The Early Retirement Conundrum by Manny

---

To retire early or not? That was the burning question I was struggling to answer.

I was young...well, let’s say I felt young...and I looked young. By traditional age metrics for retirement, I was in fact young.

At the same time, I was financially secure. No debts, no mortgage. A huge stock portfolio and hefty CDs. Although I was at the top of my game professionally, I had ticked the required time-in-service box to qualify for a handsome pension.

I could list dozens of fun things I wanted to do when I was released from the 9-5....

But the strongest motivator for me to throw in the work towel was my health. Outwardly, I was trim and active and vigorous. But, inwardly...well, I had experienced a bit of a scare. Stress at work sent my blood pressure spiking from time-to-time and my sleep had become so restless that I woke up feeling exhausted.

Despite this important push factor, I was hesitant to leave "my world." I was hesitant to discard "my identity." I feared becoming irrelevant, a nobody. ‘What do you do for a living?’ someone would ask. The idea of replying, ‘Oh, I’m retired’ frightened me.

As I sipped my morning coffee, a local news story perked my attention. The reporter stood in front of a small shop positioned on a sidewalk, but surrounded by parking lots. It was a remnant of the old Closson downtown -- one of the last small businesses still in operation, a barber shop. The familiar red-and-white pole whirled; the fading cursive paint on the side of the building identified it.

"It’s been here since 1942," the reporter said. "The owner, Jim Perkins, is retiring at the end of the year, or sooner, if the building sells. He’s just hit 50 years of barbering."

The camera cut from the whirling barber pole to a small sign in the window: building for sale.

"Let’s go inside," the reporter said as the clip cut back to him. "I’ll talk to Jim and his part-time colleague, Bill. Bill got his barber license in 1963. Do the math! I don’t even think my father was born in 1963. And he’s still cutting crewcuts and flattops and giving trims three days a week."

The inside of the shop was no movie set. In fact, it was a bit sad and dingy. An awful tile had been placed awkwardly on the floor as some maintenance remedy. Vestiges of the original linoleum could still be spotted under the counter and in the waiting area. One wall had been spruced up and painted a bright red to showcase a few traditional barbershop signs and a pole that was no longer glowed. The three barber chairs from the 1940s faced away from the mirrored wall.

The focus of the news story, however, was not the shop -- it was the aging, veteran barbers.

Of the two, Bill was the more charming and gregarious. He was in his 90s, but the twinkle in his eyes was as bright as ever.

"If it were up to me, we’d keep working. But, Jim wants to spend time with his grandkids," Bill said. "I’m too old to keep the place going alone...and besides, the shop doesn’t belong to me. It’s Jim’s. I’ll miss talking with people, seeing them happy with their haircuts, doing what I’ve loved to do for most of my life."

Bill’s voice trailed, and the reporter turned to Jim who had a middle-aged man in his chair. My eyes honed in on the haircut being given...a flattop!

Jim was less effusive and seemed a bit sullen, "It was a hard decision. But, downtown Closson isn’t what it used to be. I’m on my feet all day, and then...arthritis in my hand. It’s time to close up shop."

The camera zoomed in on the flattop as Jim spoke. It was amazing. So precise! So flat! So old-school barber shop!

I could not stop staring at the TV screen. The flattop was my fantasy haircut!! My dream!! I had always yearned to go flat. To watch my thick, glossy executive mane fall in the wake of a big set of Oster clippers! It was a terrifying thrill that never failed to excite me. I imagined myself sitting down in the big barber chair, looking like I had for most of my life...and, some minutes later, leaving it transformed! A new person!

What especially piqued my interest was this: the flattop was part of my retirement conundrum. For at least twenty years, I had promised myself to get one to mark my retirement. The thick, glossy hair I brushed each morning as got ready for the office would fall in the wake of the clippers! The haircut makeover would mark a new phase of my life, possibly the best one yet!

When going flat was a distant hypothetical, the plan was exciting. Now that it was an imminent possibility, the idea terrified me!

My ears perked up as the newscast continued as the reporter asked, "Just $18 for a haircut, no matter the type?"

"Yep, a single price, but we just take cash," Jim said. "Even this flattop here that takes a lot more time, skill and concentration...just $18 bucks in cash. My client here is returning to the flattop after taking a break...uh, how long’s it been, Gordie...a year or two?"

