esrosedotblog

SHORTER

I went to get a haircut today.

You may know that this is never easy for me.

I do not have a clue about why.

My hair history is not traumatic.

When I was a kid, I went to Mr. Kitzig out on the main road in Mountainhome Pa. Kitzig was a no nonsense kind of guy. What I liked is that he had copies of the Policeman's Gazette which was not for kids but he didn't care if I read them. He was not a babysitter.

But somehow, it didn't work out in the long run. Maybe my mother found out I had access to the Gazette. It was pretty tame stuff. Girls. She didn't know that even then I was not interested in that. I think, actually, it was the driving me there and the waiting or not. Mostly not.

I needed a barber who would be within walking distance. That would be Edgar Treintasseau (?), a Belgian immigré who still had a photo of King Leopold over the mirror.

Edgar was a drinker and possibly a closet case. He would go out back where they lived and take a snort during the haircut. The Ms. was back there and listened to the banter if any, in the shop. She would sometimes interject from the back.

I remember that Edgar would not give me a crewcut after I had lobbied long and hard with my parents to get one. Everyone else was getting one.

I had him call her to insure that she wouldn't bust his balls after he had done the deed.

After that I think that I just had a buzz cut wherever I went until the 70s when I grew my hair long. Then I had to find a place that would do hippies and I don't remember much about the hunt at all.

I do remember the first time I went to a "stylist". A one man shop. On Dartmouth Street. Norman. An overwrought queen who, if you were in his presence, had the knack of drawing you into his drama.

I don't remember a lot of it but it became too much, we had a fight (everyone did eventually) and I began my slow crawl from one place to another.

I don't know when I started cutting my own hair. I went back to the buzz anyway. Maybe I had it done. Utilitarian.

I had to have a look for my work leading managers in training experiences and nothing too radical was going to work well. There was a period when my work was to be somewhat out there but that changed and so did I. My hair followed the money.

And on and on.

A while ago, I started wearing my hair long again. The old back and forth. A friend is the perennial best in Palm Springs shop and he had offered to do my hair and so why not.

It is OK but I still do not like the fuss.

What is good about this is that it is his shop and it is well designed to provide some privacy and no contact with other clients or hair cutters.

I get a cut (ha ha) rate. But it is still a bit of a pain as I have to go out to get the cut, sit for a half hour and admire myself and his work and be fussed over. I am still not comfortable with it.

It is no drama. Nice and quiet. Probably the best that it can be under the circumstances.

No complaints. Just grumbling.

I know. It is being held hostage. No control. That's it.

Wow. I got it. Thanks for listening.

Oh. I still don't know whether I want the back tapered or blocked.

Labels: hair