I Hate Saturday's by buzztob

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I Hate Saturday’s
by
buzztob

For as long as I can remember, my grandfather, father and I would pay a visit to Gibson’s Barbers Shop every Saturday morning. My grandfather would arrive at our house at exactly 0845 hours and the three of us would walk to Gibson’s. Most of the time we would arrive at 0900 hours to be greeted by a shop full of people. Gibson’s opened at 0800 hours on a Saturday. So even to this day, I don’t know why we arrived at that time and not earlier to avoid the queue.

You were always welcomed by Mr Gibson’s familiar, good morning, nice to see you back, should not be long before your turn. No matter how many people were waiting, it was always the same. My father had informed me that his father had started to take him to Gibson’s when he was a small child and now, it was a family affair. We always arrived wearing a collar and tie, which to me seemed silly, as when you arrived home, the shirt was discarded into the wash basket because of the small hairs that made their way down your back.

My grandfather and father had the regulation short back and sides with a precise side parting, Brylcreem rubbed in and swept over. They said a fresh cut set them up nicely for their evening trip to the pub. My hair was short on the back and sides, the top was slightly longer, but still short, with a bit of a fringe that could be spiked up. I hated it. It was plain and boring. All my classmates supported the latest styles and I was continuously subjected to their snide remarks. They took great delight in running their hands up the back of my head, bellowing out the buzzzzzzzz sound.

This was my final year at school. We were fast approaching the all-important exam stage. I still did not know what I wanted to do when I left school. Grandfather would have his say, then my father would say something else. The teachers were trying to push me in another direction so everything was chaotic. Well, not everything. We still maintained the Saturday morning ritual.

Gibson’s Barbers had been around for years. It was a well-maintained shop that was bright and airy. There were two big black barber’s chairs at one end of the room with big mirrors attached to the wall. Below the mirrors, was a long wooden shelf where all the scissors and clipper guards were laid out. Screwed into the front of the shelf were a number of hooks which housed the clippers. There was a hairdryer, a couple of brushes and a jar containing some blue liquid which contained an assortment of combs. The opposite wall housed an assortment of chairs for the waiting customers.

Grandfather knew Mr Gibson well. They would often see each other at the local pub. In the waiting area, it always seemed to be the same people, week after week. Their conversation would get a bit rowdy sometimes depending on the topic under discussion. I was never part of the conversation and it was very rare for someone of my age to be sitting waiting for a haircut.

Watching the various clients receive their haircuts, had me wondering if Mr Gibson knew anything other than the short back and sides, clippers all over or one of his specials, using, what he had described as balding clippers. These would sometimes just be used around the back and sides to leave nothing, or for the brave, run over the entire head. These seemed to be the only haircuts I saw him give.

After we had been waiting for about an hour, Mr Gibson said that he needed to sweep the floor before the next customer got in the chair. Grandfather said that I could do that if it would save some time. Mr Gibson said that would be grand. The brush is in the corner, just sweep up the hair on the floor and pile it up with the rest by the bin. I looked at grandfather, but all he said was hurry up, get the job done.

Whilst sweeping the floor, Mr Gibson asked how old I was. When I replied, he said, so you’re leaving school this year. I said that I was. Grandfather stated that I had still not made up my mind what I was going to do, but there was no way I was just going to loaf about.

Shortly after, grandfather climbed into the chair and received his regular scrape around the back and sides. You could not even notice anything being removed. Whilst he was having his hair cut, Mr Gibson said that he could do with some help in the shop, especially on Saturdays, as it got really busy. Did he think I would be interested. Before I could say anything, it was my father who said that it would be a great idea. Allow me to earn my own money and stop me from hanging around the house all day. They all seemed to agree. I was not even consulted.

Father followed grandfather into the chair and received his regular short back and sides. It did not take Mr Gibson long to sort him out. As father stood up from the chair, I thought that it would be my turn. But Mr Gibson asked if I could start work now. Father said he saw no problem with the request. Mr Gibson said that he would give me a haircut at the end of the day as part of my wages. So, on that note, grandfather and father left the shop.

