A Guy Off the Street by Just_Me

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A Guy Off the Street

The call from my salon, telling me that my stylist had fallen, and broken her arm put me into panic mode. I thought, "Dammit, I’ve gotta get a haircut. I can’t go on this interview looking like I do now, and I don’t have time to reschedule."

Anger and desperation were warring within my head, and I wasn’t sure which was going to win.

I tried to stay calm as I talked to the dim-witted woman on the phone. "Do you have anyone else available? This is close to emergency status, and my future may depend on me getting a decent haircut today."

"I’m uh sorry, sir. We, uh, don’t have like any appointments uh available for like the next uh six weeks."

She didn’t seem to understand I was asking a rhetorical question when I growled, "Why the hell not?"

"Well, uh, sir, you know Jen uh broke her arm, and it’s like, Jonie is out to uh like have a baby, and Crystal’s uh mom fell and like broke her hip."

I thought, "If this wench says ‘uh’ or ‘like’ one more time, I’m going to lose my religion!"

"I have uh a waiting list, and I’d uh be happy to like put your name on the list uh in case someone like cancels a appointment, but it’s uh like a pretty long list."

I disconnected the call and looked at my cell phone. I thought, "I really miss the old days when you could slam a phone receiver down, and hurt someone’s ears."

I decided to just catch my flight, and see if I could find a place to get my haircut when I got to Georgia.

I flew to Atlanta, and then drove to the little town where my interview was going to take place.

The next morning, I got up and spent a lot of time working on my hair, frantically praying to all the gods that have ever been for help in finding a decent stylist. I really loved my hair, and was very particular about who I let cut it, and dreaded going through the process of finding a new stylist.

A glance in the mirror made me stop my frantic thoughts. I stood there, admiring my thick, gorgeous, blonde hair. I shook my head, and watched as my hair rippled back into place. I grinned, and gave myself two thumbs up. "You’re a lucky bastard! Despite needing a haircut, your hair is still a thing of beauty."

I looked at the ends, and saw some split ends and thought, "You should be ashamed of yourself for letting your perfect hair get into this shape."

I walked out of my motel, and looked left and right, hoping I could see a salon somewhere. I was new in town, and didn’t know where anything was.

A man approached, and I stopped him. "Excuse me, sir. I’m new in town, and desperately need a haircut before I go for an interview this afternoon. Can you point me in the direction of a hair salon that might have an opening?"

"I ain’t never been to a hair salon, but I’m on my way to see my barber. I’m sure he could square you away in no time." He pulled his cap off, revealing a pretty short haircut. "The only thing is, he likes to cut hair short. He won’t know what to do with that mess you have on your head."

At first, I resented him for referring to my hair as a mess, but I had to honestly admit he was right. It had been WAY too long since I’d had a haircut. It wasn’t just long, it was shaggy.

I shivered at the thought of letting a barber near my hair, but my rational mind wouldn’t let me just dismiss this opportunity that it seemed like the heavens had sent me. I accepted my fate with the thought, "Well, I guess it’d be better to start a new job with hair that’s too short, than hair that’s too long. Once I get the job I can start growing it back." I looked at the man. "I’m desperate. I’ll follow you, if you don’t mind."

"Well come on. It’s only a few blocks."

I pulled out my phone. "Do I need to call and make an appointment?"

"Mr. Jonas don’t make no appointments. If you’re there, he’ll find time to cut your hair, you just have to wait until he gets to you."

We chit-chatted as we walked, but only half of my mind was on what this nice guy off the street was saying. Waves of fear kept washing over me, much like waves at the ocean. The fear would abate for a minute, then roar back to life.

The internal dialogue was fierce. "What the hell are you getting yourself into, Richard?" I answered myself. "You have no choice. You’ll just have to deal with it."

The next wave of despair hit me. "What if he butchers your hair?" The only reply I could come up with was, "This gentleman’s hair is short, but it looks like the barber did a good job. I’ll be OK."

"You have to wear suits every day, and you’ll look weird if he cuts your hair short."

