Update: A coworker from India read my Bollywood entry and disagreed with one of my observations. In the interest of being fair and balanced (I hope I don't get sued for using those words), I'll share with you his thoughts, especially because he's at least as right as I am. Whereas I talked about how much variety there is in the stories told in Bollywood films, he insists that really they all are the same. And in many ways he is right. They all have musical interludes, there is always a hero, there is always a love struggle, and many parts of the story are so predictable they make you groan. But go see some anyway!
Now I'm happy to finally have another Georgia-based blog entry. I will get back to more tales of India, but I want to write about this one while it is fresh in my mind.
I stayed in Atlanta this Thursday night because I am heading to Boston this weekend, and not flying out until midday Friday. So I took the opportunity of a free morning to get a haircut. I had seen a barbershop on one of the roads I frequently travel, so I drove over there and walked in. It was everything you might expect in a 'classic' barbershop in the south.
I should add that, all things being equal, I prefer your classic barbershop to a fancy-pants salon or a chain. It just really feels more appropriate to the task of cutting hair. And I think I like watching people talk. I don't like talking while I'm getting a cut… I don't really have much to say on the subjects of sports, the weather, etc. But I love listening to what others have to say on these subjects, and observing their interactions.
I walked in the propped-open front door to see two gentlemen who could both have been my grandfather. One of them was the barber. I asked if it was possible to get a cut, and he told me to take a seat. I did, and then took a minute to survey my surroundings. I got a little nervous when I saw the thickness of the barber's glasses, and that there was just a hint of unsteadiness in his hands and in his stance, but he seemed to be doing a really nice job on the gentleman in the chair, so I tried to relax.
The next thing I noticed were bottles of hair and shaving products that looked like they could easily be older than I am, and whose names I have never heard of. Then I scanned to the other side of the room where there was a deer head hanging on the wall with a red light bulb strung up on his nose (presumably nicknamed Rudolph). Then there was a sign on the wall offering 'Cold Drinks' for 75 cents, and I wasn't sure if it was just something to have on a wall, but then later I saw the corresponding dorm-style mini-fridge that also could have easily been older than I am. And while I've never had any cold drinks in a barbershop before, in a barbershop in 'Hotlanta' where I'm not sure if they have air-conditioning, and the door is kept propped open, it makes sense to offer your clientele a refresher, especially if they are going to stick around and chat.
Then there was the mirror hanging on the wall that appeared to light up and had 'seasons greetings' on it. I guess maybe they just meant it as a generic 'whatever season this is (spring in this case), greetings!' And there was a sign on one of the other chair's mirror that indicated the barber would be on vacation for a time. There were four barber chairs. There was also a coat tree with about five coats and a few hats, but just the two gentlemen in there. And when the one left, he didn't take anything with him. Who wears a hat to get their hair cut anyway?
I then tuned in to what the barber and his charge were talking about, again admiring with relief what a nice job he was doing. I got there just in time to hear him listing off the kinds of vegetables he plants in his garden, with special attention paid to all the various varieties of squash. Then they moved on to the various garden pests, like deer and rabbits that like to eat his vegetables, and he talked about stuff he puts out there once the veggies are edible that the deer don't like to smell, so they stay away. But then they figured it out and started eating his veggies earlier, before they were quite ready. Then they talked about how there didn't used to be a lot of deer in his yard, but that because of their area getting pushed and pushed. And one time, said the barber, he saw a coyote out there, and he wished he had had his shotgun in his hand, but…
Then he talked about how he plants hot peppers, and that they can grow to be a few inches long, but that he likes to pick them early, when they aren't too hot. And the other gentleman asked if the barber's wife had heart troubles, and he said no, but that she's overweight, and it gives her some health problems like high blood pressure and 'air-thritis.' Then he talked about eating the peppers, but I didn't catch what he said he likes to eat them on.
At this point I realized that my schedule was in jeopardy. Talking and cutting didn't seem to really be happening simultaneously. I had allotted 45 minutes for the cut before I had to head to the airport. I didn't really want to pull out my touch-screen-internet-gps-keyboard cell phone to check the time, but I was a little concerned. I had forgotten to multiply the 45 minutes by the south-factor, which is probably something like 1.5. Oh well, I probably wasn't in danger of missing my flight, and I really didn't want to rush a 75 year old man with sharp scissors and a razor in a somewhat shaky hand.
It wasn't too long before he was done, and then it was my turn. I was presented with a whole new perspective of the place. From my new vantage point, I saw three mounted fish on the wall, an American flag hanging proudly, and the best (and worst, though sadly I couldn't make it out completely because I had relinquished my glasses), was a political cartoon on the wall depicting people in turbans attending class on making human bombs at the Afghanistan Terrorist School.
So he started cutting, and I said 'not too short,' and that's all I had to say to him, which is part of why I love barbershops. Then I asked if he lived around here, or farther out, with all those deer in his yard. He said out by [insert road whose name I didn't recognize here], but that he's been cutting hair here in Sandy Springs for 47 years. 47 years?!?!? He's been cutting hair for almost twice as long as I've been on this (less and less) green Earth. He's given hundreds of thousands of haircuts. Woah.
Then it got funny. He said 'I bet that's longer than you've been alive.' I tried to stifle my chuckle and just said 'yeah.' Then he asked 'when were you born, about '75?' Again, I tried to stifle and said 'no, '81.' Look, pal, I may be losing my hair, but do I look 32? I didn't let it bother me though, because a couple weeks ago a girl asked (in front of a large audience, no less) if I was over 21. To her I just laughed.
So he continues shooting the proverbial breeze, saying that he remembered '81, that it was a particularly hot summer. '80, too. His well went bad in '80, and his mom's in '81. 'Those were the days before county water,' he clarified. We hadn't covered where I was from yet, so he didn't have any indication that the only time I have had well water was when I've been camping.
Then it was quiet for a while, while he cut in silence. I was busy trying in vain to read the political cartoon on the wall, and trying to commit the experience to memory so I could recount it for you fine folks. Then came the time for the hot lather shave of my neck and sideburns. I apologized for the late notice, but asked if he could take the sideburns up a bit, as they tend to crepe down. He obliged, of course, but responded by asking what I shave with… not sure why, because there was no further comment.
Snip snip snip, and then it was all over. The time was no issue; he was speedy despite his age and location. But as I got up, he took a look at my head, cocked his to the side, and furrowed his brow. I asked if he had missed a hair. He said there was a curl doing its own thing, and that I should stand still for a minute while he took care of it. So I bent over a little as he came over with his scissors, but he told me to stand up straight. Apparently so he could get a level view?
Paid. Tipped, appreciated. I must say, it didn't look very good as I was looking in the mirror, but I didn't let my smile betray that information. My hair never does immediately after a cut. I have a saying with Rachel (who tends to worry if she sees me right after I get a cut), which goes 'Don't fret 'till it's wet.' Which means until I shower or at least wet it down, it looks nothing like it will really look.
As I was walking out, he asked me if I had been in before, I said that no, in fact I lived in Chicago, and was here on business, but that I saw his shop and stopped in. He told me to come back, and I said I surely would.
Then I went to get a bagel on my way to the airport and wet my hair down in the bathroom. Turns out it was a decent cut!
Finally I'll leave you with a great quote about my poor friend Rudolph hanging on the wall:
"You ask people why they have deer heads on the wall. They always say, 'Because it's such a beautiful animal.' There you go. I think my mother's attractive, but I have photographs of her."
- Ellen DeGeneres
Love Sarene