How to talk like a barber 101

Yesterday, I broke a vow I made years ago and went to my childhood barber shop. I heard that it was under new management with new barbers so I decided to give it another shot. I found that Henry Wonder has retired and Henry J Fox is only working two days a week. This came as good news to me as I have recently been granted the privilege of having hair again.


While getting my hair cut, I noticed something strange about the way barbers talk. I now have a theory: I think it may be impossible to carry on a normal conversation with a barber.

To speak like a barber you must first; make a random observation about your surroundings and direct it at no one in particular. Then you must repeat your comment no less than seven times, in an increasingly more awkward manner each time you say it.

For instance, yesterday’s conversation went as follows;

BARBER: "It's windy today... It's windy today... Today it's windy... Boy it's windy... Windy. Today... It is windy today... Windy, windy, windy. Lot's a wind."

Pec: "Yep."

I quietly agreed but in my mind I was thinking, "Gee, I kinda wish this guy wasn't holding a pair of scissors next to my head right now."

... as a sheep before her shearers is dumb

Ever since I was in the first grade, I've been going to the same barber shop. It's an old fashioned place that's manned by two senior citizens both named Henry.

Henry number one, I suspect, has Parkinson's disease, and Henry number two is clearly blind. You can probably imagine what the quality of their service is like. Needless to say; Henry Wonder and Henry J. Fox should not be cutting hair for a living.

As a kid, I guess I never noticed how bad they were at cutting hair. As I got older, I began to notice all the little things that make a visit to their shop quite annoying.

For instance, most barbers, when they want you to move your head, will either motion or ask you to do so. Henry number two likes to stick his finger in your ear and manually turn your head. There's nothing quite like a hair-gel wet-willy.

The Henrys also have a nasty habit of criticizing the plans you have for your 'do. For instance, if you sat down and asked for a "three" on the sides, one of the Henrys would surely say something to the effect of, "Oh that's too short, you're getting a four."

One time, my oldest brother (let’s call him "El Capitan") went to get a haircut and got more than he bargained for. El Capitan had spent the summer growing himself an impressive set of mutton chops that he was understandably proud of. Henry number two apparently didn't like my brother's sweet chops so he promptly cut them off, even after being instructed not to. El vowed to never set foot in their shop again, and he hasn't.

In high school, after I made a similar vow, I had a friend of mine start doing my hair for two reasons: 1. She didn't charge me and 2. She was a she.

There is something weird to me about having a dude who is under the age of seventy-five run his fingers through my hair.

Recently, I've been going to Supercuts. This has been hit-or-miss, to say the least. Half the time I get stuck with a fifty-something lady who does my hair the way guys did back in "her day." Needless to say, the "Pecadillo Pompadour" is not a good look.

How can it be so hard to cut hair? I don't ask for much. Here's everything I want in a haircut:

1. A young, cute girl to spend no less than 20 minutes running her hands through my hair.

2. After she has sufficiently played with my follicles, she will promptly cut my hair in a manner that keeps minimal hair from going down the back of my shirt and itching me the rest of the day.

3. If both 1 and 2 are accomplished, who needs a three?

I don't think that's too much to ask.