Country ways by Manny

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Someone thought it would be good for the management team to get away from it all for a series of leadership off-sites....

We schlepped to a rustic lodge in the boondocks near an isolated state park. Nothing to do but drink and talk shop. Of course, there were those who like hiking, but I was not one of them. My nice threads and executive coif did not fit into that ambience. I was a city type, a pretty boy!

The workshop ended early, thank heavens, and I sped away from the park post-haste.

I decided to stop in the nearest town to get a bite to eat before the long drive home.

I was surprised to find Maywood a bit more upscale than I’d imagined. Cascading baskets of petunias hanging from the light poles, bunting, banners with photos of WWI veterans...that sort of thing. I sauntered around, snooping through an antique mall and a vintage hardware store before strolling past a florist shop, tea shop, book shop, and barber shop.

The barber shop was called Good Ole Boys. I liked that, imagining the locals were out fishing or hunting when they weren’t getting haircuts.

Glancing inside as I walked by, it seemed very traditional, a bit frozen in time, with several huge barber chairs mounted on white enamel pedestals, sweeping mirrors topped with neon lights, and a checkered floor of black and white linoleum. Even the barber, who was idle in one of the chairs, blended into the décor. His professional white tunic buttoned on the shoulder and was trimmed with a clerical-type collar; Fred's name was stitched in cursive on the chest pocket. The barber’s white hair was perfectly groomed in a Col. Sander’s coif; given his age, I imagined he’d been cutting hair for at least 30-40 years.

At the end of the street, I decided to grab a sandwich in a little eatery.

As I ate, I began to consider giving the old barber some business. My executive coif wasn’t very overgrown, but it could certainly use a little trim. The traditional barber shop had intrigued me, and I hadn't been in one since I was a teen.

How ironic! I had been so eager to get out of that place, and now I was lingering in the shops and enjoying the small-town feel. All the folks who I met in the commercial establishments were exceptionally friendly. My hunch was that the barber would be, as well.

After finishing the donut dessert, I went to wash my hands. Studying my hair in the mirror, it seemed actually longer than I had remembered. The glossy chestnut-colored locks were 1uite full and lapping over my ears somewhat. That settled the matter! I would visit the barber and get a trim.

I felt excited about my decision and quickened my pace as I neared the swirling red and white pole. Fred’s Barber Shop: the name was painted in large, stylized letters on the plate glass window that gave every passerby a full view of the interior.

Fred seemed to be tidying up with a broom. Perhaps he’d had a client since I first passed.

The bells on the door jingled as I pushed it open.

"Howdy," Fred said to me, with a warm smile. "Have a seat in that first chair over there, near the window. My son will be right out."

The three matching chairs were clad in well-worn maroon leather and faced the mirror.

"Slow day?" I asked as I eased into the throne-like seat.

I wished it were just Fred and me in the shop, but there was the son who had been designated to trim my locks….

"It’s never that busy here. Small town. Perhaps, Saturday morning, there's a bit more activity. We only work half day on Saturdays, and a lot of the schoolboys come in with their fathers for haircuts," Fred explained.

Fred ambled to the back and I heard him hiss, "Put that phone down and get out there right now, Timothy!"

Timothy emerged in a snit. I could tell from his face and from his manner that he did not like being ordered around by his father.

My attention turned to his broad chest and muscular arms. A lot of time pressing weights at the gym, I thought. He was clad in the same tunic that his father wore, but tight fitting instead of baggy. Timothy's torso was a perfect V-shape.

The younger barber didn’t even greet me. He snapped open a large white cape with thin maroon pinstripes and then cast it around me without ceremony.

The moment of the cape being fastened into place took me back to my childhood. I was one of those boys Fred mentioned who’d been hauled in for a monthly haircut by my father. Those visits to the barber as a schoolboy were not pleasant experiences because the fashion of the day was the Beatle-like moptop for lads, not the short-back-and-sides my father made me get. I particularly hated the clippers and walking out of the shop feeling the bristles on the taper.

Something told me that if Fred had tended to my locks that day I might have been able to reverse the negative dynamic of those childhood memories.

But, with sullen Timothy, I had a sinking feeling that the reverse might happen. There would be no pleasant experience during my first adult return visit to a traditional barber shop….

Timothy brushed my hair with a bit more force than necessary and smoothed it in place with his hands. His touch was not soothing, but authoritative. Why had I ever entered Fred’s Barber Shop, I thought, beginning to panic a bit?

Abruptly, Timothy asked, "How long has it been since your last haircut?"

The question took me a bit by surprise, as I was expecting something more open-ended like, ‘What will it be for you today?’

"Oh, uh, I’m not sure. Quite a while, I guess," I replied nervously, eager to get any answer out. Did it matter, anyways?

