The Haircut Story Site

Just an Old Fashioned Barbershop by Skinned21

I want to tell you about a most memorable experience during my senior year in highschool in Southern California. There was a group of guys on our baseball team standing in a circle as Jennifer and I got to the school parking lot on a Thursday morning. As usual, I was almost late getting there, so I was surprised they were still milling about. I was wondering whether some freshman hadn't scratched a team member's car and was about to get pummeled. Few other events could have attracted the attention of these guys in this particular place. Don't get me wrong. I'm on the baseball team too, but at times my teammates can act like Neanderthals. I parked and opened up Jennifer's door. I walked over to the group, but Jennifer walked on inside by herself. Dave, Randy, Frank, Jason, Greg and Pete were all swarming around Scott, who was in the middle of the circle. Everyone there was on the baseball team, so was it a matter of one team member had scratched another team member's car?

I was wondering what was going on when it became immediately obvious. If I hadn't known Scott since we were both in elementary school together, I probably wouldn't have been able to recognize him. Scott, Mr. GQ, now looked as though he could be in a Marine Corps recruiting commercial. The seven or eight inches of that oh so carefully styled, center-parted hair on top was almost entirely gone. And all the hair on the back of his head was completely gone. In fact, it looked as though it had been shaved with a razor. What's more, it was really obvious he had just gotten a haircut because there was very white skin on his head next to the dark tanned skin that can only come from an active outdoor life in Southern California. Lately guys have been getting short haircuts and I figured Scott had just decided to go for that trend -- with a vengeance. "Hey, Randy, what's up with Scott?" I asked. He started to snicker and said, "Looks like somebody got him mixed up with a sheep." "Actually, I think it looks pretty good," I said. I liked the short hair trend and was seriously thinking of having mine cut short ÷ though I wasn't sure I wanted to go as short as Scott had just done. "You do?" Jason said as he turned around. I could see from Jason's face that I wasn't the only one. "Yeah," I said. "And actually I bet you do too, Randy." "No way, not me," Randy said. I looked carefully at Randy for a moment and said, "Maybe you're right. You shouldn't get a haircut because you're so ugly you need all the hair you can get to cover everything up." Jason just laughed, but Randy wasn't too happy.

About this time Jennifer came back with Marsha, Scott's girlfriend. "Ok, guys, you need to hurry up and get inside before you're late. If you don't, you know coach will be on your case for being late," Marsha said. Amazingly, that seemed to do the trick as the group broke up and everybody headed to class. Jennifer and I walked together with Marsha and Scott inside the school. "Were they giving you a hard time back there?" I asked Scott. "Nah," Scott scoffed. "And, by the way, I think the haircut looks great," I told Scott. "What do you two think about it?" I asked Jennifer and Marsha. "I love it," Marsha piped up quickly, and she put her hands up on Scott's head and rubbed it. "Feel those bristles!" "Ok," I said laughing as I reached over to rub Scott's head. Scott just slapped my hand away. "Ouch," I said laughing even harder, feigning injury. Scott was grinning as I looked at him. "What if I got my hair cut like Scott's?" I asked Jennifer, hoping she would have half the positive reaction Marsha did. She shrugged and said, "It's your hair." That's it? I thought. No more reaction than that? But she doesn't hate it and doesn't forbid it. That settles it, then, I thought. I'm gonna do it.

"Where'd you go to get it cut?" I asked Scott as we walked inside the building. Scott was still grinning, staring at Marsha and not paying one bit of attention to me. Who could blame him? It was time to go to class and I could find out more later. Lunchtime came before I knew it. There was a group of us who always ate lunch together. And of course Scott would be there as usual so I'd have a chance to ask where he went to get the cut. I couldn't imagine he went down to the mall to his usual stylist, Kelly, who was not much older than we. I had never been to Kelly, but rather I'd go with my father to an old- fashioned barbershop. I liked my father's place, but I could definitely see the attraction to the place Scott went as well, namely Kelly and having her personal care. And besides the obvious benefits of Kelly, Scott was always very careful to keep his hair perfect. Or at least he used to be. Things had changed in the last 24 hours ÷ or so I thought. "Hey, bro', where'd you get your hair cut?" I asked Scott. "Keep it down, Kurt," Scott said. "Why? What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't want Marsha asking or knowing about where I went," Scott said. "Huh? What is it, some kind of deep dark secret?" "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I'd appreciate it if you would treat it that way," Scott said. "Ok. You know me, Scott. If you don't want me to tell anybody, then I won't." "All right, all right. I went to Bikini Beach Babes Barbershop," Scott said softly. I blurted out a laugh that could probably be heard all the way to the barbershop itself. Scott was really embarrassed as heads turned our way. I was trying to keep down the laughter, but it wasn't easy. "You went where?" I asked, trying to control my laughter. "You heard me," Scott said. I laughed even harder though not as loud. Heads were still turned our way. "Bikini Beach Babes Barbershop," I whispered softly laughing under my breath. "Is this for real?" "Yeah, it is," Scott said, motioning me to tone it down. "Ok, I won't tell anybody else," I said walking away, still laughing. That was definitely not Scott's normal stylist and it definitely wasn't the type of old- fashioned barbershop I was used to going to with my father. I could imagine the stylist Scott normally went to down in the mall in a bikini. That vision made me smile.

