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i am a simple man with simple hair. set the blade guard to a 2 and let 'er rip tater chip. when feeling special, and wanting something that that has a little style to it, a 4 on top and a 2 on the sides will do. even then there is no need for a hoity-toity stylist, a good ol' boy barber is all i need.
my last paid for hair cut was years ago in royal oak (a burb of detroit). i saw the store front and took a chance.
before the door had closed behind me, i was turning to walk back out. the flee instinct was triggered by weeks worth of hair swept into mounds against the wall. i heard the hum of the clippers stop and the barbers phlegm hindered voice.
"have a seat, your next!" against my better judgement i sat down.
the lights were dim and the room long and narrow. so dim, it was hard to discern anything but shapes against the back wall. it resembled a cave with hair stalagmites growing upward from the floor. duct tape affixed a calendar (3 years expired) yellowed from time and cigarette smoke to the wall. duct tape was a big player in the shop, it also patched the holes in the seats, and held an end table together. the oldest television i ever saw displayed a color distorted image of cnn, the volume was maxed out.
soon, it was my turn and i climbed into the barber chair.
he asked me what type of cut i wanted. a normal question from a barber but usually one asked before the electric clippers have carved a path halfway up the back of your head.
"um what ever you are doing is fine, i guess." i replied.
the quick blade motion of well maintained electric clippers creates a even steady high pitched buzz. the sound created by the electric clippers roving my scalp made a wavering low pitched buzz that would occasionally sputter when burdened with cutting my hair. his solution when the clippers bogged down was to press the clippers harder into my head. occasionally he himself would stall out and withdrawal the clippers to watch cnn for a few minutes before returning to the task of mutilating my head.
he told me many dirty jokes that didn't make much sense. the punch line always revolved around hillary clinton's genitalia. i was afraid not to laugh, so i giggled politely. i was very careful, i feared the slightest movement of my head may result in a severed ear.
as the last hair fluttered to the floor, he crouched in front of me, face to face. his eyes darted around my head admiring his work. suddenly and without warning his hand holding the electric clippers was moving to my face. before i could retract my head he was done. zorro the barber had trimmed a few misguided hairs peeking from my nostrils. the speed, accuracy and skill of the nostril attack was incredible considering the lack of skills demonstrated up to this point. it was kind of an idiot savant like action, done without thinking. feeling a little violated, i pinched my nose shut between my thumb and pointer finger. startled i starred at him incredulously.
thinking it was over, i began to unhook the bib when i felt the cold wet slap of his hand on my freshly shorn scalp. he then proceeded to massage the elixir into my head. i don't really know what it was, but i suddenly smelled like old man head.
"eight dollars" he said.
i gave him ten and ran very fast and very far.