New Town Transformation - Part 2 by Manny

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I had a very restless night. So many thoughts running through my mind. Everything from the move, to my new job, to my new friend Tony, to my imminent haircut makeover!

I crawled out of bed and was greeted with a fright in the bathroom mirror. My hair was in horrible disarray. It looked like I had stuck my hand in an electric socket and matted hair was flying away from my head in all directions. I pawed at my thick blond locks. They were on the endangered species list. I was to meet Tony at the barber shop at 9:00 a.m.

Thinking about Tony was more pleasant than looking at my unruly hair. I remembered the way his fingers briefly stroked my hair when he talked about 'a big set of Oster's mowing off all this fluff...'

Yes, I was going to have my salon look shorn off. SHORT! Very short. No more waffling. It was decided! I was going to get SCALPED!

Staring at the rats' nest just then, for the first time my mood-meter inched from the fearful/nervous side of the spectrum into the excited/energized side. The clippers, tight on my scalp. My full, feathered mane falling in sheaves to the cape! Tony would be beaming in the waiting area as he watched my transformation. He was the instigator and inspiration of my impending makeover.

There had been that talk about a flattop that kept me rather near the fearful/nervous side. I was rather curious to see that iconic look on him. But, for me, no way! Just ditching my trendy salon look was a huge change. I wasn't ready for a plunge off the high dive.

I quickly showered and employed the powerful blow-dryer for one final session with my styled mane. Oh, it looked so perfect with the off-center part! Such a change from the matted rats' nest before the shower. My glossy, sun-kissed locks arranged in feathered waves down both sides and quite long in back. And the silken strands felt so wonderful. But, it was coming off en masse. The long fringe would not be with me much longer....

I combed the bangs straight down. My eyes were essentially covered by them. I remembered Tony describing the quick snips of the scissors which exposed two-thirds of his forehead with angled bangs for a rigid side part. The thought of very short bangs curiously excited me. I felt like whacking them off right then and there myself....but I didn't have any scissors at hand.

I donned a short-sleeved shirt and slacks for work and then headed to the barbershop. I was anxious to see Tony and to get the haircut behind me.

He was already on the sidewalk in front of the shop when I pulled up. He looked so handsome with this wide grin, flashing me a thumbs-up.

"Right on time! I half-thought you'd weasel out," Tony remarked.

"And miss the opportunity to watch you get your first flattop? Never!" I exclaimed.

He shook my hand warmly and held it longer than one might with a normal greeting. He too was excited.

"Lets head in. I see the barber is waiting for his first client -- that will be you," Tony decided.

He opened the door and signaled for me to enter.

I found myself in a place that looked straight out of the 1950s. Nothing had been updated! Even the TV was a small portable black and white with a flickering, fuzzy screen.

"Who's first?" the barber asked, obviously pleased that he had two heads to work on.

"I am," I said in a clear, bold voice.

I looked in the mirror and momentarily wondered if I was doing the right thing.

"I'm in need of a big change," I answered, taking a seat in the barber throne.

There! I'd said it! The wheels were put into motion for a transformation. I felt relieved to be going through with the big chop.

"How short are we going today?" the barber asked as he cast the huge white cape and fastened it around my neck.

"A short taper," I said, flicking my bangs a bit to the side. "And make sure the bangs are cut short."

"Then, lets start there!" the barber said, combing my thick blond forelock straight down.

I heard him prime the shears a bit. With a quick assault, he snipped off the length rather near the top of my forehead! I watched the clumps of golden tumble before my eyes. In a flash, the forelock was in my lap. I stared down at a huge wad of lifeless, cut hair!

Looking up, I had to stifle a gasp as I saw the awkward, truncated bangs. The quick, dramatic change made my groin stir.

"Excellent start," Tony called out from the chair in the waiting area.

"And now, the clippers!" the barber replied, reaching for a large set of Osters.

"It's not too late to ask for a flattop," Tony joked.

"It certainly is not!" the barber agreed, holding the vibrating hair clippers in his hand just a few inches from my silken locks. "You have perfect hair for a flattop, like your friend there."

"Not today. But you can take me down really short," I said, upping the ante a bit.

"How about a tight ivy?" he asked.

The expression on my face informed the barber I was clueless.

"It's basically a crew-cut where the hair in front and bangs are just long enough to comb with a side part while the sides and crown are clipped short," the barber explained.

"Clipped short?" I asked, intrigued by the idea.

"I'll use a #1 blade all the way up the sides and cut the hair at the crown quite short -- about a half inch, using clipper over comb. The hair will gradually be left longer towards the front with bangs around one inch," the barber suggested.

"Very short! But appropriate for an office environment?" I asked, just to make sure.

"Shoot! Appropriate on any man, any age, any place," the barber laughed.

"Then a tight ivy it is!" I exclaimed.

The barber made some adjustment to the clippers and then, right up the side he went! I felt like I was in bootcamp.

"No need for all this nonsense," the barber kidded me as he shaved off the gentle feathered layers of blond hair that covered my ears down to the lobe.

I watched with delighted horror as my ear emerged. Sheaves of golden locks fell from their mooring. My shoulder glowed like a fancy epaulet on a brigadier general's dress uniform.

"No need for all this nonsense," the barber kidded me as he continued shaving off the fussy feathered layers of blond hair that covered my ears down to the lobe.

I watched intently as my head seemed to shrink in size with the gradual removal of my careful coif. I was being pared down to the bare minimum. The barber was a master with the clipper-over-comb technique, taking the top down in length. I admired his skill and dexterity and persistence. Shorter and shorter and shorter my hair was cut. I wondered whether he would leave anything at all!

Then he focused in on the small tuft left in front. Thinning it and snipping it shorter and shorter.

Finally, he announced, "There, how's that?"

I was a bit aghast as I took in the totality of the makeover.

"I feel like a new person," I stammered.

"And, you look like one too," Tony chimed in as he rose from his chair to examine the barber's work.

Then, Tony touched the bristles in back. "How about skinning it back here -- like a third of the way up?"

"Whitewalls on the sides?" the barber asked.

"Oh, no," I interjected. "It looks fine. Perfect, as is."

"It would be no trouble at all," the barber commented, with an eager quality to his voice.

Tony continued to explore the length of my hair with his hand. He playfully grasped the meager tuft in front. "Wow, you certainly didn't leave much here! It's the tightest ivy I think I've seen."

"Yep, that's how I like them. Essentially a crewcut," the barber confirmed.

Holy cow! I had just gotten a crewcut!

Then, I was in for all the finishing touches Tony had described to me in the bar. Lather on the neck. A straight edge razor scraping bits here and there. Warm, moist towels. Witch hazel. A duster full of talcum. A bit of a shoulder massage. Combing, smoothing....showing off the work with a mirror. Suctioning the hair snippets with a little vacuum. The deliberate removal of the cape that was absolutely covered.

My cut hair looked like a drape of shimmering gold lamme which turned into a glowing throw rug for me to step on as I descended from the barber throne. It felt weird to be casually stepping on top of the hair that had once graced my head.

"Here, let me sweep this up while you pay the barber," Tony said, locating a broom.

I watched wistfully as the cut locks were pushed together into a sort of haystack.

I handed the barber a bill and waited for him to make change. As he did, I felt the back of my head. It was almost bare. Nothing left but a tidy bit of pelt. I looked in the mirror. Talk about getting scalped!

"Next time a flattop?" the barber asked me, playfully, as he handed me the change.

"Why not?" I answered spontaneously, which elicited a collective smile from the three men assembled in the shop.

"Take a seat, Tony," the barber instructed as I prepared to watch my new friend get his new look....

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