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My time...

It's been quite a while since I blogged anything and truthfully, I was going to throw something together just for the hell of it. But since starting the blog, it's become something a little more personal than just entertainment. True, most of my blogs are light and uneventful, but thats the mood I was in when I wrote.. so it's still personal. I just have not had the time or to put anything together lately. So maybe I'll write a little on that:

       I have a great job that I love. I barber in a small shop with 4 other barbers. The owner's name is Dorothy, then there's John, George and Joel. John started the shop 30 yrs ago and built up quite a thriving buisness that keeps that small town  "Cheers" kind of friendliness. He focused on keeping his barbers happy, fresh and skilled and that in turn made the clients happy. He never went into the buisness expecting or trying to make a fortune. He just wanted a place where he could make a decent living, provide a great working enviroment and still have an outside family life. The buisness was never to outweigh his personal life. And, boy, has it worked! Normally, the shop takes a percentage of whatever your chair takes in day by day. The standard I have seen is anywhere between 45-65%. John only took 25%, just enough to cover the shops expenses. He has never raised this amount in 30 years. When I asked why it was so low, he told me that his philosophy about taking care of the barber first. I nearly hugged him right there and then. In my 17 years of working as a cosmetologist, I have never had an employer think like this. Most put the client above the barber in an effort to increase the buisness' profits. And most would sacrifice their employees to make a buck. I remember thinking that this was too good to be true, that there would be some catch or dark cloud to accompany... but there wasn't.

    Dorothy had been working for John for nearly 13 years when he decided to sell the shop. John longs to return to Conneticut with his wife. He misses New York with all the stores, restaurants and entertainment. He has been in my little country town for too long now. But he wouldn't let his life's work go to just anyone who had the money to buy it. He turned down many offers from other competitors to puchase the shop because he didn't want his shop to be run like theirs. He wanted the principles he established to live on. Thats when Dorothy stepped up. A cheerful bundle of nerves with soothing blues eyes and a quick smile, Dorothy wasn't as confident that she could run the shop as John was. She boldly took possession of the shop a year ago, promising to keep Johns legacy as it was. John would stay on until he and Dorothy were sure that all the chairs were attended by quality barbers with the same friendly attitude the shop was accustomed to. Thats where I came in. John held the interviews since he had staffed the shop for 30 years and had only one chair to fill. Dorothy also wasn't sure that she had the ability to see through false personalities. The chair I attend had been filled by a string of short lived failures. Drug addicts, nut cases or just lazy people... the chair couldnt find a proper master. It doesn't take long to weed out the undesirables when you pay good cash every day.

     So, mostly I have spent my days with a buzzing clipper in my hand and the scent of old fashioned Clubman in the air. I never get tired to the smell of that stuff. I work 3 full days and a short 5 hours on Saturday. My weekend is actually in the middle of the week, but since I have no children or other factors to conflict with my days off, it workes beautifully. We all cover for each other if someone needs a certain day off, or if there is some emergency. I find it works well to look at it like several mini-buisnesses... we are our own bosses. The others are great too. Joel is the youngest at 24 yrs old. He is Johns son as well, but you would never know it by the working relationship. He has also become engaged, so that adds a sweet innocent feel to the place. You can see the moments of reflection in an old mans eyes when he thinks back to the day his bride walked down the isle toward him. George is probably 50 and works to my right. He's married to a Brazilian woman and frquently takes trips to Rio and other exotic places. We swap jokes all day and I'm educating him about Twitter. I work mostly with Joel and George. We put the satellite radio on Deep Tracks or Classic Vinyl and try to outguess each other on the artists. I normally lose to them.

     Do you know that feeling of nostalgia mixed with deja vu that you may have lived somewhere before or have missed your era timeline when you go into an old place? That feeling is comforting and soothing. The feeling of "home". That's what I get every morning that I go to work. I am lucky. I am blessed. I sometimes feel a tinge of guilt because I know others are stuggling for work. But that passes quickly when I remember the months of unemployment and living off my mother. I earned this. I desreve this. So, I take it with gratitude, loyalty and protection.

    There is somewhat of an irony here. Maybe thats not the word I that fits, but I cannot find the exact word. Only a few days ago, I lost a telephonic hearing to my last employer for unemployment. I was on the phone with my manager and the owner of a prominate franchise salon. The manager outright lied under oath to the interviewer about the reason for my leaving the job. I was so upset, shaking and nearly in tears. I couldnt believe that she would lie under oath. But deep down, I knew she would. It's not that I need the money right now, but I was unfairly discharged from that job, so I wanted to try to prove it and have some kind of justice. Well... that didn't happen. But, I am so happy with my current job that I don't even care. So whatever that word is that describes that... thats me. Feel free to leave me a note on that. And I wish everyone of you the same feeling of happiness and contentment that I have with my job.

