A criminal gave my husband the best cut — then disappeared
My husband was in the barber chair with half his face shaved when the police turned up to take the barber away.
Michael (Mick to everyone else, and Mike to no-one) drives trucks, builds fences, delivers calves by hand (when necessary), drinks Bundaberg Rum and coke out of a pint glass and speaks in sentences that have more swear words than anything else.
How is it that this same person loves spending hours at the man salon? Michael goes to the barber for a straight shave and a haircut. He likes to talk sh*t’ with whoever happens to be there and, he loves the hot towel treatment.
The barber visit is serious business. Michael is very particular (or is it peculiar?) about this.
Early on in our relationship Michael got acquainted with Sydney. In addition to uncovering a love for Japanese food, he discovered that (a few) Sydney barbers were pretty damn good.
Mickey D’s
Mickey D wasn’t the first barber, he wasn’t the best and he wasn’t the first choice — but he was noteworthy.
Acting on son, Tarbon’s recommendation, Michael turned up to a Newtown institution, ‘Mickey D’s Barbershop’.
To me and only me, Tarbon issued a caution. Michael and Mickey might get along, but equally, they might not. Mickey does good cuts, but he’s well… you know?
First impressions count
Michael walked into the barbershop. The barber (presumably Mickey D) was having lunch and talking on the phone. Michael took a seat in the window and started scrolling through Facebook.
It wasn’t clear what Mickey and the guy on the phone were talking about, but there was some kind of debt to settle. It seemed that somebody owed the guy on the other end of the phone money.
The conversation
Mickey talked loudly in an animated fashion.
Using his ‘outside’ voice, Mickey said, “Look, Mikey, just tell him you’re gonna send someone around there to sort it out.”
There was a pause while Mikey said his piece and then Mickey started up again, “Nah, nah, nah! Don’t tell him you’re gonna send someone around there to bash him. Just tell him you’re gonna send someone around there to sort it out.”
Mickey goes quiet again, listening to Mikey through the phone.
“No, no, no! Don’t tell him that you’re going to send someone around there to hurt him.”
There’s another pause.
“F@@k no! Don’t tell him that they’re going to mess him up.”
Still looking at his phone, Michael shook his head, “F@@k!” he thinks, “This guy is dumb as all sh!t!” Then, unable to stay quiet, Michael chimes into the conversation, “Tell him… you’re going to send some professionals around there to settle the debt.”
Without changing his focus, Mickey speaks quietly; it’s unclear whether he’s talking to Michael, or himself. “ Yeah, right,” he breathes.
Mickey D looked up and acknowledged Michael in the shop. He didn’t say anything.
Michael continues, “They could do whatever they want. They could bash the lights out of him once they get there. But they’re gonna be professional at whatever they do.” Mickey stares as Michael continues, “and that can be taken any way they want. They could be a lawyer or whatever. But they’re professionals at whatever they do, and they’re gonna sort it out.”
Mickey looks straight at Michael. Nodding his head, he says, “that’s good, man.” With resolve, he says a “Hell yeah!” to himself and then speaks into the phone. “Hey, Mikey?! Did you hear that?! Just tell him that they’re gonna be professionals, and they’re gonna sort it out. Yeah, yeah, that’s good, man! They’re professionals, and they’re gonna sort it out.”
Now Michael is involved in the conversation around getting the debt settled. Mickey finishes eating; Mikey gets the plan sorted.
Mickey hangs up and puts the phone aside and turns his attention to the business of cutting hair, “righto man, take a seat.”
From the chair, Michael smells Mickey’s lunch — onions, BBQ sauce, mayo and the meat fat, which Michael noted was also covering the front of Mickey’s shirt. Mickey moves around Michael, snip, snip here. A comb there. Clippers up the ear. Scissors over this bit.
Then, scissors in-hand, Mickey just stops and heads to the door and exits the shop without a word. From the chair, Michael moves about to watch Mickey’s departure in the mirror that covers the barbershop wall in front of him.
