Regular Client, Regulation Cut by Manny

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The last thing I needed to take care of before starting my new job was to get a trim. I hadn't had time to research the options near my new home, so I opted to try out the barber shop close to the entrance to my subdivision.

Scott's Barber Shop was a small stand-alone establishment with three parking spaces in front and three on the side. It had the standard red and white pole whirling by the door and a large plate glass wind with the name emblazoned in snappy lettering.

My hair was fairly full and quite long on top. It was at that point where the hair product struggled to keep it in place, brushed back from my face.

Standard haircuts, I noted from a list in the window, were only $20. I pushed the door open. There were three barbers inside -- an old man who had someone in his chair, a young stocky guy with closely cropped hair who was tidying up the counter, and a shaggy middle-aged fellow with a tattoo on his arm, slouched in the furthest barber chair looking bored.

The young guy turned and greeted me, indicating his chair was available.

The barber shop had an old-fashioned feel. What struck me most, however, was that the big throne-like barber chairs faced away from the mirror. And, they weren't identical. I wasn't used to that.

I ambled over to the middle chair and settled in for my haircut.

The young barber wrapped my neck with a tissue strip and then arranged a cape over my clothing, fastening it with a clip.

He had a gentle touch as he combed through my hair.

"So, what'll it be for you today?" he asked, pro-forma.

"Oh, just tidy it up," I said, as I normally did.

That was all he needed to begin the haircut.

Where I used to get my hair done, the fellow would start by wetting my hair with a spritzer and then doing a scissors cut.

This fellow, however, promptly (and firmly) nudged my head forward and down. I heard the click of the clippers being brought to life.

I considered saying "not too short" or "no clippers, please" but decided it might come across as rude. Just sit and let it happen, I told myself. It'll be fine. And, if not, it would grow out soon enough. I could do better research for my next haircut.

I had never had the clippers taken directly to my nape before, pressed firmly on the neck with the naked teeth humming. With a quick motion, he scooped off a wad of hair in back. The vibration on that sensitive area felt so stimulating!

Again, another scoop! I wondered how short he was cutting it in back. Way off the collar, for sure.

Then the clippers came around my ear, slicing my hair short in quick tapering motions.

I saw the first clumps fall into my lap on the cape. Half inch, three-quarter inch and inch-long clumps of dark hair on the pinstriped cape.

"First time here?" the barber asked me as he tapered the hair around my other ear.

"Yes, I just moved into the neighborhood from Columbus. I start a new job tomorrow," I answered.

"I hope this shop becomes your new home for haircuts. I'm Scott," the barber said.

"Oh, the owner?" I asked, surprised.

"Well, it was my father's place. I'm Scott, junior," he chuckled.

The stocky barber swapped the clippers for scissors and began a long session blending my thick hair up the sides and back.
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The scissors moved quickly, like a machine set on "high". Comb and cut, comb and cut, comb and cut.

Dry snippets of hair rained down with each action. Scott was methodical as he went around the whole side and back, blending and shortening my hair from taper to crown.

"What about on top here? It's quite long," the barber noted.

"I agree. You can cut the top shorter," I said.

Finally, the spritzer came out. With a few pumps, he doused my hair thoroughly.

Then he combed down the forelock.

Damp strands dangled well past my eyes.

In an instant, Scott had the shears above my brow.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!

I couldn't believe it. The cutting of my bangs -- so short! -- and it happened so quickly.

I looked down, feeling knots in my stomach. There were at least two-inch cut locks in my lap.

Then Scott began scissoring two inches from off the entire top! He gathered a clump of hair, held it securely with his fingers and then whacked much of it off. Hair rained down everywhere.

Again, I simply resigned myself to let the chips (and cut locks!) fall where they may. There was always the chance I would like the shorter crop.

Scott paused momentarily and then resumed cutting the sides, blending the hair again with shears and comb. But the sound was different -- a bit of a grating noise.

I caught a glimpse of thinning shears as he came back to thin my short bangs.

The thinning of my hair all over went on for quite an extensive period of time. Scott seemed to like wielding the thinning shears, removing a lot of bulk from my head.

Then it was back to the clippers. This time a small set with a high-pitched squeal. He was edging around my ears and nape.

Finally, the haircut seemed to be over. Scott comb my hair into place and smoothed it down with a gentle touch.

He turned the chair toward the mirror.

I was in for a bit of a surprise. Yes, it was a much shorter cut than I was used to, but it looked very good and very professional -- only $20 too! The bulky "helmet hair" was gone. l was in no doubt that the short crop suited me fine.

"Could I see the back?" I asked, curious to know what the clippers had wrought.

Scott held up a hand-mirror.

Now, there was a big change! The taper at the nape was quite short and went up the back almost a third of the way! Furthermore, the newly exposed skin was untanned -- almost white! But, apart from the length at the nape, the rest of the back seemed well-cut. In a few days, it would grow out and be fine, I thought.

"Is that how you wanted it?" Scott asked, sensing there might be an issue, judging by my facial reaction to the hand mirror.

Perhaps, it was time for the moment of truth. I mean, if this was to be my go-to barber, I should set my expectations clearly.

"Well," I hemmed a bit.

I had an instant second-thought. Was it worth it? Why not wait till the next visit to clarify -- not so short at the nape.

"I can cut it shorter, if you want," Scott apologized. "I left it a little longer since I haven't cut your hair before."

Shorter?! Oh, my! That was not the issue!

"No, it's fine," I said quickly. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, anyway."