After a few minutes I regained my composure and came back. Everybody was there at the table by now and Jennifer asked me, "You're never late to lunch on purpose. Where have you been?" Jennifer is the very maternal type and didn't mean it in a nagging way. She probably had even begun to worry about me. "I had to make a telephone call," I said. I sat down between Jennifer and Scott at the table. I turned to Scott and said softly so as not to be overheard above the din in the cafeteria, "Now that I've thought about what you said, I understand completely." Scott just looked at me and nodded his head one time. After a moment Scott asked, "So when are you going?" "I just made the call to go tomorrow afternoon after school. Seems they're pretty booked up." Scott looked up me and grinned. "You'll understand why tomorrow afternoon. And they say you need an appointment and you'll get there and find out the appointment doesn't mean squat." That puzzled me and then I said, "And, Scott, same goes for no word to Jennifer, right?" Scott looked at me knowingly and nodded. Jennifer looked over at me and said, "What are you two whispering to each other about? You cooking up some kind of conspiracy?" "Nooo," we both intoned. No conspiracy, I thought, just a little bit of fun.

Thursday night I had the strangest dream I've ever had in my life. I was nervous enough about getting the haircut, but I became a bit worried about how I expressed my anxiety. I'm not normally into psychological mumbo-jumbo, but this dream even had me a bit worried. In the dream, I went to the barbershop expecting to see Kelly, the stylist Scott normally went to, dressed up in a bikini. That was a very pleasant expectation. So I went bounding through the door and what did I see? Mr. Rossi was smoking a cigar, puffing big rings of smoke, with a huge, long ash on the end of the cigar. All of this is normal for him. But what wasn't normal: He was dressed in a bikini. MR. ROSSI WAS WEARING A BIKINI! My jaw fell open and Mr. Rossi asked, "What, don't you like it? We thought we'd get more business this way, especially from you young guys." Mr. Giardini, who is about 100 pounds overweight, was also dressed up in a bikini. He motioned for me to come over and sit down in his chair, but I turned away to leave. My father, though, was right in back of me and won't let me leave. He had me by my arm and said, "Young man, you need a haircut. A real man's haircut." But his words weren't coming out at normal speed. It's as though a recording had been slowed down and then afterwards, everything else was moving really slowly too. My father turned me around as Mr. Giardini was getting up out of the chair and as he did, his big belly started to move up and down. And, as if this wasn't enough, Mr. Rossi's nephew, Rocco, who was training to be a boxer, came out of the back wearing boxing gloves and a bikini. That was it. I had to wake up now. And, fortunately, I did.

I had made an appointment for 4:30 on Friday afternoon to get my haircut at Bikini Beach Babes Barbers. I dropped off Jennifer at her house right after school was over, making plans for that evening at 7:00. After the dream the night before, I knew it couldn't be any worse than that nightmare, but I was still a combination of apprehension and exultation. The shop was just south of the local Marine Corps base. I had never been to the shop before even though it was only twenty minutes from where I lived. In fact, the whole area was unknown to me. I went in somewhat nervously not knowing what to expect. On the outside, the place was very nondescript. In fact, there is only a small sign identifying the place and the address printed in letters so small I couldn't see them from the other side of the street. When I went in though, it was a different world. It wasn't like the old- fashioned barber shop my dad would take me to and it wasn't like the antiseptic place at the mall. It was a mixture of jungle with all the plants, a collection of large-screen televisions and finally pictures up on the wall of various pop stars from the 1950's until the present. I'd never seen anything like it. There were eight chairs each with a sink with a woman in her 20's busy with guys getting their hair cut. Guess how these women were dressed? I got there right at 4:30, but it didn't seem to matter and the place was jammed. Appointment or not, I could tell I was going to be there for a while.

