His shop was basic, nothing fancy at all.
In the shade of a tree he had put an old office chair and
a card table that held the tools of his trade; his scissors,
a couple of straight edge razors and a jar with some dis-
infectant for his combs. A can of talcum powder and some
brushes were standing on the back of the table. Clearly not
high on his priority list.
What was on the forefront, were his electric clippers. He
had two of them. Powered by a 12-volt battery that in turn
got its power from the sun and was connected to a solar
panel leaning against an orange crate facing south.
From the tree trunk, on a rusty nail, hung a mirror that
reflected the whole wide world except for the image of the
person who was getting his hair cut. A towel, draped over
the chair, was patiently waiting for the next customer.
"How do you want it?" he asked.
"Short," I answered, "I like my hair short."
" A butch is what you want. That should do it!"
After checking my appointment schedule and seeing
that I had no audition with the Pope in the near future,
I told him to go ahead.
When I sat down in the chair he dusted me with powder,
wrapped some toilet paper around my neck and covered me
with the towel. So far so good, I said to myself, it looks
as if he knows what he is doing.
I got more than a little worried when I noticed that he
needed both his hands to steady his clippers.
For some reason I had to think of a fellow Dutchman by
the name of Vincent van Gogh who had gone through life
with only one ear. At least he did it to himself, I
thought, and here I am at the mercy of a shaker.
By now all I could do was close my eyes and relax.
After it was all over I was only bleeding in two places
-- not too bad. The good barber told me that if I was not
completely satified I was more than welcome to come back
and have my haircut corrected.
"If you see any hairs sticking out or if you think it is
uneven, come back and I will fix it for you," he said.
Even before I had a chance to see what I looked like in
my new do, I asked him how much I owed him.
His answer was as sharp as his scissors were dull:
"I have no business license Mister, therefore you don't OWE me nothing, not a thing, but a five dollar DONATION is appreciated."
