Most people have changed the hairdresser or barber they see. I have.
Yes, I know, I know, my hair is uber-short. Well, shaved right off. However, I have a tidy little beard and I use that as an excuse to visit the barber.
I love the barber shop for the testosterone filled environment. Barber shops are where men congregate and talk about hunting, fishing, cars and trucks. I get my fix of “man talk” when I go to the barbershop. And I had a great barbershop that I visited. But then I stopped going there.
I stopped going there because they pissed me off. Actually, they made me very, very sad. See I had a family friend who was battling cancer. He was in pretty deep with his battle and things didn’t look very good. Okay, he was dying. Quickly.
His sweetheart told my sweetheart that he had a bunch of things he wanted to do before the summer was over (the bucket list thing). One of them was to go on a motorcycle ride with a big group of riders. We made that happen. It was a blast. We were ripping down the highway at a speed approximately twice the legal posted limit and I leaned back and asked if he was okay.
He replied, “What the hell, what’s the worst that could happen, I might die!” He had a grin from ear to ear.
Another thing he wanted to do was go for a ride in an old Corvette. My former barber has a 1958 Corvette. So I asked him if he would take my buddy out for a spin. I proposed we meet at the barbershop when it was convenient for the barber and then they could go out for a spin and put another smile on my pal’s face.
When I asked the barber if he would do this for my buddy, the barber wrinkled up his nose and said, “Well, I don’t really know this guy so, well, no, I don’t think so.”
That was the last time I ever set foot inside that barbershop.
The good news is that someone else took my pal out in a 1957 Corvette and actually let him drive it.