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Our hotel is not the best in town, but it certainly has its own classic appeal, that was why both Joe,
the concierge, and I were surprised when the foyer doors opened one night and in walked the dirtiest
wino I think I have ever seen. (I'm not an expert on street people, so if you have seen someone more
disgusting than this, I will take your word for it. Please do not send photographs or any other form
of hard evidence.) Although Joe let me get away with a few minor discretions, it was still his job to look after the hotel, and protect its guests from being confronted by the real world, so on first sight of this guy he came out from behind his desk to intercept him. Now, Joe is not a small man, and if he wasn't such a pain in the butt at times, I would almost say he had a fairly good build, but this hobo seemed about a match for him in size and attitude. From where I stood, I could hear that they were arguing, even though I couldn't hear the exact words. I was just thinking about coming to Joe's aid, when the doors opened again, and the Cop entered. Now, you have all probably had the same idea about a policeman in a clean uniform with polished badges and leathers, so I won't go into too much detail, Although most of his hair was hidden under the peaked cap, the sides were either blond or shaved, because they stood out white against the dark uniform. As they came closer, I took in how the wino looked very tall and healthy for someone who was supposed to be living on the streets, and that the policeman was carrying what looked like an overnight bag. My keen powers of observation told me that something unusual was going on, and if the gods were with me it may be another night of strange haircuts. They came through the door, and I could finally hear what they were saying. "I can't wait, and I told you that the water is off," the wino was saying. "Look just rent me a room, and we'll take it from there." "And I'm saying that I can't let you upstairs looking like that in case one of the guests sees you and reports you to the manager. It's my job on the line." Joe was always worried about his job, but I think he also loved to make things difficult for people, just to see them squirm. I think he had this need to dominate people, and he used his power as a desk clerk to make the guests dance to his whims. "Eh, excuse me!," I said, reminding them of where they were. This close I could see that the Uniform's hair short, and it was blond. Not shaved to the skin, but that's okay. Things like that could be remedied. Anyway, the next few minutes were filled with explanations and arguments, but I'll give you the gist. The wino was actually an undercover cop, who had been on the street for almost two months. The case, or stake out, or whatever it was had just come to an end, and he desperately wanted to get cleaned up. However, when he had returned to his apartment, he had found that the landlord was using his absence to fix the plumbing and wiring, and there was no water or electricity. So, he had decided to check in here and get cleaned up. However, Joe was being stubborn and refusing. Alan, the uniform, was his partner, and would have given him shelter, but his parents were staying with him, and things would be too crowded. Finally, we resolved that Jefferson (whether that was a first or last name, I never found out, but he definitely wasn't a 'Jeff'') would use the staff bathroom downstairs to shower and change, then I could tidy up his hair and beard, and then he could use one of the rooms upstairs. After finally deciding on a course of action, Joe led Jefferson off through the back, arguing as they went. Alan and I were left alone to wait for their return. He removed his cap as he sat down on the edge of the bench, and I could get a good look at his hair. It was a strawberry blond, combed up and back, with enough of a curl to give it body and shape. Of course there was a 'dent' around his head from where the hat pushed on it, but it was still looked great. Here my barber's eye came into play. The top was at a length where it was still enough to get a good hold of. I suggested that while we were waiting I could give him just a quick trim - on the house - just to neaten up the sides. So he climbed into the chair (after removing his holster and baton), and I placed the cape around his neck. I could have grabbed the clippers and gone straight for the buzz, but I figured we had some time to kill, so I got out the scissors and decided this trim I would do by hand. I started on the left side, and began work on the short hairs around his ears. I got in close and snipped away, carefully shaping the taper. Every now and then I would step back, and smooth the hairs down with the palm of my hand. The comb would have had little effect on these bristles. At the same time, he began to tell me stories about how he had joined the police force and had his hair buzzed off by some older recruits, and other haircut anecdotes. I kept snipping away. There was a well rounded short, short, close haircut with a suggestion of a part and mini-bumper - cut expressly to disguise the hat-hair syndrome - one of my best - designed by me. Client approved . A lot. His partner returned. I don't know what caused the greater sensation - Jefferson walking into the lobby dressed as a bum, or Jefferson walking into the lobby clad only in a wraparound towel, vigorously rubbing at his wet hair with another. It seems Alan and I had become so involved in the intricacies of a fine gentleman's cut, that he had forgotten to hand over to Jefferson the change of clothes he had brought with him. So it was that my Barber Shop was now the stage for a large, damp, semi-naked man, a