Highway 61 Barbers

If you were to ask me several months ago, if I would be sitting in this barber chair at Highway 61 Barbers, I would have said no.

That’s because I have gotten my haircut at Schmidty’s in Saint Paul for the last several years.

Conveniently located 20 minutes away from my apartment, I would just buzz over there before or after I went for a run at the gym, but it’s hard to run now because my left knee aches, which elicits fear that I’m going to be immobile and begin to devour potato chips and stack unnecessary pounds to compensate.

At any rate, with Schmidty’s, it was easy because I would just pop down in the chair and I wouldn’t have to say anything to Mario, the talented barber who liked to frequent Cancun.

Mario was so skillful that after our first encounter, he already knew what I wanted when I removed my coat and ambled into his awaiting leather chair.

In that sense, visits to St. Paul were simple, but today in Cottage Grove, things aren’t so simple because I must articulate what it is that I want from this haircut.

I’m actually sitting at this chair because it’s conveniently located to my in-laws, which is where I now live as my fiancé and I transition out of Eagan and look to buy a different place in the Twin Cities.

If you were to ask me even a year ago if I would be in this chair in Cottage Grove, I would say absolutely not because why in the world would I go to the other side of the world to get my haircut.

Alas, here I am.

Things change when you fall in love.

Is there a part of me that is ashamed and embarrassed that life events have taken place that has brought here?

Sure.

But I also know that nothing lasts forever, good or bad.

Inside Highway 61 Barbers are three chairs and three barbers.

On each wall is a TV, and they are playing different programs.

The volume is turned up on both, so concentrating on just one is difficult.

I sit in a chair.

The dimensions are tight.

Nowhere to put my long-ass arms, and not enough chair to lean back comfortably.

The person in front of me is talking to his barber, and I think I overhear him say that he owns a business, and then I hear the word “construction,” and then instantly I wonder if I can help him with windows and decks because that’s my job, and I wake up every day enthusiastic about what that may bring.

It’s fun to write that work brings pleasure because I used to get excited about some far away land filled with arepas, bunuelos and senoritas, but now I’m content to simply cold call some random white guy in the suburbs and ask him about Andersen windows, or drop into an office and risk getting abruptly told to exit the premises.

The latter options are much more budget-friendly than jumping on a plane and trying to find yourself in some Third World country that may or may not want you there.

“Excuse me, sir,” I ask the man who might do construction after his haircut finishes. “Do you own a construction company?”

“No, I don’t,” he says, and even though he goes on to say who he works for, my brain glosses over that information because as rude as it is to admit, I no longer really care.

The man on the far left (not politically) then calls my name, so I stand, hang my jacket up, and proceed to enter his ozone.

“How are we doing today, Rick?” I ask as I stroll up to the chair, deftly maneuvering into the seat while the barber prepares a black gown for dressing.

“It’s actually Dick,” he says, and suddenly I feel like a dick because either I can’t read or his name was misspelled on the website.

“So, what are we doing today?” Dick asks, and I realize I haven’t had to answer this type of question since some diva named Antonio silently cut my hair a couple years ago down in Buenos Aires.

I intimate to Dick that it would be cool if he could give me a fade on the side and take a few inches off the top.

Dick says no problem, then goes on to tell me that he was once retired, which makes sense cause he is pretty old, and once he tells me that he’s here by choice and not out of necessity, I breathe a sigh of relief because I think part of me fears that I will have a heart attack if I am still standing at 90, but I’ll probably be dead long before then.

Statistically, tall people don’t live very long.

Not that work is a bad thing, but maybe when I’m a geriatric, I will want different things, and constantly thinking about self-improvement and money will no longer exist.

“Thank you for the tip,” Dick says when the haircut is finished, and my hair is no longer in my eyes.

For context, I tipped him prior to coming into the store, part of their checkout process that is very user-friendly.

Tipping is so customary now that I didn’t even think twice about it, but come to think of it, I was in Austin, Texas about a year ago, and all I did was buy a bag of chips and a candy bar.

Yet, the nerve of that unmanned kiosk, to ask me if I wanted to leave a tip.

As a former bartender who was thrice complimented for the way I prepared a Bloody Maria and a Manhattan, I must stress that tipping has to be earned, and leaving something extra for a robot that is likely fueled by AI and a desperate need to please its maker didn’t sit well with me.

If the narrative of this article feels disjointed, and different from what you’re normally accustomed to, that’s because it is.

I’ll be honest, er, transparent, or whatever the hell the word is.

When it comes to interviewing people, I’ve had less time, and perhaps even less motivation to do so.

My best work usually comes when it’s me letting stream of consciousness run rampant on the screen.

With that comes some unsavory diction and questionable decisions, but with age I’ve come to almost revel in the way the imagination likes to dance and flex its literary muscles.

This craft that I’ve spent so much time refining is so damn cathartic, and hopefully I can continue highlighting good businesses, albeit in a different format that is less calculated, but ultimately more authentic.

If you are unsatisfied with how this article turned out, give me a little bit of time to find my sea legs.

I mean, I might not even be able to run anymore. QS

**

Tired of that annoying tree stump that’s lingering in your front yard? 

You know, the remnants of that massive oak that all your neighbors point and snicker at? 

Well, thanks to Chris Mehrkens and ByeBye Stumps, you can remove that unsightly tree stump AND enhance the curb appeal of your home. 

If your lawn is littered with stumps, don’t wait another minute to get this done.

Call ByeBye Stumps today at (763) 258-7200!

And mention my name when you call to get $100 off your project. 

That’s 763-258-7200.

ByeBye, stump!