Barber shop tales
So I’m sitting here in my local barbershop, taking in the sights and sounds. The smell of hair tonic and a certain old mustiness that seems so normal and familiar. My regular shop is a remains of a days gone by. Old school barbers, where you get your haircut the way he wants to cut it. No mohawks or mullets here. You’re more likely to get a crew cut, but only if you ask. The banter of voices flows from all in attendance. Who saw that game last night? What happened to ole Joe today, heard he was sick. I’m going to go fish when I leave here, yea, I heard they were biting up at the lake. Plus all sorts of jokes, from your brother to how you look.
The bullshit flows wave after wave. An unrelenting, steady stream of tales and insults.
And I love it…
The old school, men only barber shop is an experience that I look forward to. Where men are men and life is, for a short time the way it used to be. Every guy should take the time to find an old school barbershop. Downtown, in a small store, or they’re the only barber in a small midwestern town. It’s a totally immersive place to experience. No frills, no hair coloring and usually, no women’s haircuts.
Don’t miss your chance to go before they are all gone, as it’s a dying breed. The shops we grew up with are getting fewer. Most of the older barbers are dying out, not to be replaced. Except here, his son works by his side, following his dad’s footsteps. Keeping the old style alive and breathing…and cutting.
Now excuse me, but it’s my turn for some insulting, leg pulling and tall tales while I get my ears lowered.
