Barber Shop?

"Are you sure?" I nervously looked around the Barber shop as we stepped through the front door and waited for my daughter’s reassurance that this was a good place to get my hair cut.

She told me again how great it was and walked up to the woman behind the counter and started to talk to her in hushed tones. The older woman, leaned to the right to get a look at me and then went back to discussing my hair situation with my daughter.

The shop was filled with people. It was a two room barber shop. One big room at the front where we were standing and then another one, up a step and to the right. I could hear voices in there but couldn’t see anyone.

Suddenly a gentleman walked up to me, started to touch my hair and tsk tsk under his breath. He walked behind me, lifted my hair off my shoulders, pulled my collar away from my neck and did some more tsk, tsking.

"Ok, I know what I need to do for you, but you’ll have to wait until I finish with my client. Have a seat over there."

I turned around to see a row of empty chairs and sat down. My daughter was finishing her conversation with the older woman and they were both looking at me with smiles on their faces. I felt like a small child being taken for my first haircut.

The barber shop was not like any place my daughter has ever gone to before to have her own hair done. She has always frequented lovely salons with high priced stylists. This shop had dark panelled walls, cracked linoleum flooring and the old fashioned, red leather swivel chairs. I sat quietly watching for miracles to be performed on the customers that were being worked on.

There were 6 barbers all working on different people. The most remarkable thing about the Barbers was that they all looked the same age, and dressed alike and basically had the same nondescript faces. I couldn’t tell which one had made the assessment of my own hair.

My stomach was all queasy while I waited. What if they wreck my hair? What will I do? Why would she bring me to a dump like this?

My thoughts were interrupted by a gentleman motioning me to sit down in his chair. He was not the original barber. Soon he and another one were at the back of the chair, lifting my hair and murmuring quietly. I could hear the occasional tsk, but nothing else. They too lifted my collar away from the back of my neck and peered at my skin.

I could see them consulting with my daughter in the mirror and then I was led to the wash basin where the second man, washed my hair. After leading me back to the chair, he started to perform the lightest massage on my shoulders and neck. It felt like butterfly wings beating softly on my skin. The sensation was so lovely that I shut my eyes and drifted off to another place.

That was a mistake. When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see that all my hair had been lopped off in one straight line around my head just below my ears. There was no style, just a straight line.

My hair is naturally wavy and most hair stylists will give me a style that requires effort. I don’t like to have to spend a lot of time fixing my hair in the morning. I had told my daughter this when we were discussing the need for me to get my hair cut.

I was not expecting it to be chopped off. I wanted to keep my long hair. I loved my hair.

I burst into tears and ran out of the shop screaming. My daughter ran up to me and said, "Mom are you awake? Are you taking me to work today?"

"Mom, mom!"

Then I opened my eyes and felt my head. It was all there. All my hair in it’s messy glory was still attached to my head and I had just had the weirdest dream I’ve had in a long, long time.