Scott gave a lame smile. He could tell it wasn't exactly what I wanted, but was resigned to leave things as they were.

A bit of action with the duster, and then the cape came off.

As I paid him, Scott said, "If you want it cut shorter, come back any time this week. I'll be happy to tighten everything up to your liking."

His voice trailed as we shook hands. I noticed all the cut hair -- my hair! -- on the floor around the chair. Wow, more had come off than I imagined.

Scott made one last appeal to fix things, "Please, I would feel better if you did come....when you have the time."

I heard myself saying, "Thanks, yes, perhaps I'll come back, say Friday.... What time do you close?"

As I left the shop, I was kicking myself for having said that! Now the barber was convinced I wanted it shorter in back instead of left longer. Of course, I didn't have to return to Scott's Barber Shop. But it was close and inexpensive; the barber was nice, and the haircut was too, actually!

Once in the car, I studied my haircut in the mirror and explored the nape with my hand. The top was so short -- especially the bangs. I fiddled a bit with the tufts in front. They would grow.... Or perhaps this shorter length suited me. I wouldn't have to worry about buying product and keeping the bulky lock plastered back.

Exploring the nape was also enjoyable. I loved the very short feel. The bristles on the scalp. Oh, so short at the nape and on up. It was quite a different feel from running my fingers through my soft, full locks.

If I returned on Friday....it would be even shorter up the back. Just the thought of the clippers climbing closer and tighter to the crown made me feel a bit woozy.

Suddenly, it seemed like a real possibility -- a return trip to the barber chair. My short hair...cut even shorter! I was engulfed in a desire to be shorn to an incredibly short length -- tapered very short up the back (and sides!), and the bangs snipped shorter, as well!

That feeling was affirmed at my new office. Very short hair was the norm for almost every man. They were all barbered -- many with military crops! Closely clipped sides and the tops down fairly close too. Only the senior manager had a traditional business cut, and it was short, at that.

Yes, I would be back at Scott's before the week was out!

In fact, I couldn't wait that long. That very evening, after work, I sped back to Scott's Barber Shop.

"You're back!" he exclaimed, as his eyes lit up.

Unfortunately, he had someone in his chair. But that gave me some time to study the shop, a bit. The floor looked like it had recently been re-done with an epoxy surface, and behind each of the barber chairs was a semi-circular comfort pad the barbers stood on. Scott had a bit of a sports-theme going on with the photos, caps and little baseball player bobble-heads displayed about the shop. My eyes locked on a sign -- 'flattop specialist'. I shuddered at the thought. Oh, no! Not for me....

Scott was at work on the young man in the chair. Clipper-over-comb...taking the top down quite shorter....snipping the bangs off near the top of his forehead. The sides were clipped almost to stubble. Just like so many of the fellows at work!

I began to squirm a bit in the waiting chair. Could I go for such a shorn look myself?

I watched Scott carve some exaggerated arches around the man's ears. Oh....! In this shop, the less hair on the clients, the better.

Finally, I was headed back to Scott's chair.

"I'm so glad you came in, and so soon too," Scott said as I climbed the fancy steel footrest on the chair. "I will certainly give you a shorter haircut. Just say what you want."

We were both a bit distracted by the cape protocol.

Just what to say, though?

"Well, in back," I started, feeling the closely clipped nape. "Like this, but...farther up the back and a shorter."

"Sides too?" Scott asked.

I squirmed a bit in the chair and cleared my throat. "You know, actually, the fellow you just finished...."

Scott began to smile.

"It will be very short, especially compared to how you looked when you walked in here yesterday," he warned. "A classic crewcut."

I loved the sound of those words, 'classic crewcut'!

"That is exactly what I want," I said confidently.

"This time, I won't hold back," Scott laughed, swapping out the blade on the clippers.

My head was thrust forward. The chattering metal teeth hit fast and tight. Scott drove them virtually all the way up to the crown.

"You're in the army now, Buddy," he laughed.

For some reason, his comment, caused my stomach to churn. OMG! I had unleashed the clippers and Scott was going to take me down to the shortest of lengths.

"I never imagined asking for a classic crewcut," I confessed.

Scott continued stripping off my hair -- so much was already on the cape.

"It's a popular length for guys of all ages here," he replied. "You've got nice, thick hair for it."

"Won't be much left of it when you're finished," I noted.

"True that," Scott laughed. "I've zeroed the sides and back for a more military look. Now, for the top."

"You will leave me with something," I said, half-sincere in my request.

"Yep, a bit of a patch on top," Scott remarked as he began the clipper over comb.

The rest of the haircut transpired in silence.

Finally, it was over.

"I don't think you'll be coming back for anything shorter," Scott confessed as he swiveled the chair around.

My eyes bugged out. I was in the army! Or, at least, it looked like I was.

"Oh my!" I exclaimed. "That is short!"

"Wait till you see the back," Scott warned.

There was no hair to speak of. It has been taken down to a hint of stubble.

"This is actually a lot shorter than a classic crewcut. I didn't want to make the same mistake twice," Scott said.

I couldn't tell if he was playing with me or sincere.

My stomach was in knots.

I blinked and finally said, "Well, thanks for encouraging me to come back."

The cape came off. I stumbled out of the chair in a bit of a daze.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked, reaching for my wallet.

"Nothing. Just a promise, that is, that this shop will be your regular place for your new regulation cut," Scott said.

"Not to worry, I'll be a regular," I laughed. "A regular client, asking for a regulation cut!"

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