Conversations with My Barber
Yes, I like being called boss man.
Before he took over, the barbershop down the road was something of a poisoned chalice, changing hands every few months. The writing was, quite literally, on the wall for the previous owner when he named the shop after our local area but spelled it completely wrong (why nobody checked this is simply staggering). After a brief tenure, during which he once gave me a bad haircut, then showed me a really, really long video of him playing a guitar solo at a wedding, he disappeared and was replaced by my current chap: a Kurdish man in his mid-thirties with an excellent beard and a winning smile.
Out went the incorrectly spelled shop name; in came an enormous flatscreen TV, which permanently plays dubious covers of mid-noughties R&B songs on YouTube and the rest - well, the past year or so, which is unheard of for this shop - is history. Over this time, we’ve had various exchanges that have stuck with me. Some bizarre, some unexpectedly deep and others (see #1 and #4) where I have simply been a moron.
“What’s your job, boss man?”
“I’m a civil servant. How about you?”
How about you?
“Is it just you who works here?”
“No, my brother is my business partner, but he’s never here.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“He loves the gym. And women.”
“Can I ask you something, boss man?”
“Go on...”
“Do you ever want to punch someone - like really punch someone - in the face?”
“Um, no. Not really, no.”
“The man up the road is charging more than me, and he’s shit. He is a shit barber.”
“Is he?”
“Totally shit. Do you think I should put my prices up?”
“I guess so, yes.”
The following day, he raised his prices from £14 to £17 for a gent’s cut and finish, so my shrewd business advice has cost me approximately £50 a year.
“Do you guys plan to be here long-term?” I asked.
“The only thing that would stop me is if someone killed me. If someone walked into this shop and killed me.”
“Oh.”
“How many kids do you have, boss man?”
“Two.”
“That’s not enough. You should have at least ten.”
“That seems quite a lot?”
“Making babies is fun, no?”
A few weeks later...
“Any more babies on the way?”
“No, I actually...”
“Don’t tell me, boss man… don’t tell me you’ve had your balls cut off?”
“I mean, that’s not quite how it works.”
A very, very drunk man falls against the shop window and slides down to the floor.
“Can you go and sort that out, boss man?”
“But...”
“Come on, it’s like your job, isn’t it?”
I take off my cape and go and ask the drunk man if he’s okay. He tells me to fuck off, then staggers up the road.
“Thanks, boss man. I would’ve punched him.”
“Do you think I should dye my hair?”
(My hair is almost entirely grey now and I’m considering my midlife-crisis options.)
“Absolutely not.”
“Why is that?”
“Your hair is a sexy colour, boss man. A very sexy colour.”
I left the shop walking on air.
After a lengthy silence, he stops trimming around my ears, and we make eye contact in the mirror.
“Can I ask you something, boss man?”
“Go on...”
“Do you think Covid was real? I don’t.”
This was a VERY long appointment.
“Do you want your beard doing, boss man?”
“I don’t have a beard.”
“Ah, who’s this then?” I say, on seeing a cute toddler sitting on the counter.
“My son, boss man! He’s working with me today.”
“Should… um… should he be drinking Boost energy drink?”
While paying for my six-year-old son’s haircut a few weeks later:
“Do you want a treat, little man?”
“Yes!” my son replies, while I fear what it could be: a bottle of Stella? Some cigarettes?
“Here you go, little man.”
Fortunately, it’s just a gobstopper of perfect choking-hazard size.
“Hey, boss man. Have you ever jumped off a boat, drunk?”
“As it happens, yes.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
The man from the shop up the road wanders in. It is called Just Phones but, as far as I can tell, sells only vapes (perhaps they employed the same sign-installation company as the previous barber owner?).
“How’s it going, brother?” he asks.
“Not bad.”
My barber stops cutting my hair. The man from the vape shop stands in the middle of the shop for a really, really long time. Nobody says anything.
The man from the vape shop eventually leaves.
“Are you two friends?” I ask.
“No.”
Now, I’m no Poirot but… I wonder if this is the man he wants to punch in the face?
During my recent pre-holiday haircut (a 1.5 into a 2, back and sides, with a bit of weight off the top, in case you were wondering), the conversation took an unexpectedly serious turn. My barber began talking about his childhood in Iran, family members and friends who had died in the war, and the difficult journey that eventually brought him to West Yorkshire, where he’d settled with his wife, son, and potentially many more children.
As he spoke, I realised how wildly different our lives have been. While I’d been pratting around in Thailand on a gap year, he’d been fleeing conflict and starting over in a new country, moving from town to town (he really, really hates Leamington Spa) and building a new life. Of course we’re not going to see eye to eye on everything.
But beneath the odd conspiracy theory and occasionally alarming turns of phrase, I’ve grown to really like him. He’s a lovely bloke, and it’s great to see him making a success of a shop which, I cannot stress enough, has been run into the ground by every one of his predecessors. Besides, for two people with such different backgrounds, we sometimes find common ground in unexpected places.
As I was paying up for my trim, he looked me in the eye.
“Do you know who can fuck off, boss man?”
“Go on...”
“Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage can fuck off.”
*
Thanks for reading! As always, please do like, share, comment, or tell me your own barbershop tales. Surely people have some good ones?!
With the summer holiday starting, this will be my last Substack post for a few weeks. So, huge thanks to everyone who continues to support The Flagging Dad, and I’ll see you on the other side.
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Have a fantastic summer, everyone!
Cheers! 🍻
🤣 Yes.. Nigel Farage CAN fuck off!! 👌🤣
Is there an origin story for the boss man moniker? Are there other boss men like you? Are you his one true boss man? Lots to think about.