The camera zoomed in on the clumps of shiny black hair, at least three inches in length, that littered the cape.

OMG! I smoothed my hand over my executive cut. That would be me when I shed the business image -- when I finally retired!

Next came a segment with Bill, still discussing flattops!

"I’d say we do about 15-20 flattops per week. They were the rage when I was cutting my teeth in the barber trade, back in the mid-1960s," Bill said. "Boys, teens, fathers, businessmen, judges, soldiers, grandpas…everyone was getting one! They’re not as popular now, but we still do a fair share."

The reporter wrapped up the story, saying, "So, if you want to experience a bit of history in Closson, visit Jim and Bill for a haircut while you still can. Remember, cash only...and, 18 bucks will get you a crisp, clean flattop!"

God! It was a message from God, I laughed to myself!

I finished up my breakfast and set off for my consultation at the sleep analysis center way across town. My doctor suspected I had sleep apnea, a condition that tended to impact my blood pressure. I felt glad to be taking a bit of concrete action to address a health concern.

Another plus was that I had taken the day off work. The morning had been leisurely. And, if I’d been in downtown working, I would never have seen the news clip I found so interesting.

As I drove, I glanced in the rearview mirror periodically. I had recently been to the barber, and my hair was already quite a bit shorter than my normal length. I had told him to take it tighter on my last visit and had ended up with a fairly short taper. But, the top was full and still looked commanding with its volume and sheen. I felt the tightly clipped nape. Loved it! I was tempted to tell my barber to take the tight taper higher up the back on my next visit.

At the sleep consultation, I chatted with the tech about my situation and expressed my concerns. Our conversation turned toward my conundrum -- whether to retire to reduce the stress or keep working.

"You’re too young to retire," the tech commented, giving me the once over.

Then, she glanced at my form, "Oh, much older than you look, sir! Well, a CPAP machine could help mitigate the blood pressure concern. I’m not promising anything, mind you. And, we won’t even know if you have sleep apnea until you’ve done a home study assessment."

I signed onto the plan, and we set up another appointment.

Then, I returned to my car and hit "home" on the GPS. Three routes flashed up -- including a slightly longer one that went through Closson!!!

My heart raced! That barber shop -- flattop central! Too bad I didn’t need a haircut....

I checked my wallet. I almost never used cash, but...ah, there it was...a single bill featuring Andrew Jackson. $18 for the haircut plus a $2 tip for Bill or Jim! Another heavenly sign.

Excitedly, I checked the rearview mirror. I could always get a trim. ‘Just tighten up the sides and back. Top is fine.’ Oh, my! The thought of a tighter taper, higher up the back, made my groin surge. I was going shorter each time I got my hair cut. The executive coif had morphed into a medium taper...and now I was scheming to emerge from the barber shop with an even shorter ‘short back ‘n sides!’

I ran my finger up my clipped nape. YES! I would have the taper taken tighter and higher! From a medium taper to a SHORT taper!

My finger trembled as I selected the route on the GPS that went through Closson. It wasn’t a commitment to stop. I was simply creating an opportunity. I would have to play things by ear, and that would depend mainly on my feelings when I saw the shop.

I felt the short taper in back, again. There had already been some comments in the office about having gotten scalped at my last haircut. The taunts didn't bother me, and the tightly clipped nape felt amazing.

I decided that my default position would be to visit the Closson Barber Shop and get a tighter taper up the back, which meant tighter up the sides too. But no length off the top. That would be my security blanket!

As I pulled into Closson and spotted the small barber shop, my decision to enter the place was confirmed. I needed to meet Jim and Bill. I wanted my taper tightened up the back of my head. My heart beat with excitement -- I was going in! Parking was an ease. No more doubts or hesitations -- just walk over to the door and leave the magic up to one of the barbers, preferably the cheerful and sparkly Bill.

I opened the weathered door. The space inside was small. Jim had a client, but Bill was available! He was standing behind his chair in a professional tunic that zipped up the front with a big smile on his face.

We exchanged greetings as I took off my coat and hung it on the rack.

Then I noticed the client! Another flattop in the chair.

I uttered, spontaneously, "I just saw you giving a flattop on the morning news!"

Jim grumped, "Yes, but that was filmed last week."

"You did a great job on the man in the news clip," I gushed. "I’m almost tempted me to get one myself."

Bill invited me to his chair.

I sort of hoped he might pick up on my comment and try to move me in the direction of a flattop.

