Wise Counsel by Manny

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“So, you feel overwhelmed by all the changes â€" baby, move, new job, financial stress, weight gain â€" and you feel like you can’t keep up; you need ‘me time.’ Is that it?" the counselor asked me.

“Yes…" I stammered, surprised at how easily he had condensed an hour of babbling into two sentences.

“You need to take control of your life, and you need to simplify your routines to create the ‘me time’ you crave," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone that bordered on clinical. “Identify those activities that suck time unnecessarily from your day. If they also suck money, you’ll have a double reason for eliminating them."

“Okay, let’s take my gym membership. It sucks time and money…but I need the exercise, especially since I’ve put on the extra 15 pounds," I whined.

“There’s no place at work you can exercise for free? Even if it’s just walking around the parking lot or the city block a few times during your lunch hour?" the counselor asked.

“And get all hot and have to shower and then go through the hair care routine?" I asked, feeling like I got the better of him and his easy solutions.

He eyed my thick coif of shimmering chestnut that was swept back in an elegant pomp. My helmet hair was a mark of prestige and authority.

“If you canned the coif, it would be the twofer I was talking about. A simple butch cut, buzzed to same length all over. Your wife can keep you clipped for free in the kitchen. And, there will be no sweaty or messy hair after you finish the free exercise period during lunch. How much time to you spend on haircare each morning, getting ready for work?" he pressed.

I blushed. He had me! It was more than I cared to admit. Not to mention the expense at the salon!

“Uh, oh, uh, 15 minutes, maybe 20. Washing and drying and styling," I confessed. “But, I…"

“Get that down to three minutes!" the counselor snapped. “Do so, and you’ve created for yourself two extra hours during each week! It’s a matter of ‘taking control’ and ‘simplifying’. Remember those two things. Now, I want you to think of a few other changes you can make and we’ll discuss them during your next session."

I left the session feeling confused. Sure, I wanted to ‘take control’ of my life and even to ‘simplify’ things. But having my wife give me kitchen butch cuts or exercising during lunch…well, to put it bluntly, I was not open to those ideas!

Then, I had an idea that made me chuckle aloud. Ditch the counselor! Ha, ha!! I’d save money and claw back time!

Reluctantly, however, I realized that the counselor did have a point. I began to think of other decisions that wasted time and money…like my upcoming trip to attend a cousin’s graduation in Alabama. A flight to Montgomery, plus the rental car…my whole weekend sucked up…an uncomfortable sleeper sofa in their basement and a boring commencement service to boot! But, there was no backing out as the ticket was already purchased, at the cheapest, non-refundable rate.

The flight to Montgomery was horrible. I was squeezed into a middle seat next to a chatty man with a southern drawl on one side and an overweight fellow (who was lost in his own world of earphones and a portable video device) on the other.

“Howdy," the southerner greeted me. “I’d say ‘make yourself comfortable,’ but I think in this cabin that’s a miracle only the Lord Jesus Christ could perform!"

His blue eyes sparkled and straight white teeth gleamed as he delivered the quip.

“Hopefully, we won’t have any delays," I replied, as I studied his playful blond curls tinged with a bit of gray. “Less time in purgatory!"

He chuckled at my repartee to his religious allusion.

Rob turned out to be warm and friendly. When it came out that he was a guidance counselor at my cousin’s school, we really clicked.

“That’s wonderful that you’re making family, even extended family, a priority," Rob said with undisguised approval.

“Well, the truth is, if I had to do things over, I wouldn’t be on this plane. I’m going through a bit of a rough patch, and my counselor said I need to ‘take control’ and ‘simplify’ my life, both in terms of time and money," I replied.

“So, he told you not to come on this trip?" Rob asked.

“Not exactly. The truth is, he had another suggestion," I laughed derisively. “I mean, he suggested my wife give me baldy cuts in the kitchen and that I walk around the parking lot at work during lunch for exercise. No more expensive bills at the salon or the gym! Less time in haircare."

“Without consideration about how the downside would impact you?" Rob asked, sympathetically. “Who wants to exercise in a parking lot?! And, you’d probably feel miserable each morning, staring at a shorn head in the mirror instead of arranging the nice gentleman’s coif you currently sport."

Then, he added, “Fortunately, for me, haircare is easy. My brother is a barber who keeps my curls clipped short for free. It’s an easy wash-and-wear length. Run a towel over it after the shower, and that’s it."

The phrase, ‘an easy wash-and-wear length,’ reverberated. It’s what I needed! Why not switch from a salon to a barber shop? Pay less and have the coif taken down to something short and practical. That strategy was in the ballpark, whereas the kitchen baldy cuts were not!

“You just run a towel over your hair? Not even comb it?" I asked, a bit envious.

“Shoot, you could do the same!" Rob laughed. “A tidy crewcut would make things easy for you and still give you a professional look. I can understand you not wanting an amateur butch cut, especially from the little lady in your life, perhaps feeling henpecked on the kitchen chair with a towel around your neck, secured with a clothespin, as she wields the clippers. Heaven forbid! Barbershops are great places for men to hang out."