Mickey comes back with a silky terrier. Michael cannot figure where Mickey got the dog. Mickey is stroking the dog all over, “I love these things.” Mickey has scissors, open on the two fingers of his right hand and he’s patting the dog with the scissors open, Mickey’s stroking the dog. Michael has no idea where Mickey got the dog from, or what he’s going to do with it. Mickey loves on it a bit more; then he sets down. The dog takes off, dragging its lead behind it.
A few minutes back into the haircut, a chick starts talking to Mickey from the doorway. Mickey walks out of the shop again. When he comes back in he’s spouting expletives about city chicks, “You wouldn’t know about that. You country bumpkins don’t have this rubbish up there.”
Michael laughs, and Mickey continues — he’s cut the right side of Michael’s hair, and moves to the front.
A cop car pulls up out front. The police get out and stand at the window. They’ve got their paperwork, and they’re looking at the numbers and comparing stuff and checking things off.
Mickey glances at the front of the shop and then looks at Michael straight in the mirror, directly into his face, “they’re here for me man.”
The police look at the shop number, back at their paperwork and into the shop.
“Don’t worry man,” Michael says, “it’ll be right.”
“Nah man, they’re here for me.”
The police move toward the door and step inside the shop, “are you blah blah?” They stumble over the unpronounceable name, but Mickey gets the gist and acknowledges he’s that guy. The cops say he needs to come down to the station. Gesturing at Michael in the chair, Mickey tells the cops he’s working. “Let me finish this gentleman’s hair, and I’ll come down.” The three cops who are there are reasonable, “ok,” they say, “we’ll see you at the station when you’re done. Straight away,” they caution.
That was all ‘no worries’, and they left. Mickey went to running his mouth off about the cops, and then he asked Michael why he was down.
“Honestly man,” said Michael, “I come down here for a few things. I’ve been trying to get a haircut from you for a few months, but every time I come down here, you’re closed.”
“Yeah… I’ve been in jail. I shut the place and locked it up — it’s all just BS.”
Michael nodded along, throwing a few non-committal ‘it’s sweet,’ and ‘no dramas’ in.
He didn’t want to get involved or even participate in this conversation — the one on the phone was bad enough. Michael didn’t want to know why Mickey had been in jail; nor did Michael care to understand why Mickey might be headed there now. All Michael wanted was for Mickey to cut his hair and shave him, so he could get out of there.
Mickey finishes Michael’s hair and starts prepping Michael for the straight shave. He covers Michael’s face in cream and shaves one cheek with the cutthroat and then a cop car pulls up out front on the other side of the road.
Mickey’s face freezes, “they’re back. They’re gonna send me down for sure. They’re here for me.” He keeps twittering away nervously.
Michael tries to reassure Mickey. But Mickey is sure he’s gone this time. As per the last time, the cops stand outside reading their paperwork, looking at the shop number, looking in at Mickey and then they moved to the doorway.
As they’re coming through the door, Mickey turns to Michael and says, “They’re here for me, man, just be cool.”
Michael says, ‘What do ya mean be cool? I’m only here for a haircut and a shave. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! But you know? Just be cool, ok?”
Michael laughs, “I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t need to be cool. I haven’t done anything, man.”
The first lot of police comprised of three guys. Lying back as he was, Michael could only partially see what was going on, but it seemed that this was a group of four — three guys and woman. The latter took control and went straight to work establishing Mickey’s identity. With that out of the way, the woman officer demanded Mickey accompany them to the station immediately.
Mickey reminded them that they were there earlier and that he’d promised to present himself at the station as soon as he’d finished this cut and shave.
“That’s not an option,” said the woman officer, “you’re coming with us right now.”
Michael thinking he was going to walk out of there with half a haircut and half a shave, started talking to the woman officer.
Gesturing to his face and his head, Michael said, “Look, can Mickey just finish the job here?”
She was immovable, ‘nope, he’s coming now.”
“Right,” Michael thought, “you’re unreasonable, I’m not talking to you.” He turned his attention to the other officers, “look, fellas, be reasonable. I’ve got half a haircut done and half a shave. There’s enough of you here to stop him from going anywhere.” Then he started organising them, “you stand on that door, you take the back exit. Let him finish what he’s doing; I’ll pay him and go and leave all of you to your business.”
