Like a Local - part 2 by Manny

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I showed up at Adams Ball Bearing plant right on time, Monday morning. The management team was all assembled to put on their best "dog and pony show" for me, the visitor from headquarters.

As each introduced himself, it occurred to me that none of the managers were patrons of Charlie’s Barber Shop. They all sported city styles with longer, coiffed locks.

One, in particular, caught my eye: Gordon Clarkson with his lovely golden mane. Thick, heavy, shiny blond locks that pushed the limits of a professional look. His mane reminded me of what my own hair had looked like when I arrived on Saturday, before visiting Charlie’s Barber Shop.

"And what is your area, Gordon?" I asked as I gave a Trump-like power handshake to emphasize who held the cards and who would be in the supplicant role.

Gordon was desperate to wriggle his hand free as he nervously tried to flick his abundant forelock away from his beautiful green eyes.

"Customer Service," he replied nervously.

"Ah, I’ve read some of the reviews online from unhappy merchants. Seems they're as frustrated with the poor products as they are with their inability to get responses to their complaints," I noted.

"Like, really!" Gordon scoffed. "What can possibly be wrong with a ball bearing?! They’re just angling for a refund and hoping we’ll say keep the product instead of returning it. The best way to handle a complaint is to blow it off."

Then he realized that was NOT an appropriate answer and began to squirm uneasily on his feet. He cast his glance down and a golden curtain slid across half his face.

Henry, the plant director, jumped in quickly in an attempt to pick up the pieces.

"Uh, what Gordon means is that’s the last phase of the process...after all legitimate complaints have been dealt with appropriately," Henry stammered.

Gordon flicked his hair from his face and chimed in, "Exactly."

We took a tour of the facility and the contrast between the managers -- in their suits and ties, swishing their locks about -- was dramatic when compared to the worker-bees on the assembly lines. About 85% of them were clad in jeans and sported Charlie crewcuts.

After the tour, I got settled into my office. Henry was most anxious to have a word with me.

"I’m really not sure what you’re going to do here for three months," he commented in a cynical tone. "Certainly, you’ll want to get back to headquarters as quickly as possible."

"Oh, I’m in no rush. I’m going to turn this place around. That, or recommend the plant's closure," I said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It’s got the worst performance record in the network."

Henry’s face fell.

"Close the plant," he stammered. "You wouldn’t! I mean, all these people out of work?"

"Yes, including you and Golden Boy who doesn’t seem to think it’s his job in Customer Service to handle client complaints," I snapped.

"Gordon was just mouthing off," Henry explained.

"Well, he needs to keep his yap shut. And, all that hair! He needs to find a good barber," I said.

"Oh, Gordon is quite vain about his hair," Henry laughed nervously as he gently smooth his own executive coif.

"Well, he’ll have plenty of time to style it all day long once I fire him," I stated in an authoritative manner.

"You wouldn’t!" Henry stammered.

"You love telling me all the things I wouldn’t do, Henry. What is it that you think I WOULD do? Fall for all your bull crap? Be impressed with the dog and pony show you orchestrated? Return to HQ sooner rather than later?" I snapped. "Based on my first morning here, both you AND Golden Boy may be unemployed by the end of the day. I have full authority to make changes at the plant, including leadership changes."

Henry squirmed nervously in the chair.

"I understand. Yes, I understand, sir," he murmured, quickly adopting a more subservient tone and manner.

"Send in Golden Boy. He and I need to have a chat!" I said, barely containing my anticipation. "And you might give him a little pep talk beforehand, a bit of a heads-up about how precarious his situation is here."

About fifteen minutes later, Gordon crept into my office, obviously on pins and needles.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked tentatively.

I motioned for him to take a seat and then leaned back casually in my own desk chair.

"What do you think of my haircut, Gordon? I visited Charlie’s Barber Shop on Saturday," I said in a light tone.

Gordon blinked nervously. He knew he was walking into a minefield.

"Uh, yes, um, a Charlie crewcut. That’s what we call them around here," he replied nervously.

"Judging from what most of the men are sporting in the production area, I gather Charlie’s is a fairly popular barber in the community," I continued. "And, you look like you could use a decent haircut."