But, he didn’t.

Some general chatter about the winter Olympics and the weather, the endless cold and snow....

The white cape fluttered into place.

My eyes darted around the shop. It was in need of a good cleaning. Maintenance was not high on Jim’s agenda. Well, he’d probably been planning to close things down for a while...so why bother?

A tissue strip encircled my neck, followed by the cape being pulled snuggly and fastened with a big metal clip.

"So, what’ll it be for you today?" Bill asked.

"Just tighten up the sides and back. The top is fine, as is," I said mechanically.

Then, I heard myself adding, "Tapered higher up, too."

I reached out from under the cape, running my hand up the back from the nape, almost to the crown to emphasize that I wanted the back cut very short.

"So shorter on the back and sides, but leave the top," Bill confirmed, combing my hair.

As the clippers hummed to life, I brought the conversation back to the newscast.

"So, you’ve been a barber since 1963," I said with a tone of awe and wonder.

"I love my work," Bill confessed. "I love to talk with the people who come in here for haircuts, the regulars as well as new clients like you. So, what do you do for a living?"

"Oh, I’m an office manager," I said in a weary tone. "But, thinking about retirement."

"What?!" Bill sputtered. "You’re a kid, almost. I’m in my 90s and still working."

"Yes, but you love your job," I noted. "I can’t believe you do about 20 flattops a week."

I paused, and decided to make another attempt to force some encouragement from Bill.

"Do you think I have the right kind of hair for a flattop?" I asked.

He paused his work momentarily.

"A nice strong hairline in front and a thick head of hair -- yes, it’s perfect for a flattop. Your hair’s a bit fine, so you might need a little product in it, especially at the beginning," Bill noted.

He went back to clipping, but no suggestion or thought I might alter my request for that visit.

I felt the clippers higher up the back -- a LOT higher! My stomach churned. Beyond scalped, I imagined! The buzzing continued around the sides. Judging from the small clumps and snippets collecting on the cape, my medium taper was indeed turning into a very short taper.

"Someone told me that flattops require a lot of maintenance," I noted. "That's what’s been keeping me. But, when I retire, when I have more time, I’m getting one."

Bill nibbled at my bait by swiveling the chair to face the other client, instead of away from the mirror as it was when I first took a seat.

"Like his?" Bill asked.

It was a picture of perfection. Superior craftsmanship! A masterpiece of sculpting.

"Exactly!" I replied enthusiastically.

Bill left me hanging, watching Jim put the finishing touches on his client and showing off his handiwork with a small mirror. The man under the cape was happy and smiled.

Then, Bill continued to swivel my chair to face the mirror.

"How’s that?" he asked, indicating he had finished the haircut.

I squirmed beneath the cape. The sides had been clipped a LOT shorter.

"Can I see the back?" I asked.

He held up a hand mirror.

WHOA! I’d been severely shorn up the back -- shorter than I imagined. Almost to a military length! Definitely scalped....

I nodded my approval -- no other reaction made sense. Bill set aside the hand mirror.

"I didn’t take anything off the top, like you said," Bill remarked.

"You followed my instructions to a tee," I replied.

Bill whisked with a duster for a bit and then unfastened the cape to vacuum stray hairs out of my shirt collar.

After shuffling around, he picked up a comb. I thought it would be a final touch.

To my surprise, he took it to my forehead, snagged the forelock, and drew it up a bit off the scalp, bringing the comb to about an inch from the hairline. Over three inches of my glossy forelock streamed from the teeth of the comb.

"If you were getting a flattop, here’s where I would take it off," Bill said casually. "A quick run of the clippers right down the comb, and you’d be on your way."

My heart skipped a beat and pounded furiously.

I was frozen with fear.

But Bill continued to comb and smooth my short business taper into place. It looked a little awkward.

"I know you said nothing off the top, but perhaps just a little shorter and maybe thin it out some? This longer top is pretty much of a contrast with the shorter sides. But, if this is the way you want it, that’s fine with me," Bill said.

"No, you’re right. Go ahead, take off some length on top," I said quickly, my heart still pounding.

My groin surged at the thought of him running the clippers over the comb and sending most of my forelock to the cape. To be on my way to a flattop….!!!! As long as I was under the cape, the possibility remained.

"Not too much," I stammered, just to make things clear that I was NOT considering a flattop.

