Like a Local by Manny

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When I heard I was being sent on a special three-month assignment to our most remote manufacturing site in order to straighten the management, my thoughts turned instantly to my hair. This would be the perfect opportunity to do it! Away from the slick city life, away from my preening colleagues, away from the women who fawned over my perfectly styled locks….

It was an enduring fantasy, to turn my pampered coif turned over to a butcher-barber in a small, traditional shop. A shop frozen in time where the only options were SHORT and VERY SHORT. A shop with a line of clippers hanging from the counter, a shop decorated in hunting and fishing trophies, a shop where men looked and acted like men.

For years, I had yearned to endure a few humiliating comments, to have my head shoved forward, to watch torrents of chestnut-colored locks pile up on the barber’s cape, to feel the clipper teeth climb tightly up the back of my head, to see a radically different me in the mirror, to emerge from the chair in a daze and full of remorse….

And, now, I would have the chance…if, I could only go through with it.

I decided to research every barber shop within 30 miles of my temporary work site. If there were one that ticked those boxes, I was going to do it! And, it would happen on the first day, before reporting to the site. I would report to the plant looking like a local, not a sophisticated city slicker.

In the days that followed, I researched the shops in the area. There were a few candidates in the town and neighboring counties. The photos were helpful, but the reviews even more so. Charlie’s Barber Shop seemed like the best option for my pretty-boy take down.

Unpacking my suitcase in the small, flea-bag hotel on the outskirts of town, I caught a view of myself in the mirror. My hair looked wonderful! Such sheen, such gloss! Although it was quite long, it had a lot of body and could be worn effortlessly swept back from my face and over my ears.

I paused the unpacking and got a brush. Pulling it through my thick mane unleashed two opposite feelings: 1) the urge to get settled into a barber’s chair as quickly as possible and watch those pampered locks fall to the cape; or, 2) resolving to not cut it at all and instead use the three months to grow it longer than it had ever been!

A little angel whispered in one ear that I might rock shoulder-length hair! Why would I want to butcher such an enviable mane? I should use the distinction of my glossy locks to appear superior to the local yokels who were so in need of help from headquarters.

In the other ear, a little demon questioned my manhood for wanting to cultivate the pretty-boy, girly look. A real man would stride into the traditional barber shop and embrace the change. Besides, that’s what I had set out to do. Weaseling out of my resolve would emphasize my pansy-princess persona. I would feel ashamed not to follow through with it. And, finally, the little demon told me that I should try to narrow the distance between the locals and myself by cutting my hair like theirs.

But which voice was the angel and which was the devil? Maybe it was the other way around.

I thought about each scenario separately. My self-gratifying compliments in the first fed my vanity. The risky, bold move in the second made my groin swell with terrified excitement.

Yes, that was it! The demon was the one trying to keep my locks long and luscious. It HAD to be the BIG CHOP!

I re-read an online review of that sold me on Charlie’s Barber Shop: "Best thing about Charlie’s is there’s no need to give any explanation. Client sits, clippers roar to life and clumps of hair fall. That’s it. You’re in and out in 10-15 minutes. Price is still a bargain at $13. And the short haircut will last a good, long while."

OMG! No explanation! Charlie just starts mowing off the hair! Precisely the kind of guy I needed!

I trembled with excitement as I set off for my visit to Charlie’s; I was going to return to the hotel scalped!

As I passed through the small, drab hotel lobby I noticed the front desk attendant’s tidy, trimmed hair.

I decided to engage him in a bit of chat.

"Say, I’m needing a bit of a haircut and was wondering if you might recommend a place. Someone told me Charlie’s Barber Shop does decent work," I noted.

"Charlie’s?!" the fellow sputtered. "Not with hair like yours! Really, your best to find a place in the city. I know it’s an hour away, but the shops out here are all fairly committed to short haircuts."

That clinched it!

"Thanks, but I need to find a place nearby," I said breezily as I walked away from the front desk, flicking back my thick forelock.

Behind the wheel of my car rental, I began my trip to Main Street, where Charlie’s Barber Shop was located.

It was a small, stand alone building, sandwiched between two larger buildings that contained multiple shops. The whole commercial district seemed depressed with half the establishments shuttered.

