Barbershop Banter

Part of my "day job" involves washing windows. I traipse around town to different businesses, making their windows sparkle and shine, collect my pay and go on my way. There are usually pleasantries exchanged and often we'll get into talk about politics, religion, and other taboo subjects. Or not. Maybe we'll just talk about the weather. Sometimes, the business owners will treat me to a fresh smoothie from their blender, an item from the lunch menu, or an extra 10% off that summer dress I've been eyeballing for a few months. Those are cool treats. I'm happy to get them. But today was even more special than that. Today, I got the treat of a lifetime.

I wash the windows of a local barber shop. It's one of those old-school ones...you know, pretty much a guys only club, where the magazines feature golf and hunting and the TV is always tuned to the fly fishing channel. The decor isn't fancy, in fact it wasn't even fancy when it was new, thirty years ago.

This small shop is named after the two owners: Kenny's and Larry's Barber Shop. No more fancy than the decor, but like the Naugahyde chairs, it gets the job done...and it's been getting the job done so well for the past few decades that both barber chairs are generally full and often there is a guy or two patiently waiting for his haircut.

Today, I ambled in the shop, armed with my squeegee and secret-spot-removing soap. As usual, the chairs were full and the place was buzzing. Kenny's chair is nearest the windows, and I almost always wind up sharing a short conversation with whichever customer happens to be in his chair at the time. I don't know any of them, but they're all pretty friendly to the crazy, tattooed redhead who makes the glass gleam. Today was no different. I smiled at Kenny, exchanged our typical greetings, then I turned to Kenny's customer...a white-haired, handsome man by the name of Paulo. Paulo turned his head to the left so Kenny could trim above his ear then spoke.

"I went to the nursery yesterday," Paulo said in a thick, Italian accent. "Boy! There are some wonderful flowers out there right now. But," his tone turned from light as hummingbird wings to rock-heavy. "They did not have the flowers I want for my garden."

Since I knew Kenny wouldn't mind, I butt in on the conversation. "What kind of flowers are you looking for?"

It took Paulo a couple attempts to explain, English is not his first language and words like "trailing" and "vibrant" got tangled around in his mouth. We eventually got it though. He was seeking, "deep, vibrant purple flowers - tiny little gems that trail up the side of my fence and gift me with the most exquisite view all summer long."

My eyes widened, I gasped and pointed my squeegee at him enthusiastically. "I know those flowers! They're lovely."

"Yes!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening too. "They are. Please, what is the name they go by?"

I wracked my brain and came up with a clarity matched only by the window I'd just washed. "They are..." I sighed. "I don't remember. It's on the tip of my tongue but I can't think of the name." I looked at Kenny, who shrugged and continued cutting hair. He couldn't think of the name, either. In fact, it's possible he had no idea which flower we were talking about.

Paulo, disappointed (but only a smidgen) frowned. "Ah, well. I went to three nurseries and nobody had that flower."

Well," I told him, "That's a shame. Those flowers should be in every garden all over the world. In fact, my husband and I sometimes argue about this. I want flowers everywhere, even in our vegetable garden. He says corn is much more useful."

Paulo gestured in that "yeah, but what ya gonna do about it?" way. Then he said, "You need to feed the belly and the eyes. Every part of the human spirit needs nourishment."

All this time, Kenny, the barber of forty years, clip, clip, clipped away, taming Paulo's wild, wiry locks into presentable, gentlemanly form. As Paulo uttered that gem about the human spirit needing nourishment, Kenny took the final clip, finishing this wise man's haircut and offering to the world a symmetrically-suitable, civilized Paulo.

A few more words were exchanged, I thanked the two men for their time, then I picked up my supplies and left.

The moment was poignant. My small exchange with a stranger in which we each discovered a common ground between us in a perhaps otherwise vast sea of differences, felt like morning sun rays through a kitchen window. But it goes deeper than that. You see, that master of the scissors, Kenny, is retiring next week after more years in that shop than you may have experienced on earth. Kenny's cancer has progressed. He plans to take a vacation with his loving family and then enter hospice care. But today, Kenny stood there clipping away while Paulo and I talked - like he hadn't a care in the world, when in reality, this stoic man knows he will soon leave the earthly plane and a passel of kids and grandkids. And he will do this not even a year after his wife of many decades did the same.

The flowers whose names Paulo and I could not recall will continue to bloom, the customers like Paulo will continue to walk into the shop looking wild and walk out looking well-kept. And Kenny, the barber who has heard a million conversations about a million topics from births to deaths to twin cam engines to the delicate curve of a rose petal, graciously gave Paulo and me the space to talk about plain things and share a smile...no fuss, no muss.

Thank you, Kenny, for you are one of those people who enrich and embolden the world without even saying a word.