I guess one of the gods I had prayed to earlier decided to help me out. Just then a man walked by with a short haircut and a suit on. I looked at him, and a wave of relief rolled over me. He looked nice, and very professional. I thought, "You were wrong, dingbat. He looks great, and you’d probably look that good. You should embrace this chance."

Another thought ripped through my brain. "Why are you so worried? All of your family is dead, and your friends are far away. No one here will know a short haircut is new to you. They’ll think it’s normal, besides, this company has a reputation for being pretty progressive. They shouldn’t object to you having short hair."

That thought sent me spiralling in another direction. "What if they don’t like old-fashioned haircuts?" I answered with, "If they’re progressive, they’ll accept folks from all walks of life."

I was glad when we got to the barbershop. I hoped being in the shop would silence the voices in my head.

I walked into a barbershop for the first time in my life, and glanced around curiously. The shop was what I expected. It looked like the last time it had been updated was when Eisenhower was in office. It was neat, but dingy.

I wanted to run, but reality told me I had no place to run.

The barber surprised me. He wasn’t the old fart I had been expecting. A second look confirmed that. I thought, "Well, he’s not old or young. I guess he’s probably early-to-mid forties."

He didn’t look like any barber I’ve ever seen on TV (which was the only place I’d ever seen a barber). He was wearing one of the biggest cowboy hats that I’ve ever seen, and the hat would’ve looked ridiculous on someone smaller, but he was big enough to pull it off. He was huge, and the hat was proportionate to his size.

I could see that he had very little, if any, hair on the sides of his head. I wondered if he was bald, or had chosen a hairstyle with very short sides.

I glanced at his arms, and noticed a few faded tattoos. They were big enough to be noticeable, but nothing too extreme. All the thick ginger hair on his arms made it hard to figure out what the tattoos were. I guess maybe they were older, and from a misspent youth, since he hadn’t made the effort to get them touched up.

The next thing I noticed made me turn green with envy. His cowboy boots were amazing, in fact, they were the most gorgeous boots I’ve ever seen.

I still want a pair like them.

I rudely looked him over, and shook my head when I thought, "That white barber tunic looked out of place with his tight jeans, boots and hat. Why didn’t he just put on a western shirt?" Since he was so cowboyed up, I wondered if the tunic was covering a big belt buckle. Whether he had a big buckle or not, he looked like he was the real McCoy. I could imagine him riding a horse, or doing line-dancing on a Saturday night.

A huge ginger handlebar mustache finished off his look. I tried to hide my grin when I thought, "He looks like Yosemite Sam with a barber tunic on. He should get that tattooed on his arm."

His eyes had a twinkle in them that told me he was probably quick with a joke, and that he liked to laugh.

His protruding cheek revealed more about him. He had a big wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. I wondered how he’d be able to talk with that much stuff in his mouth.

He expertly expectorated into a brass spittoon near his feet, and revealed he had no problem talking. "Sorry about that. The damned politicians made it illegal to smoke in here, but I found a way to still feed my nicotine habit while working. Some people are grossed out by it. Do you mind?"

"No sir. I’m from Texas. Seeing a guy with a chew in his jaw is pretty normal to me."

His smile made his handlebars wiggle. "Thanks. I just put that chew in, and would hate to throw it out."

He stuck his hand out. "I’m Jeff Jonas. Welcome to my shop."

"Nice to meet you. I’m Robert."

He turned to my host and guide. "Good morning, Mike. How are you?"
After Mike and the barber talked a few minutes, the barber asked, "Which of you gentlemen is first?"

I said, "Go ahead, Mike."

He shook his head. "I think I want to watch this show."

Jeff looked at me. "It looks like you’re up. Have a seat."

He expertly fanned the cape out and put it on me. "What are we doing today?" He ran a comb through my hair. "I hope Mike told you I don’t do long hair. If I cut your hair, it’s going to be a lot shorter."

I grinned nervously. "I’m OK with that…I think."

