Tired of seeing his resume go into the "Long Hair" file every time he leaves an employment agency, Oggy walked down to the Clip Joint, a barber shop he hasn't been to in 15 or 20 years. Not much had changed. the old barbers chairs still had springs sticking through the red upholstery. Handyman magazines still offered ways to cut wood trim perfectly and repair rotted wood. The style sample books still had handsome men with luxurious hair and women turning their heads.
"A man's best friend is the person who makes him look his best," said the hair style book.
The conversation with the stylist bordered on metaphysical:
"Is this what you want your hair to look like?"
"No, that's what I want it to look like in two months."
"So, longer?"
"Shorter."
"You're tired of the long hair?"
"I'm done with it."
"This an interesting cut you have going on."
"I did it myself with some paper scissors."
"Really? I never would've known."
Oggy didn't mention the Czech woman in Cabo San Lucas who, in a moment of exasperation, took some scissors and trimmed his hair on a beach.
"Ju look like a bum."
"Says you."
"Holt still."
"You're stepping on my foot."
"Becauz ju're moving. Just stop. My goot! Be serious!"
Standing in front of him, Oggy had slid his hands over her hips. She had attempted a complete makeover of Oggy but only got so far as his hair and a clean shirt. She determined he was hopeless, adorable, but hopeless. Today Oggy proved it was not hopeless.
The hair came off easily, a little more gray than Oggy is used to falling on the white and black striped cape. He remembered as a teenager how the hair would collect in the valleys of the fabric and he could gently bounce a hand and the hair would slide down like an avalanche. He did this today and hair he grew in Mexico, hair that the lovely Czech woman had spared because she soon succumbed to his groping her through her silky dress, fell to the clay tiles of the Clip Joint. The child in him grinned as he had grinned decades earlier when his mother or father would have to describe the hair cut he would receive. A delicious Moe's sandwich was probably a reward.
"I don't style it so keep it simple," said Oggy.
And this is what he got.
Before:
After:
In other news, his car did not pass the yearly inspection. The problem may be the catalytic converter. 130,000 miles and he's afraid of the possible repair bill. Fortunately, his 1974 moped is just waiting to be repaired and that will put him back on the road no matter what happens. Cars don't fit Oggy's style anymore. They're impossible to work on with dozens of computers and sensors and he doesn't want to get his shirt dirty.
The latest job hunt found him facing a person who expected him to beg for a chance to harness wire. She didn't understand that he was interviewing her. He had shaved and gotten a hair cut. Now he meant business.
"So what kind of offer can you make me?"
"$9 an hour."
"You couldn't pay me $9 an hour just to pick up $9 an hour."
"Well, that's..."
"That's not good enough. You think some guy is going to walk off the street and do what I can do?"
"Actually..."
"Never. I see the mouth-breathers picking up their checks here. They've got Velcro shoe laces. I'm a master assembler. Start me at $20 an hour with an option for $25 in a month. And travel expenses. And..."
"This interview is over."
"So we have a deal? Excellent. I'm going on vacation this week but as soon as I get back..."
"Hello, police?"
He wanted to go to Hookset to have an excuse to meet Julie, who could probably work some magic with his hair, but the interview was today and he doesn't know where Hookset is. Next haircut will be due in 2022 so just be patient Julie!
As for Oggy, it's the first day of the rest of his life.
No, I didn't bring in a picture of Paul and ask for the 1965 hair style. That was just how it came out!
