me a hair molester. People heard from outside and charged in. One held a crucifix inches from my face. Demon! he cried.
Call my old barber, I pleaded. He fell and broke his hip, the angry barber shouted. You cursed him.
Feeling threatened, I ran out the door, not before hearing the guy ask, sure you don't want a shave, Spawn of Satan.