Good hair, like a rose bush, flourishes with benign neglect. At least this has been my rationalization for years of poor haircuts and itinerant stays at various barbers, salons, and beauty parlours. It will always grow back and it is pretty much going to look good because it’s the o’fro. So why bother? Besides, I am a Free Spirit not to be tied down with bourgeois obligations like hair cutting appointments or stylist affiliations. These are the concerns of a douchebag, and I am definitely not one of those. Simple, no-frills, convenient. That is how my haircuts roll.
And the route from Tallulah’s school to my office runs right by the no-frills, old school Joe King’s Barbershop. Joe King is, alas, no more. It was always interesting to get a haircut from Joe, who would mumble under the sound of the clippers as he worked. You could tell him whatever you wanted about how you would like to get your hair cut. It did not matter. Joe cut hair one way. All over town there was a fraternity of men with the same hair style, courtesy Joe King. I would have stopped in just to remain in the clan despite what it did to my look, but Joe was gone.
Betty now has the front chair, and I was not sure that going to Betty would be the same experience. As often happens, I awoke one morning and was so miserable with the mound of hair on my head that I decided I would get it cut. Today. Now. The spirit has moved and we shall make it so. Great Clips does not open until 10:00, so I bit the bullet and stopped at Betty’s Joe King’s Barber Shop, arriving about the same time she did. I gave her a minute to get inside and then she motioned me in because she was tired of waiting.
When I sat in the chair, the first thing she asked was, “Have you been going to Great Clips?” I hung my head in shame. She made me look up again so that she could thin out the top (sorry, that’s not supposed to be an arrogant statement) and we talked about her kids and my work. The haircut was good. And cheap enough. She asked me if I was in love. I said I would be up for another date.
When I came back, the hair still looked good and was not too long, but it was getting way too warm when I ran. Betty asked me about work — she remembered who I worked for — and we talked about her kids and grand kids some more. She gave me another great haircut that looked good when I left and looks good now. I look in the mirror most mornings and wonder if it is long enough yet for me to go back and see Betty. I worry that she will not get enough customers or decide to retire. She said she had quit smoking, and I hope she has stuck with it. I do not want her to get sick and not be able to cut hair. I’m a wreck. I’ve finally got a barber stylist lady. She’s gonna make me lonesome when she goes.