blond cop in full uniform with a almost very short crewcut, a deeply offended hotel clerk, and a Barber whom the Gods have cursed with an adventurous life. It took a moment to sort things out, with Alan escorting Joe back to the desk, explaining all the way, while Jefferson climbed into the chair. "I can't wait to get this hair off," he grumped. "This bloody beard has been so itchy it's driving me up the wall. I want a good shave and get rid of some of this shag as well." As he sat back in the chair, his legs spread wide to reveal that there was definitely no underwear under that towel. I got out the clippers to get his beard down to a manageable level. It's always strange at first, setting the clippers over the face rather than the back of the head, and I can only imagine what it feels like to have the vibration shaking your teeth loose, but it was the best way to get rid of the tangles. His hair was very thick and medium-brown, with just a hint of red. As I cut away the bush, I could see that he had a well-defined chin, and behind the growth he was a strong looking guy. Not what you'd call handsome, but rugged. Solid. Tough. A cop you wouldn't like to mix it with. After getting it down to a more reasonable length, I got out the shaving brush and soap. Now, I know there are those that prefer the artificial guk that is pumped out of an ozone destroying can, but the truth is that a good soap and brush actually massage the skin and loosen up the hairs more for a better shave, and better skin. As long as it's good soap, mind, otherwise the skin will dry out, and you'll wrinkle, so my Pappy tells me. Sorry. Then it was the straight razor - again, old-fashioned, but the best thing for a good shave. Jefferson lay back in the chair, and actually started dozing as I worked the blade over his cheeks. I don't know whether it was trust or exhaustion, but it let me get on with the defoliation without having to worry about keeping my expressions 'professional'. As I was coming to the end of the shave, Alan came back into the shop, and returned to his perch on the bench. He looked at the now naked skin of Jefferson's face, and then gave me a smile that made me want to rub the lather all over his face and ... Anyway, I could see that my client was still half asleep as I lifted the chair back into a more upright position. I asked him how much I should cut off his shoulder length hair, but all I got in return was a mumble. I looked at Alan for help. "How does he normally wear his hair?" "He wears it really short. Like mine." Now, I knew he was lying, and he knew I knew he was lying, but the opportunity was there. So, out came the clippers again, and I set to work on the sides. Alan looked on, totally fascinated as the blades sliced through the still damp hair, and the heavy locks fell down to accumulate on the towel between Jefferson's legs. At first I was a bit hesitant about cutting the hair too short, as the last thing I wanted to do was get a cop mad at me. But I decided to help them along with the game. "You know, your friend could have picked up some fleas while he was undercover. I had better take it down really short to make sure we get them all." Alan grinned, and started his own story of how his friend had always wanted to be a marine, and could I perhaps take the sides up a bit more? I did. Quite a way. With the #8 on the clippers I went all over the top of his head, and boy, did that remove a fleece of hair. As it was drying and being cut shorter the color changed to very light auburn. And a little more off the top. No! Enough was enough. I felt like one of those police artists, trying to recreate a cut from verbal description. And all the while our Jefferson was getting groomed. However, all good things must come to an end, so out with the razor again to do around his ears, and as I applied lotion around his face and the white sidewalls of his head. I really looked extremely smart, especially these days when a big proportion of police wear a buzzcut or even a shavehead. I knew there was baldness by choice lurking under that short haircut - both of them. I had called on Friar Tuck, the patron saint of shaved heads to cast a spell on them. Yeah! I know that Friar Tuck only had the top of his head shaved in a monk's tonsure, but he was a Robin Hood Merry Man and was certain to see the joke. With the last hair clipped, I pulled the cape away. Jefferson 'woke up' and surveyed himself in the mirror, and of course let out a few swear words. He pretended he was shocked and mad. Alan pretended it was all his fault and it was a practical joke, and I pretended complete innocence and profound remorse. All in all, we had a good time. Jefferson went into my little back room to change and Alan offered to pay for the cuts. "Don't worry, there on the house. You never know when I might need a friend on the force." "Listen, Jefferson is spending the night here, and I'm going up to have a few drinks with him. When you're finished, come up and I'll shout you a beer. Look, these are really great haircuts. Thanks. I'll be back. And don't worry. That's exactly how Jefferson wanted his cut. What an actor. I'll bet he wasn't even asleep." His expression was so sincere, I couldn't help but say 'yes'. When Jefferson emerged, dressed in civvies but looking an awful lot like a professional policeman going places; he seconded the invitation, and suggested I could bring the 'little rat behind the desk'. Just to make amends. I said 'sure', and they left to check in and went up to what I was sure was 'their' room. I now suppose you want to know whether Joe and I went on up, and if we did, what happened. Well, that story is for another day, 'Nuff said |
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