Village Barber Shop

On a trip to Maxie’s Grill and Taproom in The Village of Pinehurst, NC (see Maxie’s), I made a mental note of a barbershop in close proximity. 

During my initial visit to the Village Barber Shop, I found myself sitting patiently in a comfortable waiting area.  The atmosphere was friendly, almost festive; reminiscent of Floyd’s Barber Shop on the Andy Griffith Show.  The Shop houses two professional barber chairs, one for patrons and one for cronies who hang out and kibitz; twisting tall tales.  Justin Oliver, the affable proprietor, exchanged banter with his patron and his crony in equal measure.  Twenty-minutes later, $20 plus a $5 tip later and twenty-eight paces later, I was on a barstool, showcasing my carefully sculpted coiffure.

Having thoroughly enjoyed my first experience at the Village Barber Shop, weeks later, I called to schedule my second appointment, as the hair on the back of my neck was getting dangerously close to braid-like conditions.

As I was called to Justin’s chair, the front door opened and a crony made a bee-line for the second barber chair.  Said crony slipped comfortably into the chair’s leather grasp. 

Moments later, there was a lively exchange between Justin and his crony as they recounted the details of their prior days partner’s match; reliving prodigious shots, hole by hole scores, partner contributions and a summary of the financial spoils. It was quite clear that Justin’s team got the best of his crony’s team!  It was also quite clear that these two had game.

After a few moments of silence, the crony informed Justin that he had received an urgent, middle-of-the-night phone call from his prior days playing partner. Due to his playing partners woeful performance; somewhere north of 120 strokes; his playing partner was in distress and was considering drastic measures. The crony went on to explain that he immediately reacted to his playing partner’s request and drove straight to his home. As he pulled into his playing partners driveway, he discovered a significant accumulation of golf paraphernalia, assembled in bonfire-like fashion.  The contents included, but were not limited to; golf bags, clubs, towels, hats, instruction manuals, alignment rods, training aides, balls, tees and multiple pairs of shoes. He found his playing partner standing alongside the pile, match in hand, mumbling “I’m done, I’m done, I will never, ever play this _____, _____, _____, game, ever again!”

Hearing the story, Justin justifiably snickered, then elected to take a turn at the wheel, describing a series of events on the fifteenth-hole where his crony’s partner elected to play a layup shot just shy of an impending water hazard.  The playing partner’s layup shot was struck so badly that it required a second layup shot. The “second” layup shot was struck so badly, it required yet a “third” layup shot. Having finally reached his desired destination (just shy of the water hazard), the crony’s playing partner failed to cover the water hazard with yet another shot.  His playing partner, lying six, was still shy of the water hazard.  At this point, with scissors in hand, Justin kindly paused and retreated, requiring ample space to double over!

As things settled down and I was being dismissed from the patron barber chair, shortly after Justin spent more time trimming the hair in and around my ears than cutting the hair on my head, I asked the crony if his playing partners shoe size would happen to be twelve and a half!

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