So today I decided I needed a haircut, but I'm nowhere near my regular barber, and so I go out seeking a new one. I found this little sign above and walked in.
Instantly my senses told me to flee.
But my desire for adventure told me to stay!
The room was as small as a large bathroom. All the furniture and decor was water stained wood, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled my nostrils quickly. Sitting one of the two chairs was an old, balding man by the name of Dennis.
His eyes were large, droopy and red, and I could tell by the smell of alcohol on his breath that he was not completely sober at 11 in the morning. His suspenders barely moved as he turned to look at me. He didn't say anything.
No 'Welcome', no 'Hello'.
So I stood there.
Looking around. Finally I said, "I'm here for a haircut."
Dennis blinks at me, as if to say 'well of course you are, idiot.'
I asked 'how much do you charge?'
"18" was his only response.
Again I thought 'LEAVE NOW' It was too pricey, and this man did not look fit to cut my hair. But part of me said 'this looks to be a very interesting story developing'.
I stayed.
Dennis moved very slowly, got up and walked to the old, but not charmingly antique, more like 1960's torn-up-mistreated-orange-pleather, barber's chair.
He again didn't say anything.
So I stood there.
He said 'well, What are you going to do?'
I replied, "I'm going to stand here until you ask me to sit down in that chair."
"That's sort of like going to a restaurant and asking to eat isn't it?"
I came back quickly, "No it's sort of like going to a restaurant and waiting to be seated."
"Well,..." his eyes indicated I should sit.
I sat, while stating "I don't know about you, but I don't sit in another man's chair unless I'm invited to."
Dennis seemed to respect that. He spun me around and I was facing myself in a large mirror with an engraved nameplate to the right that read:
"Dennis - Tonsorial Artist"
The room was so small, that a claustrophobic man would have gone running. The dust on the old newspaper clippings was thick, and I could barely make out some news about a fire decades ago.
"Well, what can I do for you today?" he said very slowly... I began to think Dennis might be a turtle.
I gave him detailed instructions about my hair and after a long pause he replied,
"So a lot off the sides and a little off the top? Got it"
His hands moved around slowly and I thought 'this is going to be a while'.
Up on a shelf were several carved masks. I couldn't spot where they were from but my guess was south pacific, so I said,
"Do you travel a lot Dennis?"
At this point I should say that between each sentence or response, Dennis was a firm believer in pause. He would wait a good 15 to 30 seconds before beginning a new thought. So what at first seemed like an awkward silence, became more of a contest of wills, I would try NOT to speak, and give him time to respond. I would also NOT react to the things he said so as to let him continue without undue pause. So imagine this conversation taking place in your head. Then replay it in slow motion... that's about the speed we were going.
"I've been around" he replied.
"I see these masks up there on the wall, where are they from?"
"oh here and there."
long pause.
"I would travel for the rest of my life if I could. Have you been anywhere?"
We spoke about Papua New guinea and how I was there for 3 years.
"You mean like in a religious way?" I instantly knew Dennis and I weren't cut from the same cloth here, but I felt an odd connection to him. So I simply told him the easiest version of the truth, which is that I was there helping linguistic work and translation. Every time someone asks me a question about what I do, I battle my desire to either keep it to myself, or to tell them too much. Often times I figure people don't truly care TOO much and so I have developed a quick version that I tell when I think people are simply trying to make small talk. I feel society in general is too disconnected, and so I force myself to be open with people so that we can forge some sort of connection in the limited time we have together. Still, with Dennis I used the short version because I was becoming concerned with how long this haircut might take.
Soon Dennis began to unfold for me stories of his travels to the Philippines.
As he neared me I smelled his breath and was trying to guess which liquid lunch he had had today.
He began to regale me with stories about how a pint of Gin was only 50 cents.
AH GIN! okay,...
Or how he bought a snifter of Whiskey and a steak for a buck fifty.
okay Whiskey? both?
I expected soon Dennis might tell me stories of prostitution and other such dealings... he had that 'vibe' about him and the story was starting to feel like a movie cliche, but before I could head it off.. sure enough he said..
"and the women there.... every ten feet a new woman..."
which is when I cut in, and mentioned my wife and kids.
Dennis caught the hint and dropped it.
He spoke to me of how affordably one can live in Thailand.
I mentioned that air fare to PNG was $10,000. He was shocked.
He then began to tell me how to go as a courier. And told me a slightly dodgy story about how you can go at a discount if you area courier. I inferred he meant something a little more shady but he actually threw a DOT COM reference at me.
I liked Dennis for some reason. This room was an odd place, full of mystery and aromatic puzzles.
So after Dennis finished telling me about these places he had been and the things he had drunk, there was a longer than normal pause.
And I said 'So Tonsorial Artist eh?.. are you going to make me look that word up?'
'Ah.. no.. anyone can be a hairstylist, but you're in a Tonsorial salon right now, it's from the Latin meaning 'Barber' '
And that's when it hit me, why I liked Dennis so much. Why I was willing to put my hair in the trust of a rather odd man in a rather odd place.
He had an unusual way of saying things.
That's it.
He pauses, his slowness in speaking (no doubt brought on by his inebriated state), and his choice of words, all intrigued me enough to sit in that chair and spend time with him.
I doubted I would go back, it was time to go. I stood, took one last look around and as I left I said:
'Dennis, here's a 20, thanks for the stories and the tonsorial care."
It was a perfectly odd 40 minutes. Very rarely can anyone say that they had a perfectly odd yet enjoyable experience. I wouldn't call it an adventure but it sure turned out to be one interesting haircut. The best part is, while my hair isn't exactly how I like it, it actually is a pretty good cut.