He got serious. "OK or not, if I cut your hair, you’re going to walk out of here with a lot less hair. Now, do you want me to cut your hair or not, and if so, what kind of haircut do you want?"

I nodded. "I do need a haircut, but really don’t know what to ask for. I’ve always had long hair, and don’t know much about short styles. About the only style I know the name of is a flattop, and that’s because my grandfather wore one." I looked at him. "I definitely do NOT want a flattop."

"That’s OK. I know how to do other styles, but it’s a shame you don’t want a flattop. Your hair would look great in a flattie." He paused for a second. "Obviously this is a big change for you. What brought it on?’’

"I have a job interview today, and I don’t want to go in looking as shabby as I do right now."

"Well, you’re right about that. You’re about as shaggy as a sheep in need of a spring shearing." He looked at me. "You came to the right place. I’ll have you looking like a clean cut young man lickety split."

He ran a comb through my hair again. "Like I said, what are we doing today?"

"What do you recommend?"

He looked across the shop.

"Mike, take your hat off."

Mike did.

"How about something like Mike’s?"

I shuddered. "I guess that would be ok, but could we maybe leave it longer than his?"

He spat again. "I could do that, but you’ll regret it. This here is Georgia, and summer is right around the corner. It gets mighty hot around here, and you won’t like having long hair with our heat and humidity." He kept talking. "Imagine when it’s so hot that you literally feel like you’re melting when you walk outside. Sweat instantly pours out of you." He picked up a piece of my hair. "With hair this thick, it’ll be sopping wet by the time you get to your car, and your shirt will get all wet from all the sweat. You’ll start shivering when you go into an air conditioned place, because that wet shirt will get mighty cold. Your hair will stink from all the sweat by the end of the day…"

I cut him off. "I understand what you’re saying, and you may be right, but I don’t think I’m ready to go as short as Mike’s hair is." A thought made me pause. "Sorry. I lost my train of thought. Like I was saying,…"

"You sound hesitant. What are you thinking?"

"To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but I just had the thought that I’ll only get to go from long to short one time in my life. Since you said you were going to take a lot of hair off no matter what I want, I wondered what it would be like if you cut it a lot shorter than Mike’s?"

I thought, "Did I just say that? Where the hell did that thought come from?"

His grin told me I was in trouble.

I thought I was going to throw up, and cussed myself for opening my damned mouth.

"I like the way you think." He turned the chair away from the mirror. I sent up a prayer of gratitude to the gods I had been communing with all morning. "Thank you gods that I don’t have to watch the destruction of my beautiful hair."

I reached up and touched my hair in some sort of farewell gesture. A tear made its way down my face and I sighed a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

I saw a pair of clippers out of the corner of my eye, and barely had time to register the fact that he had turned them on before they were traveling up the nape of my neck.

He dumped a big clump of hair on the cape. "Is that gonna be short enough for you?"

I imagine I turned green as a wave of nausea hit me. The sight of my beautiful blonde hair laying on the cape made me think I was going to pass out. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t find my voice.

His chuckle told me he was amused by my negative reaction. "Let me see if I can find the rest of your neck."

I don’t know how many times those clippers went up the back of my neck, but it seemed like a hundred.

He turned the clippers off. "That’ll work…for now." I jumped when he rubbed his hand on my neck. "I found your neck under all of that crap, now let me see if I can find your ears."

The feel of his hand on my neck was…startling.

I reached up and put my hand where his had been. I think I yelped when I felt nothing but tiny stubble, kinda like my chin felt in the morning before I shaved. I thought, "That feels so strange!" I rubbed again, and a small smile appeared on my face. "It feels amazing!"

Jeff watched me, and he looked happy with my response. "It feels good, huh?"

I was still in such a state of shock over losing so much hair that I couldn’t find my voice, but I nodded. He turned the chair so that he was on my side, instead of standing behind me. "Now, let’s find those ears."

Another thought pushed a short staccato laugh out of me.

Jeff turned the clippers off. "What’s so funny? I’m always looking for a reason to laugh."