"Yes, it seems so," Timothy said, as he continued studying my hair.

His eyes locked on my nape.

"It’s quite long, especially in back here," he said, not concealing his disapproval.

His menacing remark made my stomach churn. I tried to work up the courage to leave. Instead, I imagined Timothy clamping a firm hand on my shoulder and making me stay seated for the shearing.

I swallowed and felt like I had no option but to agree.

"Hopefully, you can tidy it up a bit," I managed to eke out.

Timothy selected a large set of Oster clippers that had been hanging from the bottom of the counter amid a half dozen others.

"Tidy it up?" he remarked with a cynical quip, snapping on the big black machine. "Right, just the way we tidied up the fellows being booked into the county jail when I was a cop."

I heard the Oster's roar to life and smelled a faint burning odor. I resisted an urge to tell Timothy I didn’t want electric clippers used on my hair.

My mind was racing. OMG! Timothy had been a cop! But he was way to young to have retired from public service. He must have been...dismissed?! Excessive use of force? Unlawful arrest?

I was lost in the most unsettling of thoughts when I felt Timothy very firmly move my head down to face the cape. All I could see was the expanse of white and pinstripes in my lap.

For what seemed like an hour but was probably a few brief moments, he kept my head bowed. I squirmed with anxiety knowing the clippers would soon strike.

Finally, putting an end to the dreaded wait, the clippers’ naked metal teeth were pressed against my neck and the vibration began right beneath my nape.

From the neighboring chair, Fred asked casually, "So what brings you to town?"

It was like a good-cop (Fred), bad-cop (Timothy) routine.

I was in no position to answer as my mind was focused on the trajectory of the clippers. The heavy duty Oster's were quickly driven up through my plush nape and scooped off a chunk of my executive coif.

I felt a strange mixture of numbness...and, curiously, of excitement! The surge in my groin startled me! My power helmet took a big hit, and I strangely enjoyed the thought.

"A business workshop at the park lodge," I finally managed to reply.

Timothy took the clippers up through the nape again, this time driving them a higher on the skull before tapering away from the scalp.

"Oh, high flyers! That’s quite a fancy place. People come from all over the tri-county area to stay there," Fred noted.

Then the clippers came up right behind my ear. The vibration, so near a sensitive part of my body, tickled. Timothy flicked the severed wad of hair into my lap. It was a fairly generous amount of shimmering chestnut! My eyes bulged and my stomach churned anxiously.

Then, he folded my ear down and came through the area again, this time tapering my hair tighter and higher up.

The soft waves of hair that I generally brushed back on the sides were now in my lap.

His idea of ‘tidying up’ and mine were two different things!!

Silently, Timothy brought the clippers in front of my ear and completely took off my rather nice sideburn before driving the clippers up through the temple.

I was getting SCALPED! There was no doubt about that!

Timothy paused his work and studied the progress he’d made. He broke into a bit of a grin, quite pleased with how things were coming along.

"So, you were a cop?" I asked, curious as to how he ended up (unwillingly, it seemed) working in his father’s barber shop.

Timothy’s smile widened as he recalled, "Yep, those were the days. Cruising the highway with the sirens roaring and lights flashing. Pulling over drunk teens, pretty boys and other type of scum...."

As he said ‘pretty boy’ he snagged my forelock -- which formed the most important part of my exec coif -- with a comb and took most of it off.

OMG! A huge chunk of my hair almost intact in my lap!! My eyes bulged, but I felt a sort of satisfaction, a weird sense of peace as I studied the cut lock on the cape.

Timothy swiveled the chair a bit to work on the other side.

As he did, he commented wistfully, "But that all came to an end when I had an accident and couldn’t pass the physical anymore. I grew restless with the desk job they tried to make me do…."

Fred added, "But, he got a disability pension; it’s not enough to live on. So, I helped him get a barber license. I told him that barbering was in his genes!"

I was now facing out the window, wondering if any passerby would be interested at all in my transformation.

"Were you able to get in some hiking or fishing during your conference?" Fred asked.

"Nah, just blah, blah, blah in the meeting room. Powerpoints, small group sessions...boring bulls**t. This is the first I’ve seen of anything outside the lodge," I explained.

"I’m glad you came in," Fred remarked in a warm, friendly tone. "Timothy is doing a fine job on you, I think. I hope you’ll be pleased with his work."

Timothy swiveled the chair back to face the mirror. Both sides were equally short. I studied the very short taper I was no sporting. Some skin was showing above the ears. Did I have whitewalls?! It certainly was NOT my usual look, but it wasn’t an awful look. I relaxed a bit. Timothy was obviously a good barber. Heavy-handed, but good!

