Getting My Ears Lowered

I know that one of the reasons the views are down on my blog, Modern Philosophers, is because I don’t write enough about getting my hair cut.

It’s not that I don’t want to give my readers what they want, but more a case of knowing that I lose my supernatural powers any time I cut my long, luxurious locks.  Please forgive me for that weakness.

Well, I’ve been selfish long enough, and I’m pleased to report that I finally gave in to all the peer pressure and went to see Fat Dave today.

My Dad, forever the funny guy, would refer to getting his hair cut as “Getting my ears lowered”.  He did have an odd way with words, but he was also the sweetest man in the world, so everyone put up with his horrible sense of humor.

As I’ve mentioned in my previous riveting barbershop posts, Fat Dave, the man responsible for putting the bowl on my head and cutting around it, isn’t the best conversationalist on the market today.

Sure, he probably could’ve taken a few electives about chatting it up with his customers while he was at Barber College, but Fat Dave clearly spent his time on the core classes like “Giving The Exact Same Haircut Every Time” and “How To Keep That Strange Blue Water In Which The Combs Reside As Blue As Possible”.

Fat Dave has one of those awesome barber poles, and that’s all that I’m really looking for in a barber, aside from a nice selection of magazines to read while I’m waiting for my turn in the big chair.

I came prepared for this visit, though, just in case Fat Dave was in rare form and wanted to talk my ears off while lowering them.

He did catch me off guard by immediately asking me if it was going to rain today.  I jumped on that softball and launched into an exciting conversation (albeit one-sided) about how cold it had been last night, how surprised I had been to discover it was so warm this morning, and how I’d taken advantage of that fine weather to go for a run before coming to see him.

Now I certainly didn’t expect Fat Dave to counter with his own story of running, as I’m pretty sure the only part of him that ever runs is his nose, but weather is an easy topic to build on for even the most conversationally challenged.

Alas, Fat Dave did not continue the chat.

Nothing.  Maybe a chuckle.  That’s it.

I waited for Fat Dave to finish with the electric razor before I tried again.  I told the story about my neighbors digging up the street for three days to find their busted sewer pipe only to discover that no sewer pipe led from their home to the city sewer system.

Come on!  How do you not jump all over that?  Where the heck has all their waste been going if there’s no pipe?  That could’ve led to a rant about the city, about how our tax dollars are wasted, or to a series of crude jokes about poop and pee.

But nothing.  Really, Fat Dave?  Seriously???

I gave it one last shot by talking about how no one has come to pave the giant gash in the street caused by the search for the non-existing sewer pipe.  I added that the city should take responsibility for it because cars were taking a beating, and didn’t our tax money pay for street repairs?

He would not engage.  Maybe a polite “Uh huh” or “You’d think” were uttered, but nothing at all multi syllabic, or even two sentence strung together to masquerade as a weak paragraph of conversation.

Disappointed, I just paid, thanked him for his time, and left.  I didn’t dare ask him to make my ultimate barbershop dream come true.  How could I after he barely spoke to me at all while I was a paying customer?

Alas, I once again left the place without getting to engage in a barbershop duet with Fat Dave.

Will that dream ever be realized, Modern Philosophers?  I’ll continue to remain positive won’t give up hope quite yet…