I found my voice for the first time since he attacked my hair. "No disrespect intended, but, I don’t know what kind of haircut I’m getting. You never told me. I said let’s go short, and you picked up the clippers and peeled my neck."

He howled with laughter. "I’ll be damned! You’re right. I reckon I was so excited to get these clippers in your hair I never thought to tell you what I was thinking." He pointed at Mike. "I’m giving you a haircut like him, but only a lot shorter. Are you OK with that?"

I grinned and pointed at the hair on the cape. "I reckon I have to be, since you’ve already taken most of my hair off."

"I reckon you’re right. Now, let’s get this show back on the road." He combed all the remaining hair I had left on my head to the other side. I heard the buzz of the clippers, and felt them running up the right side of my head.

Jeff giggled. I looked at him. "What?"

"I don’t know any other way to say this, but your ears are kinda cute."

I said the first thing that popped into my head. "How the hell does a man have cute ears?"

He giggled again. "I sure as hell don’t know, but you’ve managed to pull it off." He flicked my ear. "This here is pretty damned cute."

He turned the chair the other direction, and combed all my hair the other way. Soon all the hair on my left side was on the floor and the cape.

I saw a comb in his hand, and then I couldn’t see anything because he had combed my bangs in front of my eyes. I’m pretty sure my bangs were hanging well below my chin.

The comb got caught in a tangle, and he ruthlessly pulled the tangle out. I yelled, "Ouch!"

I heard him snort. "I almost said, ‘Sorry’, but I really ain’t sorry. You deserved that. You should’ve never let your hair get this long."

I recognized the sound of a pair of scissors opening and closing, and heard a grinding noise as he made a cut. I started to be able to see as he whacked the hair hanging in my face off even with my eyebrows.

He stepped back and grinned. "There was a decent looking man hiding under all of that hair. I can’t wait to fully reveal him."

I heard the now familiar whir of the clippers as he started running the clippers over a comb. He cut for a long time, and I was amazed at how much hair was piled on the cape. I thought, "If there’s this much hair on the cape, I wonder what the floor looks like?"

After he turned the clippers off, he picked up a pair of scissors that were unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and spent a really long time just randomly whacking at the hair on my head. At least it seemed random.

He picked up a bottle of something, and shook a lot in his hand. He rubbed the stuff over the top of my head. I sniffed.

"Smells good, huh?"

"Yes, sir. It does."

He put some more of the stuff in his hand and rubbed my head even more vigorously.

He combed for a second, and then took the cape off, and shook it out. I started to get up, and he grabbed my shoulder. "Hold your horses. I ain’t done with you."

The caped floated around me, and settled back into place. He spread shaving cream over the sides and the nape of my neck…and halfway up my head. I cringed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I’m going to shave around here, so I can get the sides as short as I can." He patted me on the shoulder. "Relax. If you don’t like it, it’ll only take three days or so to grow back out to where it is now. If you do like it, it gives you another three days before you need to plop your ass back in this here chair." He paused. "GIve it a try. I think you’ll like it."

Are you sure it’ll only take three days?"

"Absolutely, maybe less, but you’ll look sharp as hell during those three days."

I sighed. "I’ve gone this far, I might as well finish the journey." I nodded. "Go ahead."

"You’ll be glad you decided to go through with it. Like you said, you only get to go from long to short once. You might as well go whole hog."

I had to admit I was intrigued by what he was doing.

After shaving around my neck and ears, he picked up the clippers and futzed with my hair some more. I was getting a might bit anxious, but couldn’t decide if I was excited to see what he had done, or if I was terrified to see it. I think I changed my mind about every three seconds.

My heart was pounding like a drummer in a heavy metal band. I wondered if I was going to have a heart attack.

Cold sweat popped out on my forehead as waves of nausea washed over me.

Mr. Jonas took the cape off again, but I was afraid to move. I didn’t know if he was done or not.

"Ready?"

Nausea hit me again. "I’m not sure."