Straight off the back, Mickey started up, “Listen to the man. He’s good; he knows what he’s talking about. Talk to him.”
“Look,” Michael thinks, “I’m not the voice of reason here. I don’t want to get involved; I just don’t want to walk out of here with half a shaven face.”
The police take up their stations as per Michael’s suggestion. Mickey finishes the shave. Michael pays his money and leaves.
What Happened to Mickey D?
The whole time Michael was sitting in that barber’s shop, he was thinking. “F@@king Tarbon! It just couldn’t be better.”
The next few visits to Sydney Michael visited Mickey Ds. It was closed for a while, and then it transformed and sold knock-off branded sports shoes.
Michael only saw Mickey that once.
Georgie — the Prologue and the Epilogue
Rattlin’ Bones Barbershop
Georgie was Michael’s first, and it lasted more than just a single cut. Rattlin’ Bones Barbershop was Tarbon’s initial recommendation.
The Story — More Poignant
I pulled the truck up outside the barbershop and set Michael out on the pavement. As I drove away, I watched him standing outside the barbers, unwittingly hipster-cool in his cowboy hat and complementary gear, smoking nervously — the school girls walking by tittered and turned around to capture him in their selfies.
Two and a half hours later, Michael messaged me to come and pick him up. When I asked where he’d been, Michael looked at me confused and reminded me he’d been having a haircut.
As he ran his hands across his face, he told me what a great job Georgie had done. Looking at the haircut, I agreed.
Visits to Georgie were a standard part of our fortnightly visits to the city. Over time Michael got to know Georgie, and I suspect vice-versa. Back home in Japan, Georgie’s family had been cutting hair and trimming beards for generations of Japanese Emperors. A regular on stage at the Seymour Centre, Georgie often invited us to watch him dance there.
Sitting on the sidelines waiting for his turn in the chair, Michael thumbed through the in-house collection of ’70s Playboy Magazines. Soft focus red heads in the long grass — full bush. In the mirror from the barber chair Michael held centre stage, amusing everyone in the place with his cowboy escapades from the country to the city.
A year later, Michael made his usual booking. Unbeknownst to him, this visit marked the last one, and Michael’s final hair cut from Georgie. Georgie had been called back to Japan and he was leaving in a couple of days.
“That’s F@@cking BS man!” Michael, a dead-set softy, was indeed heartbroken. That haircut lasted all afternoon and, had Michael not had other appointments, I suspect it would’ve gone on all night.
The last visit everyone was there for Georgie. The place was packed and no-one wanted to see Georgie go. The crowd offered to put in $200 each a month to get him back.
Whether Georgie’s family decided it was time for Georgie to rejoin the family business in Japan, or the Australia Government decided it was time for Georgie to go, we’ll never know.
But one thing is sure — Michael was devastated. I suggested he try someone else at the same place.
“Nah, f@@k that.”
Michael grew a fluffy face, with an equally matching fluffy head of hair in protest. It was a long time after this that he found Mickey D. There’s been a few fails that we all try to forget. There’s no-one since Georgie and that one eventful cut with Mickey D.
Hair Cuts After That
Michael’s sole guidance on barber selection is to make sure it’s “not one of those Hipster places that you have to make an appointment for a cut — walk-ins only.”
With Michael’s sole requirement and Google as my shepherd, I’ve been selecting barbers for Michael for each city visit. All have been subpar, and there have been no repeat visits.
As such, I am sure it comes as no surprise as soon as the C-19 restrictions came into place, Michael announced that he wasn’t trimming his beard or having a shave until he got a haircut. We are in lock-down for at least six months and, Michael is already three months over-due a haircut.
Michael’s thick dark hair springs back overnight. So keeping things in check would require daily barber visits and trust me, if there was a good barber nearby, he’d be there.
I’m not sure what it will take for Michael to move on. For so many reasons, it seems he’s growing his hair long and his beard out.
Epilogue
During every haircut — straight-shave combo since both Georgie and Mickey D have been the subject of conversation. In all cases, it’s been the barber who has raised the subject.
