This being Thursday, it automatically makes it Haircut, Pea Soup and Newspaper Weekend Deadline Day. Typically I will get my haircut on Thursdays, go to my favorite diner with my girlfriend to have their exceptional Pea Soup, and she her traditional Chicken Casadillo (sp?), and then on home to work furiously to meet the weekend Deadline for some of the newspapers I draw for that only publish on Sundays. Today, however, upon entering the barbershop I have made my habitual home each week, the barber explained to me that he could not fit me in, as he was preparing to leave for Cleveland to attend to his infirmed grandfather and to watch the Browns play against the Saints- I was a bit put off, to say the least, knowing that the Cleveland/New Orleans games is actually being played in New Orleans, and that his grandfather passed away more than a decade ago- and told him so. I asked him what the real reason was that he could not cut my hair, and he replied that it had too many parts. Granted, for a long time, my hair decided all on its own to part itself wherever it wanted to, and in whatever way it chose to, whenever it wanted to, and I have been pretty much powerless to intervene in its choices and decisions except to completely douse my hair in gel or mousse and attempt to slick it straight back to try to control its angst-ridden assaults on my visage. This does not do much more than temporarily curtail its rage and momentarily appease my own embarrassment at wandering around looking very much like Christopher Walken on his very worst Bad Hair Day ever. I stood half in, half out of the barbershop doorway and was suddenly overcome with the urge to plead with the man, but chose instead to ask if he would reconsider and attend to my hair another time. He seemed to consider that option for a few moments, then dug into his shirt pocket and handed me a card he removed from there. It read: Avril Honeyman, HD, C (Hair Doctor, Certified) By referral and appointment only Then it listed his address and phone number and email and a small, gold leaf image of a spoon and what appeared to be a hammer inside a silver, diamond-shaped scissors configuration. What?! I asked, confused, scrunching up my face, tightly, What the hell is THIS?! The barber told me that Mr. Honeyman was expecting me, and I should take that as my opportunity to go away from his front door. I left a bit defeated , feeling more than a little abandoned, and went off to meet my girlfriend for Pea Soup. Im not entirely sure what to make of that encounter, nor of this Avril Honeyman person and the need for his services. So here I sit, completely befuddled, without a single idea for any drawings I have to have completed this evening, wondering why life and barbers can be so unfair.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 19:44:13 +0000
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