Gordon’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

"Henry mentioned you had an issue with my hair," Gordon eked out.

"No, it seems like YOU have an issue with your hair!" I snapped. "In your face, covering your eyes much of the time…."

"I will get it cut, sir," Gordon stammered.

"I would give you the rest of the day off for that purpose, but I noticed that Charlie’s is closed on Monday," I noted.

Gordon ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Go to Charlie’s? Me?!" he asked, incredulously.

I ran my hand up the back of my fresh crewcut.

"Are you suggesting that my crewcut doesn’t look smart?" I asked.

"Don’t take it that way, sir. Please. It’s just that…." Gordon fretted.

I cut him off.

"So, let’s talk about Customer Service. What is your view on the matter. How does a good manager turn dissatisfied clients into satisfied ones?" I asked.

"What?" Gordon stammered, as if I’d asked him the most bizarre question. "A view about Customer Service? I’m not sure I have one."

I rolled my eyes. It was worse than I thought.

Gordon tried to save the situation, "Let me call in the fellow who really runs things in the section. He probably can give you a better answer."

"Well, since you have given me NO answer, I think he certainly could," I sneered.

Gordon scampered off. He returned with a young fellow who sported the standard Charlie crewcut, but was dressed in chinos and a polo shirt instead of the jeans and tee-shirt combo that most of the men in the production area wore.

It was also evident that Gordon had taken a brush to his locks during the interlude as they were swept back from his face in a more tidy manner.

"This is Liam, my right-hand man," Gordon said.

Liam flashed a big smile and gave me a polite, "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Then, he noted, "You must be the fellow who got a haircut at my grandfather’s barber shop on Saturday. He was quite pleased with the transformation -- an out-of-towner who would be visiting the plant where I worked, he told me."

"You’re Charlie’s grandson?!" I exclaimed. "He’s quite a professional. Best haircut I ever got. I heard you’re apprenticing with him."

Gordon was observing this exchange with a very wary look on his face.

I posed the same question to Liam about customer service, and he rattled away about measures to address the deficiencies, asking for input as to how the company could make things right...the stuff one would expect to hear! I was very pleased. Yes, young Liam was certainly a rising star.

Gordon began to take try to take the credit for having "trained" Liam, but I cut him off.

"I’ve heard enough from you, Gordon. I’m sure you have a lot of work to attend to. I’m going to continue my conversation with Liam for a bit," I said in a snippy tone of finality.

Gordon slunk out the door.

"Your supervisor was admiring my Charlie crewcut," I commented, off the cuff.

"I find that hard to believe, sir," Liam replied. "He generally disdains them and makes snide comments about them."

"Oh?" I said. "Do you think he was being insincere? I ought to call him out on it! I know the shop is closed today, but perhaps you have a key, Liam? Perhaps you might give Gordon a Charlie crewcut if he can’t wait till tomorrow."

Liam beamed from ear-to-ear.

"It would be a great privilege sir. And, yes, I have a key!" Liam replied enthusiastically.

"Good, let’s cut out of here around 3 p.m. You, me and Gordon. Those golden locks are going to fall in torrents to the linoleum floor of your grandfather’s shop! No sexy tart prancing about, praising his lovely locks at a city salon," I crowed.

"Should I ease him into his new look," Liam asked, with a twinkle in his eye, "or take him down tight?"

"You decide. But, execute the haircut just like your grandpa. No consultation. Snap on the clippers and start peeling off Golden Boy’s precious tresses," I urged the young apprentice.

"Like Gramps did to you!" Liam laughed. "Cape on, clippers on...then hair off, cape off!"

"It was rather shocking, but I was prepared for my transformation. I’m not sure Golden Boy is...." I commented in a light, playful tone.

"...but he’s getting one!" Liam chimed in emphatically.

After lunch, I had Gordon back in my office.

"That Liam," I began. "I was so impressed with him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to take your place as the manager in customer service. He gets it."

"Oh, please, sir!" Gordon begged. "I’ll do anything…."