I squirmed in the uncomfortable middle seat. A crewcut, on me? My pomp whacked off! My thick chestnut locks clipped very short up the sides and back. I pictured the carnage on the barber shop floor, feeling both excitement and dread.

“Is your brother’s barber shop open on the weekend?" I asked, tentatively.

“Yep, and my car is in the airport parking lot. Since we’re headed in the same direction, I could take you straight there," Rob offered. “And then on to your relatives?"

I squirmed at the thought of getting a crewcut. Returning home and returning to work without the showy pomp or chestnut flow I’d always been so protective of.

My mouth felt dry as I replied, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much inconvenience?"

“Shoot! I love to watch transformations at the barber shop!" Rob laughed. “There’s going to be quite a lot of glossy hair on the cape. Tapered tight up the sides and back with barely enough length left of top to squeeze between your fingers. I can be your photographer to document the change. Shoot, you might even inspire me to get clipped extra tight! Now that I’ve got a bit of gray, my brother wants to buzz the curls off completely. What do you think?"

“Oh, don’t do that! I think the curls are part of your cheerful, playful personality," I replied.

Rob’s blue eyes twinkled with delight and his broad grin showcased his lovely set of snow-white choppers.

“Yep, they’ve been a part of me my whole life, almost," Rob noted. “But, sometimes, it’s good to let things go."

“Like my salon style?" I asked sheepishly.

“We call that a ‘pretty boy look’ down here," Rob chided in a friendly way.

“I think it’s time I let it go…" I mused, my voice drifting off.

As Rob led me to his car, he was quite animated about my impending makeover.

He phoned his brother, “Hey, Rod, I’m bringing someone to the shop. Just want to make sure you aren’t closing early today. Nice fellow, just needs to shed a few pounds of hair!"

We drove to the outskirts of town and into the countryside. The more we talked, the more I liked Rod. He was the essence of simple country living: family, fishing, bowling, church, gardening. It seemed like a better way to live than all the stress I was under back home in the big city.

We pulled into a modest service station, and Rob announced, “This is it. Rod’s shop is around back."

The barber shop was almost hidden in a very small add-on behind the gas station. A small marquee with a barber pole tacked on to one side and a Bible verse prominently displayed pointed to the door. A large window had Rod’s Barber Shop painted on it in a fancy, but dated, cursive script.

The closer I got to the barber chair, the more excited I felt.

Rob pushed the door open, “We’re here!"

Rod looked astonishingly like Rob. The same blond curls and impish grin.

“Twins?" I asked as I shook the barber’s hand.

“I should say not!" Rod snapped. “He’s graying, and I’m still in my prime!"

“There’s only a year between us," Rob stated quickly to correct the record, “And, I’m senior."

“When you called, I thought you were going to tell me you’ve decided to finally get clipped down to the wood," Rod remarked. “Those graying curls need to come off!"

Rob ran his fingers through his locks.

“Today might be the day," he remarked as he stared at himself in the mirror.

Then, the barber’s attention turned to my stylish executive coif and the thick chestnut pomp that was swept back from my forehead.

“Ready to put an end to that elaborate style?" Rod quipped with an eager tone. “Hop up into the chair here."

I paused to look at myself in the mirror. What was I doing?! The collection of huge clippers hanging from the counter caught my eye. Any one of them, in the hand of barber Rod, would be unstoppable. Within moments, my locks would be raining down onto the cape. While I felt nervous, I had come this far and would not be backing out. It was haircut time!

The single barber chair was an elegant construction from the 1930s with a huge enamel base.

As I mounted the footrest, I noticed a huge pile of cut hair next to the trash can behind a broom.

“All that from today?" I asked, pointing the mosaic of cut locks.

“From this week," Rod replied. “Had some boy scouts in here; their scout master had them all clipped down to the wood! And, at the end, the scout master had his own businesscut mowed off. Love to do that. He was celebrating his retirement from managing the local Piggly Wiggly. No more need to maintain a businesscut, he said."

I adjusted my position in the soft upholstery and watched the big white cape flutter down around me.

“So, what’ll it be?" the barber asked, examining my executive coif.

“Something short and something simple," I said.

“Crewcut," Rob said as he stepped from the waiting area to snap a ‘before’ picture of me all caped up in the barber chair.

“Whoa, how short is that?" I asked, starting to panic.

“Short enough," Rod replied, reaching for a pair of shears.

He started by combing my pomp straight down so that it fell like a heavy curtain over my eyes.

“What a nightmare!" Rod exclaimed in mock horror, referring to my dangling locks. “Let’s put an end to this overgrowth first."

After priming the shears a bit, I felt the blade slip beneath the veil of hair. Rod was going for the jugular!

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP.

From high on my forehead, the fringe fell in clumps of chestnut.

I stared helplessly in the mirror at my butchered bangs, then down at the severed locks on the cape.

“Good riddance?" the barber asked, grinning widely.

“Good riddance," I replied, convincing myself I was doing the right thing.

I squirmed in the chair as I watched him reach for the clippers.

“Should I go easy on you, or give you your money’s worth?" he asked.

