Book, Rebook, Ad Infinitum.

Hiya gang, it's your monthly hello from Your Second Favourite Barber. The one who doesn't know how to upload pictures to a laptop computer so he has to use a suggested stock photo but it's of a sweet bike he would ride the crap out of that also fit the colour scheme so he's super chuffed about it. 

Obligatory notice: Feel free to unsubscribe. You may have been placed on this mailing list because I thought you might enjoy it. If not, whatever, man. Moving on.

Do you believe in fate? Well, you opened up your email and here I am, so it's fate whether you believe in it or not. Fate is telling you to book your next cut, and to do it right now. It takes less than 2 minutes. Did you just get one last week? Well, book your next one anyway and you can reschedule when the early alert notifies you. Or when the early notification alerts you. You know how it works by now; you get the heads up, you change your time if you need, or you can be a man of your word and keep your commitment to your barber, the one with feelings and abandonment issues. I kid.

Let's talk about something super fun! May is Mental Health Month! Ugh, I know. Enough, amirite? But guess what? I don't care. I've had some heavy talks with great people in my chair who are going through tough things lately. Fights with the wife, a dad's funeral, or the one that got away. These are things that we all deal with eventually, and while they're not mental health issues per se, if we bury them down and don't talk about them, they don't go away, they metastasize and drive us crazy. All this to say:

The barber chair is a place to relax and take a break from your busy life. If you've got something to vent about, I'm honoured and privileged to be the ear it falls upon. I'm not a therapist who can offer advice, but all anyone needs is an ear. Something so little as talking to your barber when he asks how you are is taking care of your mental health. Staying silent for the whole cut is taking care of your mental health (closed eyes is a sign to me that the client doesn't want to talk and it happens plenty, and I don't take offence, quite the opposite). Simply getting a haircut and feeling good is taking care of your mental health.

Switching gears: It's high school graduation time! For some schools, it's next week! Whose bright idea was it to hold graduation then go back for another month of school? Some jerk, I can tell you that much. Either way, many of your boys (or you, but pretend this is to your parent for a minute for the sake of the story) will be graduating high school, so why not treat them to a gift card for a cut and shave? 

Treat them to a hot towel shave to pamper them one last time before they step up to knock on the door of the real world. They straighten their collar, clear their throat and lick their palm and flatten their hair. It may take a few knocks, as it's super busy in there. Finally the door bursts open and the guy answering it looks disheveled and obviously stressed, tired and hyper at the same time, he yells "WHAT?!? Oh, another one? Gah, they keep coming." There's smoke, laughter, screaming, bright red lights, flashing strobes, the sound of chainsaws for some reason, and John Woo doves. "Okay," he sizes them up as he puffs his cig. "Looking good, champ. Did you sign your forms? Doesn't matter. Come on. You won't need that lunchbox."

They walk the hallway, cubicles and offices to the left and right, no ceiling, only Mordor in the distance. A buzzing, a siren. Flaming arrows whizzing by their heads, the doorman says, "I'm Trevor, your guide. Don't ask questions, I'm only the guide." Trevor walks with purpose, like he's walked this hallway a trillion times before. Has he? The Graduate is stumbling to keep up, tripping over loose children and radio controlled cars, underfoot the crunching of broken glass/dreams. They see doors with placards. Retail, Labour, Middle Management, Success, Homeless, Fame. Some man-sized, some garage door-sized, a door barely big enough for a mouse labeled, "Prosperous Artist".

"I want that door back there!" yells The Graduate.

"Don't we all," says Trevor, rolling his eyes. "Which one? They're all so close together, it's easy to aim for one and get the other."

"Success." 

Trevor stops. He chuckles. He looks around, the arrows stop. The limitless world erupts in laughter, so loud The Graduate presses their hands to their ears. "Make it stop!!!" The laughter stops and the screaming continues.

"Okay. This is where you go on without me. Be careful, most doors are mislabeled. Take this," Trevor hands The Graduate a slab of dripping red meat the size of a football with the word SUCCESS branded on it. "Welcome to The Real World. Good Luck." Trevor lights a cigarette with the butt of the last and walks back through the fog as he's passed by five wolves, drooling and snarling, staring at The Graduate, who tries to drop the Success Meat. It won't fall. It's fused to their hands. Panicked, The Graduate looks into the abyss and starts to run, footsteps and rabid barking close behind.

In the distance they hear, "Tell 'em Trevor sent ya to get 10% off your next haircut at Seth's!"

Also, were you lucky enough to see those Northern Lights the other night?! I got some great pics, let's talk about it next time.

See you soon,

Seth