"Well, that’s encouraging to hear," I replied. "Liam’s dilemma is that he is apprenticing as a barber under his grandfather. While he might like to become a manager here, he would rather take over his grandfather’s shop and be his own boss. But, he needs as much practice as he can get, especially taking down someone with hair your length to the tidy crewcut almost everyone at the plant -- apart from managers -- seems to sport."

There was a period of awkward silence. Gordon’s eyes averted my withering gaze. I could tell he was working up the resolve to swallow his pride, to do whatever was necessary to save his job -- even if it meant looking like one of the worker bees in the production area with a Charlie crewcut.

Gordon cleared his throat nervously.

"Uh, um, uh, I, uh, well, I suppose, perhaps, Liam could give me a Charlie crewcut, if he needs the practice." Gordon finally spit out that which he was loathe to say.

"Really?" I asked facetiously. "You have such nice, styled hair. So thick and showy."

"But it is in my face quite a bit," Gordon replied glumly. "A Charlie crewcut would be more, uh, practical."

"Well, good! It’s settled. We’ll leave at 3 p.m. Let’s meet in the main entrance. I’ll let Liam know," I said in a businesslike tone.

To say that Gordon dawdled as we headed out to my rental car in the parking lot was an understatement. I had Liam sit in front with me and made Gordon ride in back, like he was the little boy being hauled off to the barber shop for a back-to-school shearing.

I glanced into the rearview mirror and studied the lovely blond mane that had caught my attention at the plant at the start of the day. Then I studied the look of dread on Gordon’s face.

"How you doing back there, Gordie?" I asked. "Anxious about your haircut? I’m sure Liam will do a great job."

There was no response.

We pulled up to Charlie’s Barber Shop and Liam was quick to unlock it. I escorted Gordon in.

"Go ahead, hop up into the chair there," I instructed the reluctant Golden Boy.

I took a seat in the waiting area. Not only was I going to enjoy watching the spectacle unfold, but I’d have ample time to study the surroundings. The counter was crowded with cutting instruments, jars of Barbicide, lather dispensers, and a stack of folded capes.

Liam snapped open a folded cape, pulled it snuggly about his supervisor’s neck, and fastened it with a big metal clip.

"Now, sit back, relax and enjoy your barbershop experience, Gordon," the barber apprentice commented jovially as he gave the thatch of blond locks a definite scowl.

Liam yanked a comb through Gordon's hair before the clippers roared to life.

The young barber put one hand atop Golden Boy’s head and forced it forward so that he was made to stare down at the cape.

Without a single word, the clippers scooped off a massive chunk from Gordon’s nape and sent the first chink of his helmet hair to the floor.

Gordon tried to suppress an involuntary jolt. Simultaneously, Liam’s grip tightened, keeping him immobilized.

Quickly, the clipper’s teeth struck again and plowed further up the back of Gordon’s head, advancing into the plush hair. Torrents of silken locks fell to the barber’s feet.

"Been a while since you visited the barber?" I asked Gordon.

"I normally go to a salon in the city," he replied grimly.

Gordon tried to lift his head up a bit, but Liam’s grip was firm, just like his grandfather’s.

"Keep you head down; I’m not finished back here," Liam warned.

He drove the clippers all the way up the back, through the crown, in a tight taper, and flicked a massive amount of hair away from the chair.

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

"Amen to that," Liam chimed in.

Small piles of blond hair dotted the floor around Liam’s feet.

I decided to see if my cut hair was still in the dustbin, where I had dumped it after my Saturday haircut, when I offered to clean up for Charlie.

The cauldron of shorn locks was still there and brimming with chestnut! My soft brown locks shimmered near the top of the can. Their magnificent chestnut color emitted a warm glow. I felt some remorse about the loss as I fondled the harsh bristles at my nape. Only time (a lot of it!) could restore my sultry GQ look that Charlie had cut off and had been discarded. I reached into the can and plucked out a massive lock, possibly my forelock. I held it momentarily before returning it to the trash.

Back in the waiting area, I continued watching Liam clip Gordon’s head, retracing his steps and making the taper even shorter. He was really going to town on his boss!

