I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET A HAIRCUT for well over two weeks. I’ve stuck my head in the barber shop several times only to discover two or three guys waiting patiently for Nick, my village’s only barber.
I am of the belief that “wait” is what broke the wagon, a saying that floats in my head thinking it applies here. It isn’t that I don’t have time to sit quietly and wait, but frankly I would rather go home and change my kitty-litter than wait for a haircut. So, I keep leaving, delaying the inevitable.
It’s just me.
Today, in the early afternoon, I went back for another try. I peered in the windows of the barbershop and to my amazement, there was absolutely no one in the shop, not even Nick. I soon learned that he was tucked in the back of the shop eating his lunch. So, I waited as he finished his sandwich, conceding that the guy needed nourishment to handle the challenge.
My old barber from years ago used to shave my neck with a straight razor using warm lather dispensed from some stainless-steel contraption. This routine was a segue to a masterful finish and it also got me contemplating a tip – not for the actual haircut, but mostly as a thank you for not cutting a deep gash in my neck, or lopping off an ear. If you want to get freaked out, just imagine a deranged barber skillfully sharpening his straight-edge razor on a leather belt asking you what you thought of Trump, or Clinton. OMG, certainly a plot for the next Halloween horror movie.
Thank goodness Nick seems to be calm, and while he does have two small children, he appears to have gotten enough sleep. I truly am thankful that he has some new electric buzzing thing-a-majig that seems to clean up my neck after the main cut. In today’s world, a straight-edge razor is not on my list of safe appliances in my barbershop.
And, yes, I still tip, if I’m not bleeding.