It’s 405 in the pm, I sit here in my vehicle wondering what the fuck just happened. Excuse the typos, day drinking doesn’t lend itself to proper grammar. Started at noon and by 3 pm, I was sitting in Cho’s barbershop, a place I had been many times in the past, never leaving with a quality cut. Just short, usually uneven and choppy. Her age was showing as her skillset was slowly eroding. My wife begged me not to go that “fucked up barber” saying I always left with a Kim Jung Un haircut.
What was the draw to this shop. Noone ever there, she was a take control barber, choppy english and always seemed cranky. But boy oh boy, it was always 40 minutes of the loud clangy clippers, the smell of metal and the old TV always on in the corner in Korean. She said very little.
“Just a trim” I said as she tightened the cape and stepped up on her ramp around the chair. Her 4’10 stature was a challenge for her to reach her clients. Again for the 30 minutes, the clippers went up and down my nape, over the ears and what not. I fucking love the sound, the feel and the experience. By the time it was over, I definitely at a .20 BAC, I spoke up. Cho holding the mirror and moving around my head, I’m buzzed and I said:
“Can you take it shorter around here Cho, motioning at my nape area…
“Need make up mind, you waste my time” she said as she fired up the clippers again and with a firm press.
“You wanta whitewall cut, you need speak up” as she plowed up my nape, I swear my skin went into the blades.
An older fellow came in along the same time and sat in front, waiting his turn in the chair.
The next 15 minutes were a blur as pass after pass of her clangy old clippers released tufts of what was left of my hair – cascading in my lap. The early drinks were taking a toll, as with a few times in the past, I fell in a trance. I needed to be sheared. I wanted the barber to be pissed. I needed it rough. Total submission in the chair. I wanted the hot blade pressed firmly against my scalp.
The only disappointment now was that I had no hair left. Cho was now in complete control. Her aggressive personality on full display as she sheared my nape, up and down, pass after pass, the blades pressing into the skin, leaving a bald, tender scalp. As for her small frame, it meant nothing as she shoved, pushed, and absolutely man -handled my head, her clippers taking me to the bone.
” Now have no hair left, get proper haircut” as I was spun around to the mirror, a quick glance revealed my worst fear. SCALPED.
Renee was sure to be so pissed.