The cape itself was still was free from cut hair, but a shimmering carpet of gold had continued to grow in size around the base of the chair.

Gordon’s head was wrenched to the side as Liam prepared an assault on virgin territory.

In a flash, the clippers were climbing up through his abundant sideburn and emerging above the temple. Gordon sulked as his fluffy wings of hair were clipped off.

A heavy swath fell to his lap, soiling the cape in a magnificent way. Liam was as firm as Charlie with his grip and easily kept Gordon’s head immobilized to facilitate the shearing.

A second drive up the side cleared the hair from above Gordon’s ear. OUCH! The taper was very tight.

"You ought to hear better without that thick earmuff," Liam laughed. "No one is going to recognize you back at the plant."

After finishing both sides, Liam turned his attention to Gordon’s copious forelock, yanking it straight forward with a comb so that it completely covered his eyes and dangled to the tip of his nose.

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

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.

The shears were high on the forehead, and copious locks fell into Gordon’s lap.

The miserable, caped man blinked nervously after the veil fell.

"Ha! The light of day again for you, Gordon," Liam chuckled.

Golden Boy stared blankly down at the butchered bangs in his lap -- so shiny, so thick and full of body...but now, so purposeless and forlorn.

I decided to contextualize Gordon’s brutal makeover in case he had forgotten why we were in Charlie’s Barber Shop instead of at the plant.

"I heard that the managers are frequently absent from the plant and that the worker bees hold gaming competitions. Is that true?" I asked.

Liam paused his work and Gordon squirmed nervously in the chair. Their silence spoke volumes.

"I’m sure you know the company has a policy against gambling at its worksites. All employees have to read and sign the ethics statement annually," I added.

Liam spoke softly, "I didn’t know about that rule. And, come to think of it, I’ve never been given the annual statement to read or to sign, for that matter."

"What?" I asked sharply. "Gordon, is that true? This requirement isn’t being followed? The annual signed statements are supposed to be kept on file for six years!"

Gordon squirmed under the cape.

"Henry thinks they are a bureaucratic waste of time; no one would actually read the 20-page convoluted gobbledygook of jargon and legalese. Just a silly requirement from HQ," Gordon said, throwing the plant director under the bus.

Perhaps dear Henry would be my next project! His styled executive coif of coal black locks, perfectly in place….

"Well, that critical lapse is unacceptable and it's going in my report," I said, not at all surprised by this latest revelation.

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

By now, the cape was almost solid gold in color, shimmering like a lady’s evening lamé cloak.

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

Liam’s determination with the shears seemed like a rebuke to his supervisor for not informing the employees about the gambling prohibition!

He continued to whack off the remnants on Gordon’s once-glorious mane.

Then, the barber resumed with the clippers.

Clipper over comb, going shorter and shorter on top.

As the locks were reduced in length, they gradually darkened. The very short crop that was left looked more brown than blond.

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

Liam took some lather from the dispenser and traced a bit around Gordon’s ears and at the nape. Then, with a straight edge razor, he shaved a wrap-around ribbon for a very clean look.

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

Liam was careful to send all the cut hair from the cape to the floor.

As he emerged from the barber throne, Gordon gazed down at the massive piles around the base.

He turned slowly to get a peek of his new self in the mirror behind the chair. Involuntarily, his face blanched and grimaced at the sight of his new Charlie crewcut! The once Golden Boy blinked wildly, as if trying to recognize himself.

No, this was NOT a dream, I felt like informing him. The sides had really been clipped that close and the top was really under an inch in length!

"There, the new you, Gordon!" I exclaimed cheerfully. "You look like one of the fellows on the assembly line now. And, speaking of them, you need to ditch the pretentious suit and tie. You work in a factory, for Pete’s sake...not on Wall Street! An outfit like Liam is wearing will be fine for you. Am I understood?"

Gordon gulped and acknowledged his additional humiliation.

"Yes, sir," he croaked. "It’ll be more comfortable."

We were getting ready to leave the shop when suddenly I was seized with an idea, an idea that sent a shiver down my spine!

I glanced at my fresh crewcut in the mirror.

Oh, no!! Don’t even think of it I warned myself severely….

