Girls’ Day Out
Girls’ Day Out – Luvdalook
It was Friday about 3:15 in the afternoon. I was so tired of work that I could not wait for the weekend to get here. As I was crunching numbers on my computer, the phone rang. My prayer had been answered, a break from the monotony of formulating the company’s annual budget. Even better, it was my best friend Mary. Mary and I were sorority sisters in college and had stayed in close contact thereafter.
She called to remind me that tomorrow was girls’ day out. Typically we would meet early in the morning and treat ourselves to breakfast. After breakfast we generally would do some shopping or go to a craft fair. Basically anything we wanted to do to forget about the real world. At the end of the conversation I indicated that I would meet her at the restaurant around 8:00 in the morning. By now the end of the day was too close to even think about going back to the computer. I cleaned up my desk and thought to myself that tomorrow is going to be just what I need.
As usual, I was running late. By the time I arrived at the restaurant, Mary had already gotten a table. After the usual pleasantries, I asked what was on the agenda for today. Mary said, “I thought we’d do a little shopping after breakfast.” She also said that she had an important meeting next week and needed to get her hair cut. Since it was girls’ day out, she indicated that she had scheduled me one also. (A bold faced lie as I would later find out since she didn’t even make an appointment for herself!) Based on what I knew, I consented thinking I could use a trim and it would be relaxing.
When we left the restaurant, Mary said, “Leave your car here and I’ll drive today.” From the restaurant we headed uptown. After visiting several women’s stores and making various purchases, I questioned Mary as to what time our hair appointments were. She glanced at her watch and indicated that we were due anytime. After depositing the packages in the car, Mary said the “shop” was just around the corner. I looked at her a little funny as I was trying to figure out at what “salon” she had scheduled the cuts. I still couldn’t figure it out as we walked up the block. As Mary rounded the corner and came to a stop I began to get a strange feeling. We were standing in front of Smith’s barbershop. Mary started to open the door and I questioned her as to what was going on. I’m usually open minded but wasn’t sure I was ready to get a haircut in an old-fashioned barbershop. Mary responded by saying she was ready for a change and thought it would be exciting to invade the “man’s” world on girls’ day out. Reluctantly, I followed her in and took a seat in the waiting area.
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As I sat there, I began to take in the sights. When you walked through the door, you would swear that you were transported from 1997 back to 1950. This shop was outfitted with two antique barber’s chairs. Both chairs had large mirrors over a counter area behind them. The wall across from the chairs had a mirror which ran the full length of the wall. It appeared as if each station had matching equipment. From my vantage point, I could see the standard items. (A barbercide container full of combs, talcum powder, neck brush, shaving cream dispenser, scissors and straight razors. Oh yes, each chair had at least 2 full size clippers and a smaller trimmer hanging from the counter.) Both chairs were in operation. It appeared as if it was a father and son doing the cutting.
Three men were ahead of us and each barber had a customer in the chair. I was surprised that no-one made an issue of two women sitting in a barbershop awaiting their turn in the chair. Maybe that fact gave me a little comfort as I squirmed in my plastic seat. Looking at Mary, I could tell that she was excited about the prospect of a man cutting her hair. I tried to relax by telling myself that everything would be fine, I always wore my hair shorter than most women anyway.
I started to focus my attention on the activity of the two barbers. In a short time it was evident that the younger barber had been trained by the elder. Their mannerisms and techniques were too similar for any other explanation. It was obviously a busy day for them. The hair around each chair was probably an inch thick on the floor. By this time, each barber was applying the finishing touches to his client. The younger barber finished first and dusted off his chair. Looking at one of the gentlemen he uttered the customary “NEXT.” Within 30 seconds the elder barber was going through the same ritual. As both chairs had new customers, I came to the realization that only one gentleman was ahead of Mary and me. The barbers with a “snap” of the cloth pinstripe cape placed it around the shoulders of the men. From a dispenser on the side of the cabinet each removed a white tissue. The tissue was securely placed around the neck of the customer and the cape tightened. Each barber adjusted the height of his chair and reached for one of the larger clippers hanging from the counter. Each clipper “snapped” as it was turned on and settled down to a low “hum.” The hum didn’t last long. As the clippers were placed in the hair, a “SHHHH” sound filled the air.
I must have started daydreaming because the next thing I remember was the sound of the younger barber shouting “NEXT” and Mary heading for the chair. Both grinned at each other as Mary approached. Mary settled into the ornate chair and placed her feet on the foot rest. From her right side, the barber “snapped” the cape and placed it around her shoulders. It was evident that women received the same treatment as the men customers. The tissue was placed around her neck and the cape securely fastened. She was actually going to go through with it!