Mr Gibson turned out to be a really nice man. What surprised me even more, was as the day progressed, the age of people coming into the shop changed. Hair got longer, and Mr Gibson seemed very up to date with all the latest trends and styles. My thoughts regarding his ability to cut hair changed, he was not just a short back and sides guy.

Throughout the day, Mr Gibson spoke to me regarding the haircuts he was giving. He asked me about mine. Did I want it that short? Did I want to change the style? I told him that I had never been asked before. I had never really thought about it. I just accepted what my father said. But I had to admit, that I did like it short, I wouldn’t want it to be long, no matter how much my class mates mocked me. But maybe the style could be different, if that was possible.

When his current customer was at the cash desk paying, I swept up the floor. On his return to the chair, he handed me a binder. Have a look through that and see if there is something that you like. They are all haircuts I have done over the years. I thanked him and sat in the spare barber’s chair and started to flick through the pages. It was amazing to see all the different styles, but one style really hit home for me. I could not take my eyes off the picture; it brought a smile to my face. Mr Gibson asked if I had found something I liked. With the smile still on my face I said, I certainly have found something I like. He walked over, looked at the picture, then at me and said, that the style would suite me and if I wanted, he could sort it out tonight. Think about it, as it would be a big change. I just nodded.

The day passed quickly and I was really surprised how much I enjoyed working there. Once the last customer left the building, Mr Gibson told me to have a seat and he would start the cut, assuming I hadn’t changed my mind. Jumping straight into the chair, I confirmed I wanted that cut. Once caped, he turned to the shelf, picked up his clippers, placed a guard on them and said, ok, one flattop coming up. He explained that he would remove the bulk of the hair on the top of my head before cutting the top flat. While he was working, he said that he had a proposition for me. How would I feel about taking on an apprenticeship with him. It would mean working in the shop except for one day, when I would have to attend the local college in order to gain the theoretical knowledge required for the qualification. The practical aspect would be carried out in the shop with an assessor visiting to check my work. In order to gain the qualification, it would require two years’ work. Once I had passed, then we could have an in-depth conversation regarding the shop and my future prospects.

I said that I liked the idea and would look forward to it, but would need to speak to my father first.

By now, Mr Gibson had cut the top. He sprayed water on the top and applied some gel. With a brush in one hand and the hairdryer in the other, he coaxed my hair to stand upright. Selecting the large clippers with the guard removed, he picked up a rather large comb and ran it through my hair a few times. He told me to sit up straight and not to move. A section of my hair was lifted by the comb and the clippers ran over the top. Small bits of hair rained down onto the cape. The process was carried out a few more times until he was satisfied. You could start to see the beginning of the flattop. He asked me about the back and sides. How short did I want it cut? He explained a few options and what the result of my selection would mean for the top.

To this day, I still do not know why, I said that I would like the back and sides really short. Chuckling, he asked me how short I wanted to go. Remembering the photo, I said that I thought all the hair should be removed. Returning to the counter, he picked up the clippers and said, balding clippers all the way. As soon as the clippers started to remove the hair from my neck, it felt different, strange, an experience I had not felt before. I was in fact enjoying watching my hair being removed. It did not take Mr Gibson long to finish with the balding clippers. He switched to his normal clippers and using a comb, reduced the top slightly and blended it into the back and sides. More water was sprayed on and blow dried. The top was standing to attention, just like the photo.

Dusted down, he showed me the back in the hand mirror. It looked amazing. My hand shot out from under the cape and rubbing around my head, the sensation was unbelievable.

Cape removed, Mr Gibson and I finished cleaning the shop. He said he looked forward to seeing me next Saturday. He reminded me to ask my father about the apprenticeship and if he asks about my haircut, just tell him you are growing up.

From hating Saturday’s, I couldn’t wait for the next one to arrive.

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