Previous Message

I have always loved barbershops but tend to wear my hair on the longer side. A few times I’ve caved and gotten a short cut but always very quickly grew back 5 or 6 inches all over.
One of my regular barbershop games is to pick a hole in the wall barber shop and get a super light trim from a no nonsense take charge barber. The results are usually enough to satisfy the urges but not enough to garner comments in my daily life. One shop I found in a tiny town checked all the boxes I look for:
-single male barber
-old fashioned chair
-traditional stripe cape
-no vacuum clippers

I had gotten one haircut there once before, and he did exactly as I asked. Scissored off 1/2 inch, a very slight trim. I went back some time later and the barber recognized me immediately. After some friendly teasing about long hair in a barbershop, he asked if I wanted “about yea much taken off?” showing me about half an inch space between his thumb and finger. It looked like the same exact amount he took off last time, so I replied “sounds good” and started absorbing all the sights and sounds I love in a barbershop.

This shop is small and narrow. The barber chair faces the wall of waiting chairs but did not face a mirror. I remembered this from the last time and enjoyed not seeing anything, only hearing the haircut until it was over and I was shown my reflection in the mirror above his work station.

He spent a long time combing and wetting my hair. He reminded me that salons really enjoy cutting long hair and I took it as a good natured joke. He combed and combed and combed and then with a sense of gravity, he sectioned off the top front section of my hair. Combed and combed and combed and then slowly snipped. Three or four snips and he released the hair still attached to my head. He reached down into my lap and picked up a severed lock of hair. I nearly lost my breath when he held it up to my face “about like that?” Showing me a clipping that was two full inches.

I panicked and tried to appear calm but said “maybe not quite that much.” The barber dropped the hair back in my lap and began scooping up the next section of my hair.

“That’s alright… we’ll go ahead and make the change.” He said very quietly, almost in a whisper in my ear. He knew how I felt, and he knew what he had done. He took off four times what he said he would, and there was apparently nothing I could do to stop him. The rest of the haircut progressed in friendly conversation. But the hair piled up on the cape and it was clear that I was going to walk out of there with something much shorter than I wanted. At one point he noticed how much hair was resting on my shoulder and he took a large handful and tossed it to the floor.

When he finished the haircut he spun the chair to the mirror and said “it’s too short isn’t it?” Almost as if he was enjoying watching me try to act like everything was fine. I told him it was fine and he doubled down “it’s too short, I cut too much off didn’t I” but clearly not apologetic. He was friendly enough but he had won that round. The heap of hair around the chair when I left was priceless. I hope he got as much of a kick out of that haircut as I did.