"Ready or not, here it comes." He swung the chair around and I almost heaved my breakfast into my lap because I was so disgusted with what was looking back at me in the mirror. The horror of what I was seeing made me look away. I took a deep breath, and looked again. I thought, "UGH! It’s really bad, but maybe it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Maybe…"

I reached up and touched the shaved side. The exquisite feel of my hand on bald skin made me think, "Damn, that feels good. It might be worth looking like a geek to get to feel that." I gently rubbed my neck, and felt my way around my ears. I felt a very slight lessening of the fear I had been feeling as I thought "I could get used to this feeling."

I tried to distract myself with the thought, "What the hell kind of haircut is it? I don’t even know enough about short hair to give it a name."

I tried to figure it out. I knew what a high and tight was, because my brother is a Marine. This was really short on the sides, but not quite as high up the sides as my brother’s. I had a lot more hair on the top than he did, and my hair was oiled up and slicked straight back, not just a tiny bit of bangs hanging in the face. I had my first really positive thought since the reveal. "I like the way the shaved sides blend into the hair on top. He did a good job there."

Then I thought, "Your hair looks so dark with whatever he put on it. That’s why you feel so different." I had to laugh at myself. "It’s a helluva lot more than the dark hair that makes you look different."

My next thought was, "I kinda like the shine from whatever he put in my hair."

Jeff spoke up. "Don’t leave me dangling. What do you think?"

I shook my head. "I don’t rightly know." I rubbed my head again. A slow smile spread across my face. "I don’t rightly know, but I reckon I can learn to live with it." I looked at myself. "Hell, I might even learn to like it."

"I told you that you would like it!"

His rumbling bass laugh seemed to fill the shop. "You’ll thank me on the first day you experience a hundred-and-three degree temperature with ninety-nine percent humidity."

He stepped up to me, and pointed at the top of my head. "I slicked the top back for three reasons. First, it looks good on you. You have a nice forehead, and it was a shame that you chose to hide it. Secondly, it makes your eyes show up more. I don’t reckon I’ll ever understand why you wanted to hide those eyes. Lastly, it’ll be cooler, and will help keep the sweat from running into your eyes." His voice got stern. "Don’t you ever let me see you with hair hanging in your eyes, or I’ll shave a MPB bald spot into your head." A deep belly laugh followed his threat.

He stopped me. "One more thing. Don’t think I’m a tyrant. I’ll let you grow some hair back."

I looked at him. "Oh really?"

He smirked. "It gets cold as a damned politician’s heart around here in the winter. I’ll let you protect that neck with a little hair then."

I laughed. "Something makes me think you don’t like politicians. That’s the second time you’ve said, ‘damned politicians’."

He smirked. "You’re damned right I hate the bastards. I wish I could burn them all at the stake, but it’s illegal. I’d have to get them to pass a law saying it’s legal to set their asses on fire, and I don’t reckon they’ll do that. I guess I have no recourse but to just keep them calling them ‘damned politicians.’" He grinned. "...and maybe some other names that’s even worse."

I thanked him, and thanked Mike for the recommendation before I left. I started down the street and another thought stopped me. I walked back into the shop. "What did you put in my hair? I guess I’ll need to get some, if I’m going to keep the hair out of my eyes." He howled with laughter when I said, "I don’t want you to see me with hair in my eyes. This is about as short as I want to go."

He lifted his hat, revealing thick hair that was nothing but stubble. "You don’t wanna look like me? I’m disappointed in you."

I said, "I may try out your mustache style some day, but I’ll let you keep your hairstyle to yourself. At least your red hair shows up. With my blonde hair, I’d look completely bald."

He checked me out. "You may be right, but you should really consider the mustache. You’ve got a great beard, and it’d look good on you."

He sold me a bottle of his hair tonic. "Plenty more where that came from. Let me know when you need some more."

As I was leaving, he said, "I’ll see you in a week to ten days."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "A week? Hell, it’ll be a year before I need another haircut."

