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Recently, there seems to have been an effort to resurrect the good old fashioned barbershop. I do not have fond memories of the good old barbershops of my youth. The thought of a barber conjures up images of Sweeney Todd standing over me, ready to cut more than just hair. I recall, as a boy, my father taking my brother and I along with him to one of the local barbershops on the weekend. First of all the shop would be small, with I believe only four barbershop chairs, one of which was never utilized. The place would be jammed packed with men. Smoking was not prohibited in public places back then, so the air was thick and foul, polluted with thick clouds of cigarette and cigar smoke. The Head Barber was a heavy smoker himself, so when he began slicing and dicing your hair a cigarette was always wagging from between his lips as he constantly blew thick blasts of smoke into your face from every conceivable angle. We had a code name for each of these three Barbers; Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest. Depending on who cut your hair, your new hairstyle would be worse, worser or the worst. I remember the fearful anticipation my brother and I felt as our turns drew near and we wondered to which Barber we would be assigned.

When it was my turn, as it was with anyone else, I was pointed at and directed to the chair. Once in the chair, if I was lucky, the barber would ask me how I wanted my haircut. He then would proceed to cut my hair however it suited him at the time. If I was unlucky, as soon as I sat down, in no time the apron was around me and without any input from me, the shearing would just come on fast and furious. There was no love, no feeling and absolutely no consideration for me as a person or a customer. I was just one of many passing through this assembly line type of operation, better described as a chop shop.

I remember on one occasion, my brother had drawn the Head Barber. My brother was determined to get his hair styled according to some pre-determined plan he had at the time. After he sat down in the chair and was wrapped in the apron, he spoke up and announced that he just want wanted his hair trimmed. The Head Barber looked him over from different angles and then responded, to the effect, that he thought my brother needed a regular haircut. My brother was keen enough to know that a regular cut was not in his best interest. He spoke up again in a soft spoken defiance and reiterated his desire for having his hair trimmed. In a sight that I had never seen before and never seen since, the Head Barber summoned the other two barbers together for a conference. They huddled around each other, with the Head Barber pointing and gesturing in my brother’s direction. For a few moments, time seemed to stand still. However, soon the conference ended. The other two other Barbers returned to their chairs and the Head Barber returned to my brother to deliver the verdict, which was that the team of barbers had decided that he needed a regular haircut. The gavel had come down and this decision was final. In this shop there was no appeals process. The Head Barber grabbed his comb, put on his scissors and gave my brother a regular haircut that he never forgot. At home my brother wept bitterly as he expressed his displeasure with his regular haircut. Now this Head Barber was the dumber on the dumb, dumber and dumbest ranking system.

On more than one occasion, I drew the dumbest of the lot, who true to his name delivered the worst haircuts imaginable. He was a foreign fellow that didn’t speak or understand much English. He did know how to keep his scissors sharp and he snapped them open and closed with a ferociousness that even a lobster would envy. I remember, during one of my sessions with him he basically only cut the hair on only one side of my head. I had to go back later in the day and have the Head Barber fix it with one of his one size fits all regular haircuts. When it was over, I think, I too went home and cried.

At this barbershop there was not a nice shampoo at the end of the torment to wash away the loose hairs. There was no warm towel offered for a facial compress and there certainly was no massage of any sort. However, if there was any blessing in disguise, it was that dumb, dumber and dumbest kept their scissors out of our noses and ears! For information on a more tame version of a haircut.

Originally published on Associated Content / Yahoo Contributor Network (YCN) on March 28, 2009

© Copyright, Han Van Meegerin – All Rights Reserved

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