Born n raised man, born n raised.
I was in Fairfield, CA for traffic court today, and stopped by a charming little barber shop to get a haircut after the proceedings. There I came across not only a feeling I thought was lost, but a character I felt no longer existed in this day and age.
The feeling I got was that of Bill's Barber Shop, an old place that was in the Pruneyard for about 30 some odd years, that my dad used to take me to once a month back when I was younger. Everyone in the shop knew me and I really liked that, I never had to go to Supercuts or Schroeders and get my hair done by some angry random asian lady. Bill always did it personally when he was there, and that was something I valued, even at that young age. Sad thing was Bill was a little too old fashioned for the Pruneyard's future plans, they terminated his lease and kicked him out on his ass, replacing his old barber shop with a chic' luggage store, sad to say the least.
So as I was wandering around Fairfied looking for someone to tame the shag on my head, I drove past an old converted house, with the classic barber pole in front. "Scotty's Barber Shop" read the lettering in the window, and I knew where I needed to go. As I walked in a bell was jingled, signaling my entry. There was a barber, two chairs, mens magazines, and a price list; 15 dollars for a cut, 20 for a cut and a shave, and that was it. Immediately a feeling of nostalgia and warmth bathed me, for I knew I was in one of the last great barber shops, something the new and improved lifestyle of salons and spas couldn't touch. Sitting in one of the chairs was a man who had to be in his eighties, discussing fishing with his barber, the man himself, Scotty.
I grabbed a magazine and sat down, all the while listening to these two old timers shoot the shit. Talking wives, motorcycles, boats and the military, it was like two old friends from elementary school catching up on old times. It felt authentic, watching those two, like some hope could be had for the old beaten up ways of this country. They continued as I poured through an article in Rolling Stone about "Kanye's Comeback", reading about his obsession with fashion and so-called "futuresound". I sat there imagining what would happen if Kanye stepped in that shop at that moment, and watched these guys, these relics of the American Dream. What kind of an effect would "futuresound" have on these two, and how hard would they kick his ass for dressing the way he does? I laughed somewhat loudly at the thought of two old dudes kicking the shit out of Kanye West using barber tools, although it went unheard due to the intensity at which the conversation to my left was developing. I read on as Scotty finished up on what I could only assume was a regular, a fellow Fairfieldian that he had known for years. As the old man hobbled out of the chair, and turned to hand the barber his due, Scotty chimed in;
"Hey man well it was real great to meet ya, if your ever in town again youll know where Ill be"
What in holy hell? This was the first time they had ever met? As this realization dawned on me I wondered what sort of haircut I was in for. This old time barber had thoroughly convinced an outsider that a man he had just met was not the best friend from elementary school as he thought, but alas a complete stranger such as himself. The old man walked out, and Scotty looked at me with a grin on his face, eyes lasered on my skull;
"Quite a mess ya got goin on up there, gonna cost ya extra for me to tackle that shit"
Still somewhat speechless, I jerked myself into interaction and gave a polite smirk and sat myself in his ancient chair. For some unexplainable reason, fear started to dawn on me. What subjects could he possibly bring up? What in god's name would we talk about? How involuntarily engaged was I about to become? I clutched my magazine tightly, with the hopes that maybe I could just read this one out. He draped the hair cover directly over my open reading material, and asked me for my name.
20 minutes later I found myself laughing so hard he had to stop the cut on multiple occasions as to not butcher my head. I had somehow spilled half my life out of my mouth without even realizing it, and trusting this newly met entity with all of it. The man had seen so much, been so many places, yet always returned home, here, to Fairfield. He had been all over the world, worked every job, yet still cut hair for 25 years, right there in that barber shop. Its an anomaly really, someone so traveled, so experienced in the ways of the world, yet so simple and pleasant. Not precocious in the slightest, and understanding of all. An old man with a skill for a simple trade and a mouth full of stories. I had this funk bothering me for months but I couldn't put my finger on what it was, and meeting Scotty today I think put a perspective on it. I feel more and more that the old ways are being thrown out, and the world is being made into a faster, more productive, and increasingly less forgiving place. I was starting to forget that there are still places in this life where you can just slow down and enjoy the company of a stranger, free from the fear of judgment and status quos. Thats a great feeling, an honest one, one which I will hold on to until the generation unto which he belongs finally begins to die out.
As my cut was coming to a close, another man walked in, grabbed a magazine, and sat down. Scotty greeted him the same he did me, and I assume he was a stranger as well. What stories would this man hear? Which ones would he share? I got up from my chair, turned and looked at my hair for the first time during the whole cut, and as I had hoped, Scotty lived up to a reputation I hadnt even heard yet but knew existed. I gave him a full 20, wishing I had more on me to tip with. He graciously bowed and as he smiled his wrinkled eyes reminded me once again of Bill. Here I was, 13 years later meeting a man who could easily run a shop with the man I once called my barber, far away from the fast "future-chic'" boutiques of San Jose. As I walked out the door, the bell gave a ring, and the man behind me sat down. From just outside the shop I could hear Scotty's low scratchy voice bellow softly to his newest customer;
"So whats yer name stranger?"
I smiled and walked on.
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