For the past two and a half years I have been taking our grandson, Michael, to our local barbershop for a haircut every five weeks. We live in a very small town with only two barbershops. The owner/operators of the shop we patronize are two brothers who appear to be in their forties or fifties. My husband also gets his hair cut there and occasionally takes Michael with him.
Every time we enter the shop I am mystified by the conversation that takes place. It doesn't matter which barber does the cutting. The conversation goes something like this:
Barber: Hello, young fella. Take a seat right up here. (Looks at me) How would you like his hair cut?
Me: Oh, just like it is now, only shorter.
Barber: Does he wear the front combed down?
Me: No, his mother combs it over to the side when he goes to church.
Barber: Which side?
Me: Over to the right.
Barber: Do you want a little sideburn?
Me: Yes, and can you cut it pretty high over the ears? It grows really fast.
Barber: Do you want the back blocked or tapered?
Me: Blocked.
Then the barber proceeds to cut Michael's hair and carries on a little conversation with him. When he's finished, Michael climbs down, gets the piece of gum the barber offers, hands him a check and we're out the door.
The mystery: Each time we go there it's like they've never seen us before. Why don't they remember us, know that they cut it previously, and just cut it the same way it looks, only shorter? Can't they look at the back and see that it's blocked? Can't they see the little sideburns? Can a five year old grow sideburns where there were none in just five weeks? Really, how many little boys call their grandma "Googoo"? That alone would make me remember us. Also, I never hear them ask these questions to the men who get their hair cut while we're there. They just start cutting.
Oh well, if they ever do remember us and just start cutting, I'm going to be so disappointed. This is so much more fun. I walk in feeling like I'm entering Floyd's shop in Mayberry and I walk out feeling like I'm leaving the Twilight Zone!
This story is funny and I can just see you two walking out of the barber shop shaking your heads as Michael says, "GooGoo, is that a real barber or does he just play one on TV."
ReplyDeleteOne place a town needs is a Floyd's shop!
There was a time when I was considered by even my doctor as being hyper sensitive to the thought of getting a life threatening disease but thankfully not any longer. I was reminded when reading here of standing in line at the doctors office. I was about 17. When the person right in front of me was ask his name at the desk, he responded Danny Loftin. Quietly stepping out of line, going in a wobble to the car, struggling to find his keys then after driving around for a while asking 'who am I what am I', a shaken but cured young man returned to the doctors office and was met at the door of the twilight zone by a nurse who recognized him... or it could be whom, i am never sure.
ReplyDeleteDanny Loftin
How funny! I'm surprised you went back to the office. I would have just kept driving!
ReplyDeleteI know. I wondered the same thing. Maybe to see if Danny was still there.
ReplyDelete