His low laughter rumbled out again. "Go ahead and think that. I can damn near guarantee you that your ass will be back in that chair within two weeks. Short hair is addictive."

"I don’t know if I’ll even be here next week. I don’t know if I’m going to get the job."

He crossed his fingers. "I need a new customer, so I’m thinking positive thoughts. I really expect you’ll be back."

"Thanks! I need all the help I can get."

I roamed around, just checking out the town, but I had to stop and check my reflection in almost every window I passed. By the time I went to the hotel to get ready for my interview, I was thinking I might like my new haircut.

I decided I’d better shower again, to get rid of all the loose hairs on my neck, and it was a shock when I got in the shower. It felt so weird to feel the water running over the bald sides. Then I laughed when I put the shampoo in. I had put my normal amount of shampoo in my hair, and I had suds everywhere.

After showering, I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself for a long time. I still couldn’t decide what I thought. I finally thought, "You’ve got plenty of time to decide. You ain’t gonna have long hair again for eons."

I poured some tonic in my hand, and rubbed it. It still seemed strange to see myself with such dark hair.

The brush, hair dryer and pile of hair care products that I had put on the counter caught my eye. I dropped them all into the trash can, thinking, "I guess all I need now is a comb."

I walked in for my interview, and was greeted by a receptionist. "Welcome to Doodle, Diggs and Dunn. How may I help you?"

"Richard Gaines. I’m here to see Vernon Dunn."

"I’ll let him know you’re here."

After notifying Mr. Dunn that I was there, she looked me up and down. "He’ll like you."

"I hope so. What makes you think that?"

She giggled and toyed with her hair. "You’ll see."

About that time a big, booming, bass voice said, "Mr. Gaines?"

I turned around and was eye level with the biggest neck I’ve ever seen. Standing in front of me was a huge man. He was at least six-foot-eight, probably taller. He easily weighed three-hundred pounds, but it wasn’t all fat. There was a lot of muscle on his big frame. I looked up (which is something I don’t often have to do) and immediately noticed his haircut. It was almost like mine.

Then I noticed his mustache, and thought, "This man obviously has no sense of scale and proportion. That mustache is way too small for his big frame. He’d look much more proportionate with a walrus mustache."

I glanced at the receptionist. She pointed at his head, and then mine. She let out a tiny giggle, and whispered, "That’s how I knew he’d like you."

Mr. Dunn’s tone of voice was gruff when he said, "Nice haircut. It looks like the work of Mr. Jonas. Is it?"

"Yes, sir. How did you know?"

He ignored my question and growled, "Who the hell told you? I’m going to skin their damned ass if I find out!"

I thought, "He looks like he’d enjoy skinning someone, and he’s big enough he could skin a mule with no help from anyone. What the hell have you got yourself into?"

"I don’t understand, sir. Who told me what?"

I guess he could see my confusion was real. He thumped me on the back with one of his extra-large hands, and almost knocked me down. A hearty laugh followed. "Sorry if I jumped you." He pointed at his head. "As you can see, I’m a hair hater, and one of my guilty pleasures is breaking newbies in, and convincing them of the evils of their long hair." He chuckled. " I should probably tone that down. Through the years I’ve lost some mighty good talent over my aversion to long hair." He looked at me. "I guess I thought you’d heard, and were trying to get brownie points."

He looked me over. "I think we’re going to get along fine, but I guess I should go through the formality of an interview before I offer you the job. Come with me."

Relief almost made me collapse. I really needed this job.

He started the interview with, "Tell me about your haircut."

I rubbed my neck self-consciously. "Well, it’s rather new to me, and I’m still getting used to it."

He grinned. "You just passed your first test. I’ve had applicants who heard about my dislike of hair, and they’d get a haircut right before they came in, and try to pretend they were a hair-hater. Their white neck and ears gave them away, just like yours did. That’s why I snapped at you." He looked at the. "The haircut looks good on you. What made you decide to change your style?"

"To be perfectly frank, I don’t know, but I’ll try to explain what happened."

