The Barber Shop

@www.artofmanliness.com

Since I made the move here five months ago, I've been looking for a good place for a haircut. I don't mean one of the factory places like Great, Fantastic, Cost...Clips or Cuts.  I'm over those joints.  I want the old-school barber experience. I haven't had that since our days in California. Living near Camp Pendleton, we had our pick of barbershops and the Boy and I had a great barber and all was well.

Today was the day to find a barber.  The Boy and I left the house, dropped off yet another five or six boxes at the Goodwill, and our quest was under way.  In short order, we discovered it.  A barber pole outside and a fairly ramshackle building.  In the window, a sign declaring two barbers.  In we walked and it could not have been scripted better.  The barber, who probably was cast from the "Floyd the Barber School" was about 90 years old.  The average age of the clientele was just north of 70.  When you walk in, the barber stops what he's doing, and yells 'Hello and take a seat!' a la the "Norm" greeting the borderline-alcoholic denizen of "Cheers" received.  So down we sat.  And the wait began.

The barber takes his sweet, sweet time in cutting hair.  It didn't help that the guy in the chair when we walked in was a hipster tool who was very particular, to the point of obnoxiousness, about his bangs.  Yes, his bangs.  Note to hipster - perhaps this wasn't the best place to get your bangs worked on, so you might want to rethink your choices going forward.

Once the hipster left, there were still two more ahead of me before I would be in the chair.  The wait got longer as the barber's cousin came in and began pontificating to anyone who would, or wouldn't listen.  He claimed, many times over, that he was a Communist and that he didn't pay taxes.  He talked this up a whole lot.  He also gave out a lot of advice, unsolicited mind you, on how to maintain a happy marriage.  Given that he used his wife as the butt of his many stale jokes ("She spends..., She nags..."), I'm thinking his marriage advice is probably not all that sound.  It was all I could do to feign a modicum of interest.  I was never so glad for the texts that came my way to divert my attention.

I finally got in the chair and nearly 45 minutes later, I was done.  I've had better haircuts and I've had worse - way worse.  Like the time the Peruvian lady in Miami balded me in several places.  But that's a story for another day.  In the end, going old school was probably not the best choice.  My quest for a really good barber continues.  There's more to come in this quest.