Mary’s current hairstyle was a pageboy just above her shoulders. I could hear the barber ask how she wanted it cut and Mary responded, “Short. I want the back tapered down to the neckline and the sides tapered above the ears.” The barber responded, “Very well” as he elevated Mary and the chair with a jerky motion. It now dawned on me that barbershops don’t cut hair wet. Worse, they rarely use scissors, relying on their clippers to do the brunt of the work. Mary’s barber/stylist had the clippers in his right hand and placed his left hand on the crown of her head. As he forced her head forward the “snap” of the clippers coming to life sent a shiver down my back. Within seconds her pageboy was no longer. Large clumps of hair rested on the back of the chair and the barber quickly revealed her ears. I couldn’t believe the transformation happening before my eyes. As I was mesmerized, I suddenly heard the elder barber call out “NEXT.” That would be none other than myself.
As I mustered my courage and headed for the chair, he had his back to me straightening up his counter. I turned to settle into the chair. The cushion was still warm from the previous gentleman. I was not used to the size of the barber chair. It was nothing like the petite chairs found in most salons. As I scooted back, the back of the chair came to my shoulder blades as opposed to the middle of my back as most salon chairs did. By this time, the barber was standing to my right side with the pinstripe cape in hand. With the usual ceremony, he placed it around my shoulders. I could hear him getting the tissue from the dispenser on the cabinet. He lowered the tissue from over my head and wrapped it around my neck. I tilted my head down as he tightened it in back. Not being used to the feeling, it felt as if I was being choked. Next the cape was fastened and the barber’s prep work was complete. In his gruff voice, I heard him ask how I wanted my hair cut today. Not knowing what to say and to be honest not having given it any thought since my arrival at the barbershop, I said just like Mary’s would be fine. (This would not be as dramatic of a cut since my hair was shorter to begin with but it was not tapered in back or over the ears.)
The barber reached for the porcelain handle on the side of the chair and began to rock it back and forth. At the same time, I was being jerked higher and higher. When he stopped, I could see myself in the mirror on the far wall. Since it was one long mirror, I could also see Mary in the other chair. Her barber was “outlining” the cut with the smaller set of clippers. So much for my view, my barber had placed his hand on my head and forced my chin to my chest. The only thing I could see was my feet and the red pinstripe cape. (That would soon change as my hair began making its way to the floor and my lap!)
Remember how the clippers being used on Mary sent a shiver down my back. When the barber “snapped” them on in close proximity to my ear, I nearly jumped through the roof. In under a minute, well over half of the hair that was on the back of my head was now either in my lap or on the floor. The barber removed his hand from my head and spun the chair 90 degrees. Again he placed his hand on my head and forced it to one side. With a comb in one hand and the clippers in the other, the barber tapered my hair above my ear. The same process was completed on the other side. Looking in the mirror, I knew I was going to have to visit the tanning salon to eliminate the inch-wide white line around the side and back of my head. With great precision, he took an inch off the top and blended it into the sides.
By now, Mary was done and waiting for me in one of the plastic seats. She had a grin from ear to ear. Believe me, it was easy to see both of her ears. My barber flicked on another set of clippers. This pair was different, they had a high pitch to them. Again my head was manipulated. Instead of running the clippers through my hair, he was edging the outline of the back and sides. He took his duster and brushed the hair away from my neckline. Then he loosened the cape and slid the tissue from my neck. Again I could hear the high pitched sound of the clippers. Starting to learn the procedure, I tilted my head forward. Obviously not far enough because his hand forced my chin down further. Instead of holding my head in place, this time the barber used his free hand to force my shirt collar out of the way. He then proceeded to shave my neck with the clippers. This was a feeling I was used to since even the beauticians would do this. After he finished up, I thought I was done. Wrong!
I could hear him hang the clippers up and then I heard a “Whoooosh” sound. Again, his hand forced my head forward and I felt a warm substance being applied to the back and sides of my neck. When I realized that it was shaving cream, he said, “Hold very still.” The cream and any stubble left by the clippers was quickly removed by an old-fashioned straight razor. My barber toweled off the excess cream and whisked the cape from my lap. As I stood up and looked into the mirror, I liked what I saw. After paying and appropriately tipping the barbers, Mary and I resumed our girls’ day out. Needless to say, from that day on a trip to the barbershop was added to our ritual of breakfast and shopping on girl’s day out.
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