By Thomas Winterhoff
First published on December 13, 2000
Copyright © Thomas Winterhoff
Copyright © Thomas Winterhoff
Don’t look up. Try not to catch their eye. They can smell fear, you know.
Sitting in a worn vinyl chair that looked (and felt) like it dated from the early Pleistocene epoch, I buried my nose deep into an ancient copy of Maclean’s magazine and waited my turn at the barbershop with bated breath and beads of sweat slowly forming on my brow.
I’d been putting off this haircut for a couple of weeks, as I usually end up doing. I’m generally not too concerned about the routine maintenance of my hair, but like most people, I like to find a place where I at least feel comfortable. At the very least, you hope to leave the shop not looking like you placed 23rd out of 22 aspirants in a Peewee Herman look-alike contest.
