As a child I went to the same barber for my first haircut at about 1 and 1/2 years old til I was 18. You might think with the number of haircuts I received at his establishment, I’d tell you he was a good barber. Let’s say they were average, but he was a nice guy and he had an amazing bear skin hanging from the shop’s wall. At about the age of 11, I was allowed to go to the barber shop myself. Even back then I knew it was a big deal. Previously my mother had always took me to the shop. Not a great feeling being in the barber chair amongst a crowd of older men while your mother makes chitchat with the barber, mostly about you.
“Yes, he does have a piano recital coming up. He’s been working really hard on a piece called ‘Tough Turtle.’”
So finally when I got to go alone, it was a relief.
On one visit to the barber shop a gentleman that I’d always seen sitting in front of the only apartment building on main street, was in for a cut. He was in his 50′s, large, glasses, dressed in cameo, and had a huge white beard that grew right down to his chest. He was in the chair and they were talking about bee stings. How many times they’d been stung and where. The bearded guy says,
“You know this one time I was on the toilet and this bee kept on bothering me. I couldn’t get it to leave me alone, so I tried trapping it. I leaned forward on the toilet seat and what do you know, it flew right in. It wasn’t but a few second before I felt it land and OUCH! It put it’s dagger in me, but I had the last laugh. That bee fell to a watery grave! HAHAHAHA.”
That was it, I’d never have another interaction of any form with this man. I never saw him in the barber shop again, never bumped into him at another store. The only place I still see him is sitting in front of that old apartment or walking down the street. I’d drive by and say, “Hey, there’s the watery grave guy!” If someone was with me, I’d tell them the story and it got passed along. I wonder if anyone out there has a name like that for me?