Rough Cut

Saturday 11:30 am. As I pulled up to the building, I sensed something was wrong. The front door was wide open and no one was around. Hesitantly, I walked in. The first door on the right was locked. It should have been open on a Saturday. I spotted a sign taped to the opposite wall. It said to come upstairs. The dimly lit hallway already had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. There was an elevator on the right, but a sign taped to the doors warned “Do Not Use”. I slowly climbed the adjacent stairs, firmly grasping the hand rail. As I made the first turn, I heard the voices of two people. “That’s better” I thought, “Someone is here after all”.  

I turned the corner and saw more closed doors. I expected a bustling place based on all the signs posted in the parking lot, but the only sign of life was those voices. Farther along, light poured onto the floor from an open door. As I headed towards it, the voices grew louder and I noticed a sign saying “Barber Shop” above the streaming light. Okay, I was in the right place. I walked into the room, spotting four barber chairs along the mirrored wall. There were some empty chairs along the opposite wall with a few old magazines. I guessed both men were barbers. I was wrong. The two finished up their conversation. “See you in a few weeks” the taller man said as he turned and left. I hung my sunglasses on a coat hook.

“Hi, how are you?” the remaining man smiled.

“I’m okay, just in need of a good trim” I answered, “My hair is very fine and gets completely out of control as it gets longer. My wife loves it, but I can’t stand the way the sides puff out” I continued. “I begin to look like Bozo the Clown. I prefer the sides shorter with my hair off the ears”.

“So, you don’t like the curls but your wife does... typical”, he responded. “I’ll see what I can do”. 

He pointed to the chair closest to the window. I sat and he turned the chair so I faced the mirror. To my right was a cheap plastic bin, filled with various attachments for an electric razor. I saw just one pair of scissors. “What’s going on? The name of this place is “Scissors That Dazzle”, I thought to myself. I heard the voice of Han Solo say “I’ve got a bad feeling about this”. As he covered me with a colorful drape, I noticed he had some difficulty because his right arm was in a plaster cast that covered his forearm and wrist right up to the fingers. “I’m getting a haircut from a one-armed barber.” My eyes grew wide as I realized he was also right-handed. The next thought was of the Geico commercial with Tiki Barber, the former Giants running back, shaving razor streaks in the heads of three customers as he rushed by. “Tiki Barber running a barber shop… surprising” the narrator intoned. “What’s not surprising…”

Suddenly the sound of a razor buzzing was by my right ear. Too late! Holding the razor awkwardly in his left hand, the one-armed barber had already zipped off a chunk of hair. My eyes went even wider as he walked around and took a chunk from the left side of my head.

“I’m using a number 6 blade so it won’t take more than a half inch of hair from the sides” he said.

“Okay” I stammered, while I thought “Looks like a lot more”.

“Your wife should be happy with that”. He took off the number 6 and switched to another plastic blade. They all looked the same to me. This was a big mistake. My wife is NOT going to be happy. 

I’d gone by another barber shop earlier that morning. Walking in the door, I quickly turned away because the shop was overflowing with kids. There were like four mothers sitting there and each of them seemed to have brought four children with them. It looked like the baseball team was in for their buzz cuts. I’d be waiting all day if I’d stayed, so I’d looked elsewhere and had spotted the sign for “Scissors That Dazzle” and the old barber pole. I prefer scissors cuts, so that’s why I’d gone here.  

Slowly, I realized I’d gone into shock. He’d started on the top of my head, changing blades at least three more times, each move more awkward than the previous. I closed my eyes for a moment, embarrassed to look in the mirror. I could just tell him to stop, but I was tongue-tied and knew that it might be better to just let him finish and even it out. If I left now, women and small children would flee from my presence. I just had to wait it out. I knew it would be over soon and no matter how bad it looked, my hair would eventually grow back. Eventually… 

He went back again and again, always using that electric razor. He never touched the scissors. Of course he couldn’t, I realized. I certainly wouldn’t be able to use scissors with my left hand either. At least not with any kind of precision. The only way his scissors dazzled is by being shiny in the plastic box. Live and learn. Five minutes later he was done. He used a small soft-bristled whisk broom to brush off the extraneous hair. What was left on my head was going in multiple directions. “I might be able to even it out when I get home” I hopefully considered. I paid the man and headed towards the door. “See you again” he said to my back. I just waved my hand in return and got out of there as quickly as possible. Once I got into my car I found a baseball cap to hide my head. I remembered back when my father used to cut my hair, so many years ago. He’d use an electric razor, just like the barber. When I’d catch up to my friends, the first thing they’d say was “Did your dad cut your hair with the lawn mower?” I’d answer back “Better than the bowl your mom used on you.” I wondered what my wife would say. I’d have been better off going to our dog groomer for a haircut. But they’d want to give me a bath too. At least I’d have gotten a dog biscuit when they were done.

I pulled into the garage. Her car was there. I walked into the kitchen. She was turned away as I said “Don’t say a word”. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, flooding me with mortification. She turned, her eyes went wide and she sputtered “What happened”.

“I literally ran into a one-armed barber and he cuts hair with his non-dominant hand”.

“You’re kidding”.

“I am not”.

“We can’t go out in public, at least not anywhere people know us”.

“Thanks” I said, “I love you too”.

“I have to be honest, that’s the worst haircut I’ve ever seen on you. You look like you’re about to cry. It will grow back eventually.”

It was like hearing an echo. “Eventually” I said. “At least I’ll never go back there. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

I then filled her in on the details, adding that I might soak my head in a bucket of water to help my hair grow faster.

“I’m headed to CVS. Maybe I can find a fast hair growth formula for you”, my adoring wife said.

“I’d leave the country” I said in response, “but I don’t look anything like my passport photo’.

“It will grow back, eventually”, she repeated.

“Eventually”. I turned away, heading for the bathroom to fill the tub with water. Let the soaking begin.