I settled in the chair a little more. "I guess I’ll start with saying I’ve always had long hair, but my hair this morning was extra long, even for me."

I cleared my throat. "I’m not asking for pity, but the last eight months have been hellish for me. My wife filed for divorce, and moved to California, taking the kids with her. My father passed away, and then my mother fell dead at his graveside. To top it all off, I had a huge fire in my house."

I looked at him. "I don’t want any sympathy, but as you can imagine, it took me a while to process all of that, and while I was processing it, I didn’t even think to get a haircut." I grinned. "I think I was already in need of a haircut when all of this started, so I looked like a huge mess this morning."

"Just so you know, my work never suffered. I think my former manager will confirm that. Somehow, I was able to keep my focus at work, but my personal life fell apart. To be honest, when I wasn’t at work, I had some of the biggest pity parties you’ve ever seen, but I managed to pull it together while I was at work."

"I realized I really needed to get a haircut before coming to see you, and made an appointment, but the girl who cuts my hair had to cancel. I tried to find someone else to cut it yesterday, and I couldn’t." I paused. "So I flew out here, and asked a guy off the street for directions to a stylist. He pointed me toward Mr. Jonas’ shop."

"Old Man Jonas is a far cry from a stylist."

I think there was a hint of sarcasm in my voice when I said, "I noticed."

"Honesty forces me to admit that if I had noticed a salon while walking to the barbershop I might’ve stopped there, and I’d be sitting here with MUCH longer hair." I pointed at my head. "This morning when I went looking for a place to get a haircut, I definitely wasn’t planning on looking like this."

"Anyway, while I was walking to the barbershop, I thought, ‘You’re in a new town, starting a new life. Why not start it with a new look?’ I hadn’t decided to do it, but Mr. Jonas told me he only did short hair. I didn’t have much choice, so I asked him to leave it as long as he could." I paused. "A random thought hit me before he started cutting, and I said,‘I’m only going to go from long to short once, so why not make it short’."

I shook my head. "I’m still not sure how in a few seconds I went from ‘keep it as long as you can’ to ‘I’m only going to go from long to short once, so make it short’."

He stared at me for a second. "OK, you get bonus points for being brave enough to try something different. I like that you weren’t afraid to step into the unknown."

I chuckled. "Oh, I was afraid, deathly afraid."

"More bonus points for you. You faced your fear, and were still willing to try it. I’m liking you, son."

The rest of the interview was standard. After we talked a while, he said, "OK. I’m offering you the job, but I have to warn you. I’m a hard taskmaster. I pay well, but I expect to get work equivalent to what I pay you."

"Thank you, sir, and I don’t think you’ll regret it. My father had a saying that he drilled into my head, and it still rings in my head today. He always said, ‘Son, if you’re going to take a man’s dollar, you’d better give him a dollar and a quarter’s worth of work."

"I think I would’ve liked your dad. He sounds like a wise man." He thought for a second. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m going to start you off with some bonuses. I have a pool house that you can stay in, until you can get acquainted with the town, and find a place you like." He looked at me. "You might want to take advantage of the pool, and get some color on that neck of yours."

"That’s incredibly kind of you. I can fly back home tonight, and be back with clothes in time to start Monday, if that’s OK with you."

He grinned. "You do that. Your pay starts today, but I don’t want you to report to work until two weeks from Monday. I figure you deserve a chance to relax for a bit before I start putting your nose to the grindstone." He shook his head. "Besides, I figure it’ll take two weeks to get that head of yours tanned."

I was leaving when Mr. Dunn stopped me. "By the way, I expect you to go to the barbershop on the Saturday before you come to work on Monday. I have high hopes for you, and I don’t want you looking like a guy off the streets. I expect you to set a good example for the rest of the team."

I grinned. "Duly noted, sir. Mr. Jonas told me I'd have to get my hair cut every week to keep it looking sharp, and since you’re graciously giving me two weeks before I have to report to work I guess I’ll be at the barbershop twice before reporting for work."

"Good man!"

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