Bill smiled as he re-fastened the cape.

Again, I thought of my forelock falling off with a quick move of the clippers down the comb. Plop! Into my lap it would fall. I felt hard and anxious.

Out came the thinning shears. The nonagenarian obviously did not suffer from arthritis! There was a blurr, a flash of silver, working its way through my plush top. Whoa! He was taking off a lot of bulk!

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP! Comb, comb, comb. SNIP, SNIP, SNIP!! Comb, comb, comb.

Delicate, almost transparent shanks floated down to the cape each time Bill combed through the thinned top.

He swapped shears and snagged the forelock.

I watched in horrified excitement.

Quickly, he lopped off an inch and a half! Then he combed back and gathered another uncut section and chopped at it. That was far more than ‘a bit!’

I watched big chunks of my hair join the myriad snippets that were already on the cape.

I squirmed in the chair, but didn’t say anything. The snipping continued, followed by combing. Then, MORE THINNING!! I was getting barbered.

Finally, I eked out, "I think that’s good enough now."

Bill got the message.

"Yep, I think so too," he said quickly. "Much better! A little pomade, perhaps?"

"No, no, it’s fine just the way it is," I insisted.

I felt relieved when the cape came off. My legs wobbled like jelly as I stepped off the footrest of the big chair. I swallowed nervously as I fished in my wallet for the $20 bill.

"There you go, Bill," I said. "I’m so glad I saw that morning news clip. It was fun stopping by. Thanks for the excellent haircut."

He smiled broadly at the praise.

I put on my coat.

"If you change your mind about the flattop," he said casually, "No need to wait until retirement for that sharp, clean look."

"You got a point there," I said as I hustled out the door.

Why hadn’t he said that much earlier? Why hadn't he said that when I was strongly yearning toward the flattop?!

I got in my car and explored my short crop with both my hand. The tight taper up the back -- which I couldn’t see -- felt amazing. I couldn’t stop running my hand up, against the grain. Boy, did he take it high, almost to the crown. I pulled down the visor for a good look in the mirror. With my shorn haircut, I looked like an army colonel.

I felt lightheaded. The strands on top were about two inches -- just long enough to lay to the side. They no longer conveyed a showy display of corporate power.

Hell, I didn’t want it anyway!! Suddenly, my feelings about retirement began to become clearer. I was increasingly sure I wanted off the workaday-world of the rat race. I would submit the retirement forms, tomorrow, effective immediately! The decision spread through my whole body like a wave of relief, a confirmation that it was indeed time.

And, if that were the case.... I pulled down the visor again and took a look at myself. Why not lock in the decision with a flattop? Bill was just a few yards away, waiting....

I swallowed nervously and reached to pull the key out of the ignition. My heart raced and my hand froze. I could return another day, after I actually retired.

Did I have the courage to do it right now, I asked myself? Walk into the office with a flattop and announce my retirement effective immediately?! Let all my colleagues see the new me -- the brutally shorn me sporting one of Bill’s flattops?

It was a terrifying decision.

Would I have the courage to get out of the car? Would I have the courage to return to the shop? Would I have the courage to tell Bill, ‘I’m back for the flattop!’?

My actions answered those questions decisively. The car door flew open; I strode back to the shop and pushed open the door.

"Bill, I’m back for the flattop!" I announced, to be greeted by his huge smile.

"Hang up your coat, and take a seat!" Bill exclaimed. "I was hoping I’d see you again."

I was almost ready to climb into the chair when I froze in my tracks.

"Oh, no! I don’t have any more cash on me. It’s going to have to wait," I stammered awkwardly.

Bill chuckled and gently guided me to take the final step, "That’s not going to stop the show. We are 'satisfaction guaranteed' in this shop. No client leaves these premises if he wants to go shorter!"

I smiled and eased into the chair.

"Thanks, Bill! This is a historic moment for me. My first flattop," I murmured.

"Give me your phone," Bill suggested. "Hey, Jim, get a picture of us before the big event...and then another one afterwards, with my new pal here."

I squirmed with excitement. I decided I wasn’t going to say anything or give any instruction; I’d just accept the work of the barber who had been crafting flattops since 1963.

The tissue strip encircled my neck. The cape went back on. The metal clip fastened it in place. We posed for a photo.

"Want to watch the transformation?" Bill asked. "Usually, we keep our clients facing away from the mirror."

