By Ba Ipe
IT was late afternoon yesterday when I went to the barber for a haircut and shave. Yes, a balding man like me needs regular haircut and shave. Strands of hair still grow on my shining pate although they are not quite very visible to the naked human eye.
A grooming guru says beautifying oneself is not vanity. It is presenting what could be regarded a better version of a person’s exterior. You don’t have to change yourself, the grooming guru says, but rather it is presenting your best version. I concur.
My instructions to the barber were clear: It had to be the semi-calvo, the same haircut I have been sporting over the past 25 years; he had to use the .5 hair clipper; and he had to trim my moustache and shave my goatee and the "atsaka" which is the hair in between my goatee and moustache. In brief, he has to provide me with a redeeming look. I had to pass the standards set by the grooming guru.
The barber went to his job with intense fervor. He probably thought I was a generous tipper. I probably exuded the public persona of a considerate old man, who was more than willing to part a few pesos for a job well done. But the surprise was the barber did not follow my instructions.
He probably did not hear my instruction to use the .5, repeat .5, hair clipper. No, his clipper did not have any gadget to leave a longer strand of hair. He used a zero hair clip; in brief, it went to scrap every strand of hair on my scalp.
I don’t like the zero hair clip because it would make my head too bright, no different from the pates of Telly Savalas, Yul Brynner, or our very own, Pugo. It makes me the center of attention, and jokes. I like something subdued. It conforms to my temperament: less public attention, less mistakes.
The barber went to his job. It was late to discover he was scrapping all my hair. I could not make any appeal. It was late to do so. Then, I saw myself completely without any hair. But I rediscover my own aura. I noticed that I have a more respectable aura without hair. I look very similar to Pilo Hilbay and Gary Alejano.
Then, the barber trimmed my moustache, which I never shaved since the days I took my ROTC in early 1970s. It has become a somewhat fixture of my persona until it has turned immaculate white. He shaved the remaining hair. Presto, I was a new man. The grooming guru was obviously correct.
It was serendipity, or a pleasant discovery. I paid the barber P100, which was double his rate of P50. Then, I left.
My day did not end with my visit to the barber. I proceeded to the nearby Fisher Mall to walk around and take an early dinner. Fisher Mall was perfect for a senior citizen like me. It is not that big unlike Trinoma or SM North. I am not fond of roaming around, as if I was a cat lost in the woods.
I was surprised to discover that a bigger part of Fisher Mall’s ground floor has become a veritable flea market, or tiangge. I was told it has been subdivided into 50 small slots, where every creature could sell products of his choice. But 90 percent of the slots were selling clothes – or women’s clothes.
I was inclined to buy some men’s shirts for my use, but I could not find one. Instead, I saw a number of women buying from those stores. I saw the pathetic sight of two or three men, who were carrying shopping bags of procured clothes. They were following the women, who were haggling with the sales ladies
I always say it is always a fatal mistake for every man to accompany his wife, girlfriend, or paramour to shopping. He always end up with the unpalatable tag of being “tagabitbit ng mga napamili.” It is a punishment. It is an ordeal.
Touche.
What a day of discoveries.
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