"He’s doing great," I murmured. "I certainly was way overdue for a good shearing."

"If you was stayin' longer, I’d take you fishing with me," Timothy said, to my surprise.

He was warming to me now that he’d essentially put an end to my ‘pretty boy’ look.

Timothy focused on my truncated fringe as if he were planning to take the bangs shorter.

I panicked and thought I needed to say something, like ‘that length in front is fine.’ But, as I was considering the cautionary note, Timothy struck quickly and efficiently.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!!

I was stunned. He had taken my bangs off, almost to the top of my forehead. As an adult, I had never had them cut that short!!

I stammered, "Uh, I, ah…."

But, what to say?! The deed had been done! There would me no more showy quiff or power coif. In fact, I wasn't sure there was enough hair to comb to the side.

"There, that looks so much better, don’t you think?" Timothy asked me, as he snipped a bit more at the remnants of my bangs, finding a stray hair or two that had survived the assault on my forelock.

"The last thing a man needs is hair in his eyes," Timothy remarked with a tone of satisfaction.

I watched as Timothy fiddled with the clippers, making some adjustment. What did he have in mind?!

The clippers sprang to life again. Timothy began to lift the long hair on top with the comb and then run with clippers across it.

OMG! He was removing the length from the top!

Locks fell in every direction. Big chunks of glossy, pampered hair.

"What do you say, Pop?" Timothy asked his father. "Plush and boxy, or more of a minimalist look?"

I couldn’t believe the barber was asking his father about my hair and not me!!

"You know how I feel about girly-boy flattops," Fred laughed.

"Right!" exclaimed Timothy. "My thoughts exactly. Just making sure."

He plunged the clippers into the hair that was now so short on top it was standing erect! I felt the metal teeth graze the top of my head!!

I was stunned! The barber was giving me a flattop!

"Relax, buddy!" Timothy urged me. "I know what I’m doing, and I know what will look best on you!"

"You’re giving me a flattop?" I stammered, still in disbelief.

"Yep, landing strip and all!" Timothy laughed. "Don’t want my buddies laughing about me having a pretty-boy, city-slicker when I take you out fishing."

"Well, leave me a little bit of hair, at least," I said in an almost pleading tone.

I watched with fascinated resignation as the young, muscular barber took me down, shorter and shorter. The balance between hair and skin shifted with more white scalp showing than the chestnut-colored locks I had been so fond of.

"There’s a fishing tournament this weekend. We’ve rented a pontoon boat which will be loaded down with chests of cold beer and loads of junk food. Why not stay another night or two? I’ve got an extra baseball cap so all this newly exposed scalp don’t get burnt!" Timothy laughed.

Me, on a pontoon boat with a baseball cap covering my new flattop, quaffing beer and reeling in bass! The idea amused me, and the invitation had surprisingly touched me in a personal way. Why not?! It’s not like there was anything I needed to rush back to.

"You serious, bro?" I asked. "I might like that, if there’s room at the lodge."

"If there’s not, you can stay at Pop’s place or on my sofa," Timothy said, giving my shoulders a flash massage.

His fingers were strong and relaxing.

Then, he began tracing some lather around my ears and nape.

He was very careful with the razor, cleaning off all the unwanted hair with the sharp straight-edge.

Finally, Timothy wiped all the lather away with a moist towel and slapped on some witch hazel on the newly shaved areas.

I yelped at the sting!

"Love to do that," he laughed.

He put the finishing touches on my flattop and showed off his handiwork with a mirror.

"Awesome," I gasped. I couldn't believe the person in the mirror was me!

Timothy withdrew the cape. The sullen attitude he exhibited before my haircut had changed as much as my hair style!

"Look at all this hair that’s come off your head!" Fred exclaimed as he began sweeping the mounds of glistening chestnut from around the base of the barber chair.

I stood to survey the damage.

Oh, so much hair had been shed...perhaps, forever?!

I felt the shorn back. Running my hand up the short stubs was intensely stimulating. Somehow, I felt this new, short length, as well as trips to traditional barber shops, would be a core part of my future.

I stared at the pile of hair that Fred had swept up.

"Wow, good riddance is what I think!" I exclaimed spontaneously.

As I handed Timothy a $20 bill, I commented, "You’ll have to teach me how to fish, I’m afraid."

"You’re kidding!" Timothy exploded with laughter. "You can take the boy out of the city, and, believe me, I’m going to yank the city out of the boy, even if it takes a year!"

I laughed along.

"Well, these leadership courses are going to take place the first weekend of each month from now through Christmas. "So, I’ll be a regular in your chair."

"Great!" Timothy replied. "I think next time I've got you under the cape, you’re going to get shoed! And don’t tell me you don’t know what that means...!"

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