So I sit down and the girl, who couldn't have been any older than 22-23 years old begins to cut my hair. She makes a bit of small talk and asks me a few questions. Things like, trim up your sideburns, square or round in the back, is that short enough on the sides, blah blah blah. All good things to ask a guy whom you've never met and your working for a tip.
But then she asked me a question that I can't forget......
"Do you want me to trim your eyebrows"?
Trim my eyebrows? What the FUCK? How fucking old do you think I am? What do you mean trim my fucking eyebrows. I'll fucking punch you in your millennial face if you ever ask me that again. Fuck You, trim my eyebrows.
I sat there. Staring into the mirror, watching this young lady who was more interested in the conversation across the room than she was in cutting my hair, my mind flashed to the old town barber shop with the old men sitting around talking talking about yesterday's gone by. The old timer in the chair who's fallen asleep while Ed the barber snips away as what little hair he has left.
I thought today's youth she has no idea,..... I can't believe she.....then it hit me. Wait a minute......do I need my eyebrows trimmed?
And that's the bitch about getting old. We don't even know it happened until somebody, other than our kids, calls us pops, or old man. Or asks us if we want our eyebrows trimmed.
I politely declined her offer to trim my eyebrows and we finished up shortly there after. In the end I thought she cut it just a tad to short in the front, but I tipped her nicely anyway. On the way back to work I couldn't help but to check out her work in the rear view mirror, and I might have plucked a couple wild eyebrow hairs before heading back inside.
