BY MARK GARAY
Barber.
I’ve not always had great friendships with barbers. And as I waited for a recent haircut, certain things began to dawn on me and prompted more than a few questions.
My first ever haircut was an absolute disaster. For some reason, I vomited on the poor guy, which should tell you all you need to know about how I process stress. It was a local barber close to my home in a neighborhood known as Forest Hills. I remember it being dreadful. Cleanup required coordinated efforts to manage my discharge, and a trip to the store for air freshener. My mom was appalled, but smiled, nonetheless.
And my fears of the barbershop pole didn’t improve in the 6th grade when another guy accidentally sliced my ear. I’d arrived at Fisherman’s Wharf at 5 a.m. that day to board a big boat and embark on a five-hour fishing trip. The early hour, combined with the rough San Francisco Bay waters seemed to slow me, and I later fell asleep in the chair. When I nodded off, the scissors clipped the top of my right ear. My mom was appalled, but smiled, nonetheless.
The barbers of my youth were not at all that distinctive; mostly older gentlemen with graying hair, spectacles and a short-sleeved shirt made of some strange paper-like microfiber. These men were usually soft-spoken. They smiled a lot. Many had red noses due to scotch cocktails after the day’s last cleaning.
The barbershops were always straightforward. Mine had the typical checkered floor and that mysterious blue-green potion where the combs lived in a clear jar. I never knew what that stuff was. And I never asked.
Fast forward to today. My Sugar Land spot still holds a blue and red pole hanging on an arm connected to the storefront. Inside, the configuration is still the same. But today’s barbershops have more chairs on average than yesteryear. Gone is the one- or two-chair shop. Mine has five and they’re all filled as I approach. My 80s barber would never dream of blasting music during procedures. The owner in Sugar Land is a 32-year-old kid from Richmond, and he cranks Zeppelin. I’ve asked him if that’s a strategy to attract older customers with deeper pockets. He assures me it is not.
As I ease down on a leather sofa to wait my turn, it occurred to me that walk-in appointments are rare with online booking. I wonder if anyone under 40 has ever called to make an appointment. I commented on how much this exiting client looks like Nate Bargatze. No one finds it amusing, highlighting, I later noticed, how little conversation exists between client and cutter. Today’s guys seem more focused on the task and less likely to enjoy conversation. They make an effort, but it’s a lie. I’m twice their age, and weight. What the hell do we have in common?
I’m also perplexed why all clients are faced away from the mirrors, and I suspect it’s a new trend to keep clients from nitpicking before the job is done. Or maybe to build up the drama. My guy takes about 30 minutes. It’s a good job, and I leave happy. I briefly ask him why he faces his customers away from the mirrors as he works. He says it’s so he can more easily access his tools on the shelf under the glass. Makes sense. I’ve concluded that the experience today is different from my memories, but not by much. I guess like furniture, hot tea and baseball, there’s not a lot of room to change the formula. By the way, I paid $57 for my recent trim. $5 used to cover it.
(Former ABC13 Houston KTRK anchor Mark Garay returns to mikemcguff.com as a guest blogger!)
