HAIRCUT

Every now and then—actually, quite frequently—Cranky is reminded how the culture is passing him by. The latest reminder occurred recently at a barber shop.

You remember barber shops, right? Those places with red and white poles outside where guys go to get haircuts? That is, unless you’re the kind of guy that goes to a “hair stylist” place.

Cranky has always thought that things were pretty simple at a barber shop. The barber asked how you wanted it cut. You replied with something like, “Just a trim,” or maybe “Medium.”

Sometimes the barber might asked, “Tapered in back?” Cranky has never known quite sure what that meant, so he always answered “Yes.” And then after electric clippers on the sides and back and some scissors action, you were done. You felt some haircuts were better than others, but they were all mostly okay. Very infrequently, maybe once a decade, you thought the result was really odd, and family and friends snickered a bit, but new growth soon returned you to a familiar state.

So for most of Cranky’s life, barber shops have been places of stability in a world of bewildering change. The stability hasn’t been absolutely complete. For example, female barbers are much more numerous nowadays—a welcomed development, in Cranky’s view—but for the most part the barber shop of today is not much different than the barber shop of yesteryear.

Thus Cranky was not prepared for what transpired during his most recent trip to the barber shop. Shortly after Cranky was seated and bibbed up, another patron took an adjacent chair. The barber asked, “How do you want it?”

Which was the trigger for a dissertation. “Just clippers on the side except for ‘round the ears where scissors only. And scissors only on the top. Go easy on the neck shave in back. And just light scissors on the sideburns. Don’t shave below them.”

What the heck!? Cranky stole a look sideways. He was a youngish dark-haired dude with one of those spiked hair situations. Not a multitude of spikes, just a small one in front. Late thirties at the most, he looked at the peak of his game, a master of the universe. All success thus far. Life had not gotten around to those kicks in the groin.

The real question was, what was he doing in a barber shop? Hair stylist was where he belonged, pure and simple. “Hey Dude, this place is for us ancient types. There’s a fru-fru joint down the block, just the thing for you and other pretty boys, like John Edwards.”