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.

 

Couldn't say it better..

I follow a good friend on Twitter and Blogger (http://twitter.com/drdon911/ on Twitter, The Dr. Prescribes... ) who has the uncanny ability to word my thoughts at the best times. Today, I was engaged in a rather unsettleing dispute on Twitter that involved sending support to Haiti and supporting our homefront. The "offender" tried to twist my tweets, call me names and imply racisism. He tried to get others to attack me as well, but fortunately they must have seen through his attempts. In my anger (and lack of space to write) I couldn't put into words what I wanted to. Don did and here it is in his blog....

                                              The Dr. Prescribes.... Haiti

Thank You, Don.

Is it getting wet in here?

...but your grandchildren pack your stuff.

How old are you? Do you have children? Do you have grandchildren? Have you close family that would rush to your aid if you fell sick, injured or incapacitated somehow? Who would be there to manage your affairs... juggle your finances, care for pets and home, launder your linens, prepare your meals, administer medications, collect your mail, call your friends, sit at your side and even bathe you?


What will people say as you fight death? Will they pray for recovery? Will they cry? Would anyone you know crumble and barter their own life to God for yours?

Or will they say it's just time for you to move on to the next phase in The Circle of Life? Will they be relieved to see your suffering ended? Will they be relieved to have their own burden lifted? Will they still hold resentment against you as you fade away? Will they be there out of love or obligation?

How will you be remembered? If you could write on your own headstone, what would it say? "I'm sorry" "I tried" or " I will miss you, too"

We have all wronged people in our lives to different degrees and mostly, I believe, we have seen the pain we caused and mended our ways. But what we fail to see is that other people hurt indirectly when we hurt someone else. And sometimes that influence will last a lifetime.

In the Family Tree, stories and memories are passed from generation to generation like a leaf dropping and floating down. As they brush against a branch, they may turn and twist, change color, lose detail or fall apart completely. These leaves have great impact on our younger ones as they look up the tree to parents and grandparents. They influence how we feel about them, how we interpret words and actions from them... how we love them.

My grandmother is almost 90 and she started the new year in a new home. She left a beautiful house on 15 acres to reside in a small apartment in an assisted living facility. She has three living daughters but only one of which is nearby. My mother, who is also the oldest daughter. My mother has spent endless days and hours trying to make her comfortable, tend her home and run her errands. There's always something more, some place grandma has to go or has to have immediately! And mom does it. But not with love, obligation.

See, some of the leaves that dropped around my head had the feel of abuse and neglect. Images of knifes flying through the air, back hands that drew blood and hair ripped from the head. I imagined the scenes of the eldest daughter cooking and caring for three siblings as their mother neglected them in exchange for dinner parties and promoting her social status. The leaves have color of black, blue and dirty brown from bruising. They wisp by me and I hear shouting, screaming and crying. But they aren't the only memories that fluttered my way. Listening to my aunts rehash the past, I hear the respect, love and gratefulness in their voices as they talk of my mothers part in their upbringing. She protected them, feed them, made sure they had carefree fun as a child should. She loved them like a Mother... my Mother. The woman who caught a backhand in mid air as I sat in the seat of a grocery cart...who I saw snarl and roar at my grandmother like a lioness threatening her with certain harm if she laid one wicked finger on my head.

My mother went on to become the strongest, most independent woman I will ever know and love. She brought her protective nurturing nature into law enforcement and retired at 23 years of service as a sheriff deputy. The entire county she worked in loves her for her ability to blend compassion and commitment into law enforcement. On many occasions, I have had to wait patiently as someone either interrupted us dining out or shopping just to thank her for something she did or did not do for them. And I contribute a large part of her nature to her childhood nightmares with my grandma.

So, I ask you again to consider the questions above. What leaves have you dropped over younger generations? How do they view you? Who do you think will be there in your time of need?

Yes, your children will pick out your nursing home.... but remember, your grandchildren will pack your stuff. "What, grandma? You cannot find your teeth? Well, I know I packed them for you."

*The pictures used today are my grandchildren and my grandmother. My grandfather died 4 years ago with Alzhiemers and Parkensons. Grandma was his cruel caretaker*

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