But the barber pole was lit and whirling, testimony that Charlie was at work and his services to the public available.

The small shop was painted a teal blue and trimmed with faux shingles, like an old Wendy’s. A large painted sign across the whole front proclaimed, quite simply, "Barber Shop". The plate glass window to one side of the central door had more details, like the full name of Charlie’s Barber Shop and the hours of operation. To the other side of the door was an American flag and a smaller window with a unit air conditioner.

I parked right in front of my destination on the semi-deserted street.

‘Charlie, here I come’ I thought to myself as I reached for the door handle.

I took one final look at my hair in the mirror.

It seemed to scream out ‘don’t cut me, don’t send me to the floor of that awful shop!’

I steeled my nerves and got out of the car. Without a second thought I strode straight to the shop and mounted the single step that led to the door which squeaked as I pulled it open.

I stuck my head into a small space that was stuck in time. The walls were covered with vintage, faux wood paneling, circa 1965. The single barber’s chair was also of that vintage. Three big buck heads with antlers graced one wall. As I stepped in, a mounted plastic bass mouthed an irritating "welcome to the barber shop" ditty.

The old man, who had been in the barber chair reading a newspaper, stood up and greeted me.

"The chair’s all yours," he said with a slight hand motion.

It was facing away from the mirrored wall. The counter was crowded with cutting instruments, jars of barbicide, lather dispensers and a stack of folded capes.

As I eased into it, I took one last look at my male-model, city-slicker mane. My stomach churned. The long anticipation of this day had turned into a queasy reality. There was no doubt I was going through with the transformation, but I was already regretting it before it even started.

Charlie snapped open the cape and commented, "you’re not from around here" as he pulled the cloth drape snuggly about my neck and fastened it with a big metal clip.

"No, sir. Just in town for a bit of business," I replied.

He yanked a comb through my hair. Although no word was spoken, I sensed his disapproval.

Behind me, a set of clippers roared to life.

He put one hand atop my head and forced it forward so that I stared down.

Without a word from the barber, I felt the clippers on my bare neck. A quick scooping movement through the nape relieved me of a chunk of my helmet hair.

I tried as best I could to suppress an involuntary jolt. Simultaneously, the barber’s grip tightened as the first lock fell.

Quickly, the clipper’s teeth struck again and plowed further up the back of my head, reaming into my plush hair. I envisioned torrents of silken locks falling to the barber’s feet.

"Been a while since you visited the barber?" Charlie commented as the clippers moved up the back.

It was a statement as much as a question.

"Yes," I said, gripping the arms of the barber chair under the cape. "I was quite overdue for a haircut."

I tried to lift my head up a bit, but Charlie’s grip was firm.

"I’ll say," Charlie deadpanned. "But, I’m taking care of that."

He brought the clippers up through the crown in a tight taper and flicked away what must have been a massive amount of hair.

"You’re already looking a whole lot better," Charlie noted it.

"I’m glad to hear it," I murmured.

Then, he began another drive with the clippers.

The ensuing drives weren’t as traumatizing as the first. I tried to relax and enjoy the vibration on my scalp, especially at the sensitive nape.

The clipping in back continued, with the barber retracing his steps and making the taper even shorter.

The cape in front of me still was free from cut hair. But, that was soon to change…dramatically.

I felt my head being wrenched to the side.

In a flash, the clippers were climbing up through my modest sideburn and emerging above the temple. My fluffy wings of hair were getting clipped!

I felt a heavy wad of cut hair drift down and tried to see the first spoils on the cape. Charlie was firm with his grip and kept my head immobilized just the way he wanted it.

A second drive up the side cleared the hair away above my ear. It felt very tight.

"You ought to hear better without that thick earmuff," Charlie laughed. "Yes, you’re going to leave here looking like a new person."

After finishing both sides, the barber turned his attention to my forelock, yanking it straight forward with a comb so that it completely covered my eyes.

"Look at this! Like a homeless person," he joked as he primed the shears.

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.

The shears were high on my forehead and a massive amount of cut hair fell into my lap.

I blinked my eyes after the veil fell.

"Ha! The light of day again for you, young man," Charlie chuckled. "How long are you going to be in town?"

