Not Your Father’s Tonsorial Parlor

May 19, 2008 at 11:45 am (Clairissa, Sweet sticky things)

Friday was the hottest day of the year. I knew it was coming, so I had to figure out a way to beat the heat. I could go to the movies, but there’s nothing current I’m desperate enough to pay $10 to see. Besides, 90 minutes later you’re back out in the heat. McMenamin’s Theater pubs? I don’t trust myself around that much Terminator Stout…

Loiter at work? Pfft.

Clairissa has air-conditioning!

She’s always telling me to just come by and hang out. I can watch her cut hair, play with her giant-headed bulldog named Daddy, listen to good tunes. In between clients? We talk, she sits outside and smokes, or we go the tavern/pizza place next door and hide away. I don’t do it very often, but Friday seemed the perfect day.

It was mid-80s outside when I arrived. Thankfully I wasn’t interrupting anything. (She will politely run me off if there’s girl-drama happening.) She finished her client, swept, and led me by the hand outside, where she smoked. “I have a quick trim to do, then I have about an hour before a big color job. You’re welcome to hang out, but the coloring is gonna take about two hours. I won’t be around much, but you can play with my dog!”

The ‘trim’ client showed early, so she snipped her up and sent her on her way. After, I heard gossip about how Clairissa had, um, a closer relationship with her sister. While I’m visualizing this, the door opens and another young woman pops in. “I just came by to say hi!” She stayed about ten minutes, then peddled off.

Barbershop. That’s My Mama. Floyd the Barber from The Andy Griffith Show. It’s the perfect setting for a situation comedy. (Or a blade-wielding drama…) Clairissa is a happy, upbeat girl. I always seem to hear about the drama later. I prefer it that way, I think. People come and go, some to ‘be made pretty’, others just to get a social connection. That’s been my thing lately. I’m not ready to get serious about girls again, but I love being flirted with, and I love extending affection. She makes me feel wanted without relationship baggage. Still, I have to ask if my persistent attentions bother her?

“Dude,” she says. She looks at me, walks over to the futon where I’m sitting, and gently bonks me on the forehead. She straddles me, sitting on my lap, cowgirl-style. “I’m totally okay with you. You can love me all you want. You know it’s not going to get you anywhere.” To punctuate, she ground her pelvis into my lap a few times, then bit down on my neck. After chewing on me for a minute, she stood up, laughed,  and said, “That’ll give your co-workers something to talk about…”

Talk about mixed messages. It’s okay, I can take a lot of teasing.

As I pulled out the current Rolling Stone to leave on her coffee table, I noticed a tiny bottle of Glenfidditch Scotch in the bottom of my bag. WTF? I must have bought it during my last bender. I put it on her counter. “Here’s a present for you. I was going to try it, but you drink it instead and tell me if it’s any good?”

“Can do.” She hid it under the counter for later. “I have something for you too. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.” She went to the drawer and pulled out the clippers I’d killed recently. “If you want, you can  put these in your creepy memorabilia display.”

I admired their vintage look and feel. “Are you sure? You’ve had these forever.”

“They’re obviously dead-”

“Sorry about that,” I interjected.

“Goddammit!” She flopped on my lap again. (I’m really starting to like this position for conversation.) “It would have happened anyway. That’s why I want you to have them. Do you know how many times I’ve mowed your head with these things? I’m glad it was you.” She cut the power cord, to remove any hope of ever using them again. “There. They’ll fit nicely on your shelf that way.”

I tucked them away, and gave her a big hug. It was time to start her coloring project, so I would head home and let her get to it. As I put my camera away, she said, “Let me see that.” She took it out of sight for a minute of so, then returned it. “No peeking until you get home.”

Okay, it’s settled. I was going to see Bridget the Midget at a local strip joint, but instead I decided to get my paycheck and go home. I’d had enough tittilation for one day.

Well, almost. I couldn’t wait to see what was on my camera…


1 Comment

  1. gee-no said,


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