Friday the 13th and Haircuts
Is Friday the 13th really unlucky? I hope not, since I have a lot of the things to do today. Over the years, I do not recall any specific crises on that day. Patients are not coming through the door with impossible diagnoses, or dropping over in the hall. While I am not superstitious, I am worried about this upcoming one, but not because of patients in the clinic.
I called for an appointment to get my haircut this AM by my usual barber, Manuel, and found out that he retired since my last haircut three months ago. Apparently, he had another heart attack. I have been going to him for about seven years, after my former barber, Ed the Mormon, retired with back problems. I have been going to Ed for about 15 years, and he was the husband of our front desk czar, Barbara. I loved both of them dearly. I even tried to talk Ed into cutting my hair at his house, but no dice. Ed retired completely and will spend his final days playing his jazz saxophone.
When I called to get an appointment with Manuel today, the other barber answered. I don't remember his name, but I have an appointment to get my hair cut on Friday -- Friday the 13th. During the entire seven years that I have had my hair cut by Manuel, this other barber was always reading the newspaper. I never saw him cut anyone's hair. That concerns me. He seemed quite eager to book that appointment. His enthusiasm has me worried.
My wife spends hundreds of dollars (probably a thousand!) on her hair each year. I have been told that women do that. Guys just get their hair cut; no frills. I was shocked one day when Manuel whipped out a neck massager and went at it. It felt good, so after the initial shock of this new service, I just let him do it. That is about as high-tech of service one can expect in a small town. I have always felt a little weird when the barber shampooed my hair, so I tend to show up with a wet head, fresh from my shower. I am going to miss Manuel.
As a child in rural Pennsylvania, we had two barbers in town: Shorty and Nolan. When Shorty raised his prices to a dollar and a half, the boys switched to Nolan. Nolan only charged a buck and we kept the other fifty cents. The barbershop in Fairchance, PA was a lot like that barbershop in Mayberry. Guys would be sitting around, talking, reading magazines, and telling dirty jokes. Some of the guys would be reading men's magazines filled with naked pictures that Nolan kept in the back. Young guys tried to keep a low profile and melt into the furniture. Soon, the men would forget kids were there and the conversations would change. This was our sex education class.
My first glance at a real picture of a naked woman (or is that a picture of a real naked woman?) was at Nolan's Barbershop. It was a slow day. Jim King and I were hanging out, trying to smooth-talk him into letting us see those magazines. I guess we were about thirteen years old. Nolan finally gave in and brought out an old one. He said we could have it. For the next year or so, that magazine was viewed by more of our friends than you could imagine. We had a shrine built for it in our "cabin" and it achieved the status not unlike the Magna Carta or the Declaration of Independence.
For the first twelve years of my life, I either had a buzz top or a flat top. My mother (Incidentally, she was born on Friday the 13th) felt that a buzz haircut was a better deal since it lasted longer and didn't require that butch wax that melted on her pillowcases.
As a 50ish adult, I am really not that picky about my haircut anymore, but I am a bit anxious about this new barber's skill. It took Manuel several years to get it right. Ed always tried to give me a Mormon Missionary haircut or a flat-top again. I have no idea what is going to happen with this new guy. Haircuts are $20 in our town now. Nolan would have cut my hair twenty times, or about ten years worth, for that price and the magazines were better. No neck massage, though.
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Technorati Tags: superstition, haircut, fridaythe13th
I called for an appointment to get my haircut this AM by my usual barber, Manuel, and found out that he retired since my last haircut three months ago. Apparently, he had another heart attack. I have been going to him for about seven years, after my former barber, Ed the Mormon, retired with back problems. I have been going to Ed for about 15 years, and he was the husband of our front desk czar, Barbara. I loved both of them dearly. I even tried to talk Ed into cutting my hair at his house, but no dice. Ed retired completely and will spend his final days playing his jazz saxophone.
When I called to get an appointment with Manuel today, the other barber answered. I don't remember his name, but I have an appointment to get my hair cut on Friday -- Friday the 13th. During the entire seven years that I have had my hair cut by Manuel, this other barber was always reading the newspaper. I never saw him cut anyone's hair. That concerns me. He seemed quite eager to book that appointment. His enthusiasm has me worried.
My wife spends hundreds of dollars (probably a thousand!) on her hair each year. I have been told that women do that. Guys just get their hair cut; no frills. I was shocked one day when Manuel whipped out a neck massager and went at it. It felt good, so after the initial shock of this new service, I just let him do it. That is about as high-tech of service one can expect in a small town. I have always felt a little weird when the barber shampooed my hair, so I tend to show up with a wet head, fresh from my shower. I am going to miss Manuel.
As a child in rural Pennsylvania, we had two barbers in town: Shorty and Nolan. When Shorty raised his prices to a dollar and a half, the boys switched to Nolan. Nolan only charged a buck and we kept the other fifty cents. The barbershop in Fairchance, PA was a lot like that barbershop in Mayberry. Guys would be sitting around, talking, reading magazines, and telling dirty jokes. Some of the guys would be reading men's magazines filled with naked pictures that Nolan kept in the back. Young guys tried to keep a low profile and melt into the furniture. Soon, the men would forget kids were there and the conversations would change. This was our sex education class.
My first glance at a real picture of a naked woman (or is that a picture of a real naked woman?) was at Nolan's Barbershop. It was a slow day. Jim King and I were hanging out, trying to smooth-talk him into letting us see those magazines. I guess we were about thirteen years old. Nolan finally gave in and brought out an old one. He said we could have it. For the next year or so, that magazine was viewed by more of our friends than you could imagine. We had a shrine built for it in our "cabin" and it achieved the status not unlike the Magna Carta or the Declaration of Independence.
For the first twelve years of my life, I either had a buzz top or a flat top. My mother (Incidentally, she was born on Friday the 13th) felt that a buzz haircut was a better deal since it lasted longer and didn't require that butch wax that melted on her pillowcases.
As a 50ish adult, I am really not that picky about my haircut anymore, but I am a bit anxious about this new barber's skill. It took Manuel several years to get it right. Ed always tried to give me a Mormon Missionary haircut or a flat-top again. I have no idea what is going to happen with this new guy. Haircuts are $20 in our town now. Nolan would have cut my hair twenty times, or about ten years worth, for that price and the magazines were better. No neck massage, though.
Related Topics:
Technorati Tags: superstition, haircut, fridaythe13th
1 Comments:
I am a female and only go to one person to get my haircut. I trust her and have had some bad haircuts by other people. I very rarly get my haircut anymore, because I like to grow it long and then donate it. So I pretty much have my cousin trim my hair periodically and then when I cut off the 12 plus inches I go to my hairdresser.
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