I stared blankly down at my butchered bangs as they lay in my lap. So shiny, so thick and full of body…so purposeless, now.

"I’m supposed to stay three months," I said, still examining the clumps of cut hair. "Overseeing operations at the Adams Ball Bearing plant out on Highway 30."

"Oh, that place," the barber replied cryptically. "My grandson says it’s a great place to work."

"Really?" I replied, surprised that factory work could be described as fun. "It’s mainly assembly line work."

"The managers are frequently absent and the worker bees hold gaming competitions. You know the saying, ‘when the cat’s away, the mice play.’ That’s why he thinks it’s a great work place," Charlie explained. "He’s won the kitty twice."

"Oh, I see," I replied. "Unfortunately, I’m not into gaming. And, the company has a policy against gambling at worksites."

The barber resumed cutting with the shears, lifting and whacking off the long locks on top.

By now, the cape was an almost solid chestnut in color.

LIFT and CHOP; LIFT and CHOP; LIFT and CHOP.

It seemed like Charlie was taking my comment about gambling as a rebuke to his grandson, and that my poor hair was paying the consequences.

To make matters worse, he resumed with the clippers.

Clipper over comb, going shorter and shorter on top. What could be left to cut, I wondered?!

A few snips at my truncated bangs near the hairline, before the haircut moved into its final phase.

Charlie took some lather from the dispenser and traced a bit around my ears and at the nape. Then, with a straight edge razor, he shaved a wrap-around ribbon for a very clean feel.

Some whisking action with the duster, and then -- FINALLY! -- the big metal clip was removed and the cape came off.

Charlie was careful that all the hair on the cape was sent to the floor.

I gazed down at the massive piles of my locks around the base of the chair.

Was anything left on top??

I stood and turned slowly to get a peek at myself in the mirror behind the chair.

A crewcut! I was unrecognizable. The sides clipped close and the top under an inch in length.

"That’ll be $13," the barber said.

I handed him $15.

There was no asking whether or not I liked the haircut. It was immaterial. Charlie had decided on the length, and he also was convinced I looked a whole lot better shorn of the ‘homeless’ look.

"Keep the change," I said.

Charlie thanked me, then added, "The boys at the factory…they don’t mean any harm. I’m sure they didn’t know that gaming there was against the rules or illegal."

"Oh, it’s not them that concerns me," I replied. "It’s the managers being away so often. The cats are being paid to supervise, not to let the mice do as they please."

"True," the barber said solemnly.

I looked down at all the hair on the floor -- my hair!

"Wow, that sure was a lot of hair you cut off," I laughed, feeling my crewcut for the first time. "Let me help you clean up the mess I caused."

"Sure, there’s a broom and dustpan in the back," Charlie said.

He climbed back into the barber chair, as he had been when I entered the shop.

"At my age, I can’t stay on my feet for too long. Your next haircut will go a lot faster since I won’t need to clear off all that overgrowth," he noted.

Next haircut?! I hadn’t planned on one. But….

I enjoyed sweeping up the vast carpeting of cut hair. It still looked very beautiful, despite it being destined for the trashcan.

"No one is going to spill the beans about management at the plant if your job is to do a little investigation," the barber noted. "But, come back here next Saturday. My grandson is apprenticing as a barber with me and works on Saturday when it tends to get busy. A lot of the fellows from the plant come in to get their ‘Charlie crewcuts’ tightened up too. I’m sure they will be able to finger the worst of the managers for you."

I dumped a huge panful of my cut hair into the trash. It felt satisfying, like a catharsis. I had made the right decision.

"I’ll do that. I like my new haircut," I said. "I can chat up your grandson and perhaps some others while I’m waiting to get my ‘Charlie crewcut’ cleaned up."

"I did let you off a bit easy on the length," Charlie noted. "If I weren’t so tired, I’d have you hop back up into the chair and take that top down another quarter inch. But, that can wait till Saturday."

I gazed at myself in the mirror and marveled at the crewcut. The pretty-boy look was a thing of the past.

"See you Saturday, then, Charlie," I said cheerfully as I left the little shop.

Strangely, what had seemed like a depressed, ratty commercial district outside now had the charm of a small rural community buzzing with life and activity.

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