Thoughts

There is perhaps no greater experience than walking into the barbershop and waiting for your turn in the chair while a handful of "old timers" converse. When I walked into the barbershop today and saw how long the wait was, at first I was disappointed. I would need to extend my lunch if I stay, or I have to roll the dice and try to come back later in the week to see Ken the barber and hope the line was shorter. Then I noticed who was ahead of me and was more than happy to stick it out and wait my turn.

One story. That was all I wanted. I am not picky, and I definitely did not want to push my luck.

So I took a seat and waited. There were four of us waiting our respective turns; one in the chair. The windows were cracked, for today it smelled like men in the barbershop. I was the youngest by more than one, if not two, generations.

There I sat, patiently reading my book. Eyes on the page. Ears waiting, ready to pounce when it happened, if it happened. And then it did.

"Ken, you should get one of them young fillies in here to do manicures," one man blurted out.
"Oh yeah? Should she do pedicures? Would that interest you?"
"I'm interested in cleavage," he said and then added, "As long as she has to bend down for it, I don't really care what she does."

And all is right with the world.