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The Barber Shop: It was like a day in Mayberry When his regular hairstylist was on vacation, an alternative had to be found - not without concerns. A trip to an old fashioned barber shop was like a trip back in time. For a moment it was like being on "Father Knows Best," being in Floyd the Barber's Chair. There had been a few tense moment relearning the ways of barber shops - but in the end, he was back in the Club and had a good $11 haircut to boot. By Timothy Spruill Yesterday I did my usual call to Vivo Salon and Day Spa but dear Nicole was on vacation and it would be two weeks or more before she could layer my locks. I felt my shaggy ends couldn't wait that long. A quick google search opened my eyes to a local barber shop. It was right in downtown Lebanon. I could even walk there for a quick trim, I thought. "Never any appointments" the advertisement read. How quaint. I set out for downtown which is only five minutes away. But really my jaunt was a trip back in time and into a world I had all but forgotten. Just inside one of the entryways from the downtown pedestrian mall, there it was. That veritable icon of manliness from an era gone by. It was the barber pole with stripes! Did it really still exist? Taking in a deep breath I thought I might be making a mistake. I had come to trust Nicole to layer things properly and her work on my head came to pass over a period of time with detailed communication and precise explanations. It was a risk to leave the safe confines of the matronly comfort that Nicole had provided but she had abandoned me for summer festivities. Hmmph I stepped into the barber shop where about six men sat waiting. There was one bald barber, a handsome thirty-something, who was smiling and chatting up his current customer. I think each man took a look up from his magazine or cell phone to see who was next in line. "Was it that obvious that I hadn't stepped into a barber shop in years?" I thought. Sheesh. I took a seat ... quickly noting the gentlemen who were all ahead of me. I noticed the sign with "the barber shop hours ... 8-5." Okay. It's 4:30 pm. "He didn't turn me away so I guess I can wait ..." Grabbing a magazine I tried to seem inconspicuous and wanted to fit into the club where I had forgotten most of the rules. I hurriedly looked at the magazines available pretending to read an article (I was really frantically searching for a photo to which I could point out to the barber ... "sir, give me a cut like this.") With Nicole it would be easy and almost expected ... just in case I wanted a new style. I knew, however, in my gut that this was a different setting. I had entered the world of the manly man where clippers ruled and rules were fixed. "Is it okay to ask to leave my sideburns?" I thought to myself. More men came inside the shop. It was getting crowded. Each time a new guy entered there was a collective head count. Ahhhh ... I suddenly realized it wasn't that I was being sized up when I came inside. It was just that the last guy was making a mental note that he'd be clipped before me and all the others were making the same mental notes.BR> Easy Schmeasy. The smell was decidedly different from the somewhat floral appeal of Vivo Salon and Day Spa. Yessirree. It was musky. It was a hint of something of a mixture of spices, apples, razor equipment, and testosterone. It hearkened back childhood years and my Grandfather's days as a barber. The visits on weekends to Grandparents, about once every six weeks or so, always meant a fresh haircut. I'd hop up into the little wooden booster seat and my Dad would say ... just buzz it. Grandpa would leave me a little patch up front that he'd push up with some kind of heavy duty hair wax. I never thought twice about asking for anything other than what he and my Dad had decided for me. The after shave, the barber scissors, like the antique ones I had inherited from Grandpa, were all the same. There was a cozy feeling of a membership that I had long felt to be lost and yet it had been right there all the time. The barber shop had not left me. I had left the barber shop. Then it was my turn to get into the chair. I felt a bit of a rush. I felt my heartbeat speed up. I felt all the guys sitting around with their magazines and cell phones take a deep breath along with me. I felt way overly self-conscious. I felt I wasn't sure the barber would know what to do with my head. I saw an old 1950's-esque drawing of different hairstyles for men hanging on the wall. I sort of grunted and said ... "I'll take this one ... I want this one." The barber smiled. His name was Micah. He said "Okay" and then he started clipping. I tried not to watch. It was all a sort of unspoken "Mars-world" communication style and I was coming from the "Venus-world" of day spas where every lock of hair seemed to have a potential place. For a moment or two I was living in the old show "Father Knows Best." I was with Floyd in Mayberry. I was one of the guys. The smells, the chats ... friendly but not too personal, were all much more comforting than I had remembered. Suddenly I was at home again. I was in Grandpa's chair. By that time my neck had been shaved with a straight razor. "After shave?" ... "Yep ... whichever you choose ... doesn't matter." "That'll be $11." See you next time, Floyd ..er ... Micah. Thanks for letting me back into the club. I like my haircut too. > - Timothy Spruill, Wednesday, July 25, 2012 Note on the writer: Timothy Spruill, a native of the Nashville (Tennessee) area, moved to New Hampshire in 2000 and lives both on the east side in Freedom and on the west side in Lebanon which is near Dartmouth College. -Robert Stone This story was posted on 2012-08-05 07:21:02
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