It’s Saturday morning, around 11.15 am. I’m sitting in the same barber shop I’ve been to for about fifteen years now, give or take. The barber, a red head in her late fifties (early sixties perhaps), is rinsing my hair with hot water. Meanwhile, she’s talking to the previous customer who’s still there, waiting for her ride home. Bits of conversation pass me by. I don’t precisely know what they’re talking about, nor do I care to. Let them do the small talk, so I don’t have to. After a while, the old lady gets up and leaves.
“We’ve been taking care of Susan for quite a few years now,” my barber says, referring to the mutual friend they’ve been talking about. “We tried to get her out of her depression, but nothing we did seemed to help.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” she says. “They’ve done an MRI on her. Tons of things messed up in her head.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Before I get a reply, the old woman’s back. Her ride hasn’t arrived yet. They continue with their chit-chat. By this point, her presence is slightly starting to get on my nerves. I find myself wishing she’d take a hike already. In fact, that’s what they’re talking about.
“Well,” says the old lady to the barber, “if Barbara doesn’t pick me up, I’ll just have to walk home.” This line of conversation repeats itself in a loop for what feels like an eternity, and I think to myself: For the love of God, please do, take a hike and get lost. The thing is, this conversation is distracting my barber. Yes, she’s still washing my hair, but she’s taking way longer than usual, and I wish she’d just get on with it. I close my eyes, and try to zone out.
In comes another woman, there to wish happy holidays to my barber. She has a dog with her. I’m still sitting there, doing my best to close my eyes and ignore everything, when I pick up some type of foul odour. It’s like excrement mixed with “haven’t washed myself in a while”. I refuse to open my eyes, because I’d like to imagine she picked up the dog and put it right next to my face, instead of the alternative. Still, at that moment I wondered, “Does this happen in the more expensive places at all? Perhaps it’s not so much a cost, but an investment in my sanity, if I switch barbers,” trying to justify the increased expense to myself.
Couple of minutes later, they’re gone. Finally, peace.
“Yeah, tons of things messed up in Susan’s head,” the barber goes again.
“Like what?”
“They’ve done an MRI and -“
“Yeah, I know,” I reply. “What did they find? Cancer? What?”
“Oh, they’re still sorting that out.”
Christ almighty.
Hope you’re having a great weekend!
Kind regards
Vincent J. Dancet