I took a seat on one of the sofas and waited my turn. Finally, about 5:30, one of the women came up to me and said "Jew, naixt." One of the other guys motioned for me to go on, so I got up out of the couch, which wasn't easy, and went and got into the chair. This woman was short and when I was seated her breasts were right at eye level as I was seated in what I thought was a low chair. So guess where my eyes were fixed? "How Jew wan?" she asked me. "How's that?" I asked. "How Jew wan?" she repeated. I shrugged my shoulders and she said, "Jew wan like heez?" and looked over at the guy to my right. That guy was getting a high and tight flattop that looked really sharp, so I said, "Sure." "Ok, muy alto," she said. Those were the first words from her mouth I had understood. Either she was going to cut my hair short or she was going to change the pitch of my voice if she was mad at me. I wasn't sure, but I thought she was probably going to give me a short haircut. She picked up the clippers and went to work. As she did, I watched her every move as she went to work. She was wearing a bikini top that was probably two sizes too small for her. When's the bikini top gonna pop, I was wondering. "Where Jew from?" she asked. I was finally figuring out that Jew meant you, which once I thought about it made sense if she had said "muy alto". So I said, "San Clemente". "I Argentina," she said proudly. "Argentina? That's a long way," I said. "Jes it is," she said. I laughed slightly and continued to watch the undulating orbs as they passed near the back of my head. When was it going to pop, I wondered.

She had finished off the back and sides and told me to get up and come over to the sink. I sat down at the sink and she leaned me forward and turned on the water to wet my hair. "I shampoo?" she asked and I had to say "Jes." I was expecting a reaction, including possible drowning, but there was none. She just worked and massaged the shampoo into my hair and she was very good. The only problem with being in this position was that I had a great view of the bottom of the sink, but little else. I could feel the Andean peaks brush past me a couple of times as she shampooed me. She rinsed my hair out and motioned for me to go back to the chair. By this time, I would have relented to any command she would give. I was more than willing as I got a much better view. In California, the view is everything! She took scissors and a comb and held my hair straight up and cut it off so that it was all about an inch and a half. Then she took the hair dryer and turned it on full blast and started combing my hair back. I wasn't paying a lot of attention to me, but was paying a lot of attention to her and the Andean peaks and kept wondering when it was going to blow. Next, she took clippers and comb and started leveling off the flattop. She was all concentration and then out of nowhere asked me, "What Jew think about?" And quickly I said, "Mountain climbing." "Jew too. Last man think same thing." I laughed slightly. She leveled off the top in an expert fashion and it was about as tight as it could be and still have a flattop. "How Jew like?" she asked, turning me around in the chair to view the flattop from various angles.. "It's great. Just what I wanted," I said.

Then she took her finger and from my temple down scraped and asked "I shave?" Oh, this was too much. She was asking to shave the side of my head. I saw several of the other guys around me having it done, so I said "Sure." I'd never had this done before, but was willing to try it. And besides, I was going to prolong the viewing of the orbs, I mean barber, at work. She got a warm, wet towel, and placed it on the side of my head and held it there for a couple of minutes. Then she lathered up the back and sides and shaved. When she had finished this she asked, "Anything else?" "No, that was great. How much do I owe you?" I asked getting up and walking with her over to the cash register. "Ten dollars," she said. I couldn't believe it. Ten dollars for that? I gladly paid the ten dollars and left a five dollar tip. As I was leaving the shop, one of the Marines asked me, "Hey, kid, how old are ya?" "Seventeen," I said. "Still too young for the Corps, huh? You do know you'll have to get your hair cut every week to keep it looking sharp." "No, but thanks for telling me," I said as I walked out contemplating having to undergo the full treatment every week wondering if I'd see Ms. Top Popper again next week. The next day, my father saw me and said, "Kurt, you've gotten a great haircut. I can't believe how much better you look. You had to have gone to an old-fashioned barber just like Mr. Rossi to get your hair cut like that." "Yeah, I like it too. What's more important is that Jennifer loves it. But I think I'll go to my own old-fashioned barbershop from now on by myself" I said and just looked at him and smiled.

Comments