Fantasy VS Reality - the Barbershop

 I have been doing hair for 17 years. I have seen it all, heard every joke and line and delt with many colorful characters in my chair, but there is one character that is constant. Not a week goes by without one of these...

Meet Jim

Jim hasn't had a haircut in many many moons. In fact, it is doubtful that a comb could even penetrate the tangled locks on his head that now give refuge to insects that are albinoed from lack of daylight. Judgeing by his hungry gaze and bit of drool on his beard, I am also willing to bet an all night roll in the hay that Jim has not seen a woman other than his sister in years. But, Jim is feeling lucky today...

As I welcome Jim into my chair he immediately starts telling me how long it's been since he had a haircut and just how busy he has been tending his salvage yard. Yeah, I'm sure Jim has been too overwhelmed with the demand for crumpled Pinto fenders to get a haircut in the last three years. Even more so, with the little miss running off with his best friend who he whooped he has been run ragged fending off the ladies trying to "hook" him for all his money... ya, know cause he has his own buisness. So, in 2 sentences Jim is able to imform me that he is single, rich and a bad ass. Not too bad, Jim... you realize I am only your hostage for a short time.. It's ok, Jim. I'll play along.

I start combing the tangles out of his hair and stepping on rodents leaping out of the mass. I give him my best southern smile as I coo how thick and luxurious his hair is. How he must be so virile to produce such a monsterous amout of hair. Jim lowers his sour beer breath and chuckles that I have no idea how much hair he really grows... in the Badlands. "Oh my, Jim! Uh.. tell me about your exciting buisness."

Being able to manage a client like Jim is much like the job of a lion trainer. I must be believable and playful while thwarting advances. Jim should feel that he could take me if he wanted and I must convince him that there are better woman than me that will throw themselves at him when he leaves with his new coif. Jim should feel like king of the jungle even as my stomach churns as he gawks at my tits.

As I cut his hair, Jim sees this in the mirror.

This is my veiw.

Seventeen years has prepared me for this. I cut fast and furious like an octopus ninja with scissors on crystal meth. Fumes of burnt oil, stale beer and week long perspiration waft up from Jim. I'm dizzy and nauseous but still smiling. It's almost over... just a little more - Dear GOD, he must be the missing link! Maybe I should bop him on the head and sell him for BigFoot! Tie him up with my electrical cords.. I saw duct tape in the office! Call Ripleys Believe It or Not and the local newspaper! Wait! No! no. oh. my. god... I'm done....

     

And Jim sees himself in a whole new light.

I didn't loose my cool. Almost. But not quite. Jim's eyes are dancing with delight as he tries to imagine how many woman he will be able to bed down now. He tells me I'm magic, the best. Yes, I am. I have not only tamed a tiger, but hypnotized him into believing he is James Dean. Jim tips me well and the angels sing. As I whip the cape off him, he looks down at his lap to the small wet spot on his lap. Jim's face turns beet red and I see his jaw muscles clench as he looks away. Quickly, I apologise that I must have dripped water into his lap. "Here, let me blot that with a dry towel!" Jim catches my hand and says it would only make it worse.

Goodbye, Jim! Please come again a little sooner than three years next time, ok? And I'll be sure to wear my barber shoes that you love so well.