"You decide," I replied nervously. "You decide everything, in fact! Don’t ask me about any details. Just give me the flattop you think best for me."

"My guess is that you want to watch," Bill replied with a twinkle in his eye.

He was right!

Bill swiveled the chair slowly toward the mirror.

There I was! On the cusp of my very first flattop!

The comb came back out. I had a brief flashback to him holding my graceful forelock captive and observing, ‘this is where I’d take it off’....

This time, the maneuver was much the same, but the captive forelock was shorter and punier.

The Osters hummed to life.

Not another word was spoken.

BUZZZZZ and ZIP!

The metal teeth of the clippers clattered down the plastic teeth of the comb.

Off came the forelock in one graceful maneuver, leaving a truncated fringe behind.

"I love that," Bill chuckled. "No taking it back. Nope, you’re going flat."

He methodically cleared off the length from the top, the same hair he had brutally thinned and cut short minutes earlier. This time, the reduce remains stuck up in awkward undisciplined little spikes.

Cut hair was scattered about the cape, especially on the shoulders.

He began clearing the sides. WHOA! They were getting zeroed out! Balded!

My head got nudged forward. I felt woozy. The vibration traveled up the back of my head. Could I feel the hair falling away? I pictured a hairless expanse of scalp where Bill was working.

"How you doing?" Bill asked, perhaps sensing that I was in emotional turmoil.

"Uh, you leaving anything on my head?" I asked.

"Not much," Bill replied. "I like to give a very short, very sharp flattop."

I gripped the arms for support.

"Anyone who's been in the trade for over 60 years has my complete confidence," I said, trying to convince myself I hadn’t made a horrible mistake.

"Sit up now," Bill said, tapping my shoulder. "Time to tackle the top in earnest. I’m taking it down close! You seen the flattops Jim cuts -- rather full for my taste. Now you’ll see my preferred length, on your own head!"

Shorter and shorter and shorter he took me down. Inevitably, the clippers grazed the top of my scalp. I jolted in the chair.

"Liked that, eh?" Bill asked. "Well, here’s a little more of it for you!"

He began widening and lengthening the landing strip, clearing away a big oval of white scalp that matched the white sides.

Finally, Bill snapped off the machine. My torment had ended!

Not quite!!

Bill reached for the lather.

"I’m gonna give you a real treat!" he chuckled. "Nice smooth, shaved skin!"

He massaged in the warm foam and encouraged me to "relax" as he did so.

Relax?! I had been demoted from colonel to drill sergeant. And, that’s how I’d look when I announced my retirement to the office!!

The shaving began and turned into the longest part of my transformation. Slowly, carefully, meticulously Bill scraped and scraped with a new blade in the professional straight-edge razor.

"I wouldn’t retire if I was you," Bill suddenly offered. "Work dignifies a person, gives them a purpose in life. The four days I’m at home doing nothing, I feel half-dead. Here I feel alive. When you walked back in and asked for a flattop, you made my day. You probably made my month! You’ve trusted me with a big change. Barbering is an important profession. Barbers help men look better and feel better about themselves."

His words caused me to have an idea -- a brilliant idea! Something that would make the new phase of my life be the best yet!

"If someone bought the barber shop, would you keep working, Bill?" I asked.

"Yep, for sure. I think I’d even increase my days from three to four per week," Bill replied.

"Would you be up to having an apprentice? Say, the guy who bought the shop?" I asked.

"If that person were sporting the spiffiest, shortest flattop...hell, yes! I sure would," Bill laughed. "If he were a kind, pleasant man, I sure would!"

"If he were me?" I asked innocently.

"You?" he asked slyly. "Count me in!"

Bill showed me all angles of my new flattop with a hand mirror. It was so incredibly short, but perfectly crafted.

"Let’s make this the first lesson in your apprenticeship," Bill suddenly said, grinning at me. "A guy comes in with a beautiful military flattop. A perfect little crown of hair. But, he wants something different. He doesn’t have many options...."

Bill began working some lather into the cowlick area. My heart leapt.

More scraping with the razor ensued.

"Voila! With just a few strokes, he sporting my favorite. A horseshoe!" Bill exclaimed.

Jim walked over with a little business card.

"Here, if you’re really serious...this man has all the details about the sale of the shop. I’ll give you a great price and include everything you see here. Including Bill! He’s part of the furniture!" Jim chirped, smiling for the first time.

---