I felt the bristles in back.

"Uh, Liam," I said as he returned from the back with a broom to sweep up Gordon's cut hair.

I hesitated, still struggling to not say what I was thinking about saying.

Then, I blurted out, "Your grandfather thought he’d left this crewcut a bit long. He wanted to take it down tighter but was tired of standing."

Liam’s eyes lit up and he smiled. Without a word, he indicated I should take a seat in the barber chair.

He handed the broom to Gordon.

"Sweep all this up," the young barber instructed his supervisor. "There’s a bin in back where the discarded hair goes."

Oh, hell! I was going to get taken down closer to the wood!

The excitement intensified as I climbed onto the steel footrest.

SHORN AGAIN! That’s what would happen to me; I’d be shorn again!

The cape snapped open and fluttered down around me. Liam fastened it more tightly around my neck than his grandfather had...perhaps an omen of what was to come.

I squirmed with excitement under the cape, imaging myself submitting to a shorter crewcut.

"So, just tighten the Charlie crewcut up a bit?" Liam asked.

"Liam, let’s not be introducing slack practices at your grandfather’s shop!" I exclaimed. "His charm is that he doesn’t ask, he knows what the client needs!"

There was a moment of rustling behind me at the counter. My heart beat quickly.

Within moments, a roar of the clippers filled the room.

"Don’t expect a light touch," Liam warned. "These are balding clippers."

He ran them straight up the back of my head, from nape to crown!!!

Balding clippers!!

I jolted in the chair, but Liam’s grip kept me steady for the next assault.

Gordon grinned as he swept, enjoying my visible distress under the cape.

"Those balding clippers sure take it off close," Gordon said with a low whistle. "Looks like just scalp in back. No more hair."

"That’s why I call them balding clippers," Liam explained.

Then, he wrenched my head to the side and the stripping off of my hair continued.

I wondered how short the top was going to be cut.

Liam rubbed some product into my hair and then brushed it so that every strand was erect.

"I’ve been needing to practice giving flattops," he stated in a teasing, taunting tone.

I gasped; Gordon almost spilled the dustpan full of his cut blond locks as he trotted back to the trash can, he was laughing so hard.

"Sit up straight, and sit still," Liam instructed me tersely.

And then, he started flattening out the top. Shorter and shorter and shorter the top was cut.

Finally, I felt the vibrating metal teeth of the balding clippers graze the top of my head.

The sensation was so overwhelming I felt numbly ecstatic.

"Oh, do that again," I murmured.

There was no need to request such because Liam was already coming in for a second swipe.

"Love to carve a broad, long landing strip," he said.

"There!" Liam finally announced. "I must say, I’m pleased with my work. This practice should help me finalize my apprenticeship."

He dusted me off and then reached for the lather.

I thought I was familiar with this part of the haircut sequence...a light edging around the ears and nape.

Boy, was I wrong!

Liam began lathering up the full back and sides!

"I’m going to scrape all of this clean," he announced.

Then he applied a small dollop to the landing strip.

"This too," he chirped.

I braced myself for the scraping. Down, and then up, against the grain.

I sat still as a mouse, waiting anxiously to get out of the chair.

Gordon was having the time of his life watching my discomfort, but he dared not say anything.

Finally, Liam applied a warm towel and swabbed away the remnants of stubble and lather from my bare scalp.

"Ready for the big reveal?" he asked rhetorically as he swiveled the chair around to face the mirror.

I was aghast at the man I saw in the reflection. I was virtually hairless! And the short flattop made me look like a drill sergeant.

Liam held up a hand mirror so that I could see the bare back. Then he raised and tilted it so that the monstrous size of landing strip was clearly visible to me.

"This ought to give you more authority as you take a broom to the management team," Liam commented while unfastening the cape.

I stepped out of the chair feeling even more bold and domineering than when I had eased into it.

As we left the shop, my thoughts turned to Henry’s perfect executive coif. Those tidy waves crowning plush, groomed sides and a full back….

"You can hop in the back, Gordon," I said pointing to the car’s back door and dealing poor Golden Boy his last humiliation of the day.

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