|I have been in need for a haircut for quite a while, and since I’m no good at doing my own hair (Oh gawd…) and Bea, who’s done it for almost 30 years, is just about 5000kms away, I had to do something. When I had an errand in Spruce Grove with buying propane, I happened to drive by a very small barbershop. It looked like a place out of the sixties or seventies. It was looking so delightful unambitious that I dared to walk inside Gary’s Barbershop. I was not disappointed. Even though the place had recently undergone some interior refreshments, like new flooring, and some paint, it still had the inherent style of the founding year.
The chair, was the most dominating. There was only one to choose from and I’m sure it had seen thousands of customers. My guess was that most of the shop’s clients were of an advanced age, even more advanced than myself.
The master of the shop turned out to be what I call a typical barber. Before he even had started, he was chatting away about all kind of topics. It was just like time travel. I never knew his kind could still be found. But here he was, Gary the barber been there on this intersection for 20 some years. And even though his price was not of the sixties, it wasn’t big-city-style either.
When I left I met the next customer at the door. He was about 75yrs. and just another friendly guy.
I might go back there.
Having been at the barber I couldn’t but remember my very, very first visit at my hometown’s barber shop. Mother had brought me there and I might have been just 3 or 4 years old. Somehow, I was scared to death, comparable to be led to the electric chair. So, I refused to walk through the door and started screaming like a wild pig. It must have upset half of the town and I’m sure in today’s world it would have caused child services to pop up.