I gripped the arms of the chair. I felt seized with a desire to go ultra short. Why not?! If this was about saving money and saving time, the shorter the better.

“My money’s worth," I replied emphatically.

Rod was quick to clamp a hand on my head and forcefully lower it into a bowing position. I heard the Oster’s roar to life with a dull, menacing hum.

The vibration at my neck made me feel both tense and relaxed.

The clippers let out a shriek as they struck my plush hair at the nape. I jolted in the chair.

“Easy, easy," the barber purred. “It’s just a haircut, not an execution!"

Rod drove the clippers up the back of my head. As they emerged at the crown, Rod flicked the severed clump of hair away. I saw it sail towards the floor out of the corner of my eye.

“It’s certainly tight up the back," Rob commented from the waiting area. “Is that a #2 blade?"

Rod confirmed his brother’s guess as he brought the clippers up again. The blast of the air conditioning could be felt on my neck and the clipped part of my head.

“So, what’s with this decision to get a real man’s haircut?" Rod asked.

“Oh, part of a strategy to simplify my life and live more economically. I have a wife and baby to provide for now," I replied with a sigh.

“Good decision; you’re a good man," Rob said.

“If you want a simple, healthy lifestyle, you ought to move here," Rod said as he brought the clippers up around my ear, sending huge clumps of cut chestnut to the cape.

“Cost of living is probably a fraction of city living," Rob added. “How much do you pay for a haircut back home."

I was ashamed to admit $45 at the salon, although that came with wash and a blow dry style. Then, I thought about the “suggested" 20% tip that would raise the price to $54 which was easy to round up to $60.

“This crewcut is only going to set you back $12," Rod laughed.

Then, he asked, “You got a college degree?"

“Yep, in Business Administration," I replied as I watched the barber take the padding of hair off the other side. “But, I’m working in accounting now. I prefer management and marketing. Staring at numbers in ledgers and a computer screen all day is so boring."

“Why not manage the Piggly Wiggly?" Rob suggest. “We know the owner; he’s been having a rough time find someone with college credentials to take the position."

My mind wandered. Living in the small-town south with pleasant folks, simple pleasures, kids that said ‘yes, sir’…getting my crewcut tightened up at Rod’s Barber Shop, fishing with my new pal, Rob…maybe even going to church from time-to-time!

“I might be interested," I said, watching Rod switch into a clipper-over-comb mode and begin tackling the remaining length.

“I’m going to take you down really tight, is that okay?" Rod asked.

“Only if it’s appropriate for someone who manages the Piggly Wiggly!" I laughed.

“Oh! Then, I’ll go easy on you. Are you serious? We can give Benson Powell a call. He might even drive over here and talk to you," Rod said.

Without waiting for a reply, Rob was on the phone with Mr. Powell.

Rod was putting the finishing touches on my crewcut with a longish plush top that still showcased the exquisite chestnut color. The bangs had just enough length to comb to the side for a very tidy, professional look.

Rod smiled as he showed off the back with a hand mirror. I beamed and nodded with approval. It was a very short haircut, but somehow, I felt relieved to be rid of the coif.

“He’s on his way over! I hope you’re serious," Rob announced.

Rod took the duster and gave me a thorough whisking!

“Once you get the job, I’m going to take you down extra-tight!" he laughed. “Maybe even give you a flattop! You have the perfect hair for one."

I squirmed at the thought of Rod’s clippers gently grazing the top of my head to carve out a landing strip. A flattop!!

The cape came off. Suddenly, everything felt different. It felt as if a weight were gone. It felt like I had a strategy to address the things that were dragging me down.

I stepped down from the chair feeling like a refreshed man, and stared at the vast carpeting of my shorn locks around the chair.

“Take a picture of me, standing in the middle of all this hair," I said. “I want to remember this day."

Rob obliged. Then, I got a selfie between the ‘twins’ Rod and Rob.

I couldn’t stop touching my hair as I waited for Mr. Powell. The bristles at the nape were especially stimulating.

Mr. Powell pushed the door of the barber shop open and declared, “So this is my new store manager!"

We all laughed.

“No, I’m serious. I have this gut feeling. Anyone that Rob and Rod recommend is fine with me. They are pillars in the community. Rod, of course our barber and pastor at the Baptist Church, and Rob the guidance counselor and Assistant Principal at the High School. Good, decent folk! And look at that immaculate crewcut! Very nice, very nice," Mr. Powell said in a torrent of words. “When can you start?"

“Well, I’d need to discuss things with my wife. Of course, I’d also have to run the numbers," I stammered, surprised at how quickly things were transpiring.

“Wouldn’t expect things any other way from a businessman! Here’s my card. On the back is what I’m offering in terms of salary and benefits. It’s negotiable," he said, handing me the card before shaking my hand and making a quick exit.

“OMG! I just can’t believe this!" I exclaimed.

“This calls for a celebration," Rob said, as he climbed up into the barber chair. “It’s time for my curls to get clipped down to the wood!"

“I thought this day would never come," Rod beamed as he cast the cape around his older brother and I assumed the role of photographer.

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