The Barber School

Sometime this week, I plan to get a haircut. And although it’s not a big deal anymore, there was a time when it definitely was. You see, back when we were kids, our parents dictated who would do the actual hair cutting. And this wasn’t necessarily a good thing….

There was a local barber shop that a lot of the kids would go to. I think the guy who owned it was named Walt. Anyway, many of neighborhood kids would walk through those barber shop doors not having a clue as to what atrocity awaited their hair. They would unsuspectingly climb up into the barber’s chair and then Walt would work his magic (actually it was more like voodoo).

After the haircut, it didn’t take long for the word to spread. The typical reaction by the other neighborhood kids was, “Hey, did you hear that Jimmy just got a haircut at Walt’s? He looks like he got scalped by a bunch of pissed off Indians! He looks rediculous!What’d ya say we go over his house and make fun of him??”

Yeah, it was kind of cruel, but everyone came to expect it. But as bad as a “Walt’s haircut” could be, I personally had it much worse. My dad, always trying to save a buck, would take me to the local barber school. Yep, that’s right, a school! These guys weren’t even barbers. They were practicing to be barbers. And guess who the guinea pigs were?

I’m telling you, it was bad. On a good day, I would leave there looking like I just got into a fight with a pack of feral cats. On a bad day, I looked like I was just leaving the ER after a serious car accident. (Before long, I became jealous of the kids who went to Walt’s).

Actually, the barber “students” were more like butchers than barbers. One time, I nearly lost an ear! One of these clowns accidently clipped my ear with the scissors. I immediately flinched and tried to push the guy away. (I was terrified that he might gouge out one of my eyes.) And then I hear my dad yell, “Sit your ass down and be quiet!”

WTF??

I tell my dad that I’m afraid that the guy is going to disfigure me! And as I kicked and screamed, I pleaded with him to please get me out of there! Only when he saw the blood streaming down the side of my neck did he decide to rescue me. It was kind of like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, only we were at a barber school! These guys were about as "ear-friendly" as Mike Tyson! Thank God, this would turn out to be my final trip here.

“Getting your ears lowered” took on a whole new meaning at the barber school. I’m not sure if anyone ever died there, but it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit. For years afterward, I would always carry a roll of gauze when I went anywhere for a haircut. I never had any more injuries, but I just wanted to be prepared. Future barbers would often ask about the gauze, but I would always tell them, "It's too painful. I'd rather not talk about it."

I eventually overcame my barber anxitey and today I'm happy to report that I'm gauze free..........

KW