Getting a trim turns out to be surprisingly normal
To kick off Phase 2 of reopening Saskatchewan, I reopened my bald spot.
For two-and-a-half months, the void on the back of my head had been partially concealed (by unruly curly locks) or entirely, strategically hidden ( by a cap bearing the insignia of the Denver Broncos, Winnipeg Jets or Montreal Expos).
Then came Tuesday, when retail businesses and personal services — including hair stylists — were allowed to once again open their doors as part of the systematic lifting of restrictions that had been implemented in response to COVID-19.
The province of Saskatchewan unveiled its Re-open Saskatchewan plan April 23, whereupon I contacted Nancy Mccurdy — who works alongside her husband, Randy — and asked if I could book an appointment for Day 1.
Done.
Entering the Lakeshore Mall, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would this be like my first visit to the bank in the COVID-19 era? Would there be questions to answer or a series of steps to follow?
Nope. Everything felt normal — ahhhhh, sweet normalcy — except for the entirely reasonable request that hand sanitizer be applied before I splattered myself all over the barber’s chair.
There was not the insistence that I wear a mask — although, come to think of it, it would nicely cover my burgeoning bald spot — or do anything that was a departure from the usual routine.
Oh, sure, there was the presence of Regina Leader-post photographer Brandon Harder, who documented the landmark haircut.
Once upon a time, I scheduled a haircut for a day off. Now, while embracing cutting-edge journalism, the appointment turned into work. Gruelling gig, this.
The usual banter became column fodder.
“It has been busy ... crazy,” Nancy said during our early-afternoon session.
“The first thing this morning, the phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. We had to stop between each client to answer the phone, so it was a bit disjointed, but other than that it has been fine. It has gone really well.
“We’re booked all week. We can’t get anybody in until next week now.”
That is music to the ears of the Mccurdys, whose business had been closed for 59 days.
“I was a little apprehensive this morning, I have to say, even though I was down here every other day wiping everything down,” Nancy said.
“We just had to get our first day behind us. We’ve been feeling very comfortable and our clients feel very comfortable, too. We ask people to use hand sanitizer when they get here. Some wear masks and some don’t.”
If a customer asks that the hair stylist wear a mask, their wishes will be accommodated. I did not make such a request.
Very quickly, I forgot that there was a vocational element to the 25-minute visit with Nancy.
As has been the custom since 1985, we chatted about myriad issues — our families, our lives in general and, of course, the Saskatchewan Roughriders.
“Do you think there will be a football season?” Nancy inquired.
“I still can’t see it,” I replied. “With the Grey Cup being here this year, what if they go ahead with a season? What will the
Grey Cup be like? How would social distancing affect the festival events? What if the Roughriders are in a Grey Cup game at home and very few people can actually attend the game?”
Blah, blah, blah. Yak, yak, yak. I kept going, as Nancy cheerfully listened to my pontificating.
“I’m really happy to be back at work,” she said. “I’m enjoying myself. People are saying, ‘Why aren’t you guys retiring?’ I’m going, ‘Why?’ I’m here three days. I like what I do. I love my clients. I love to visit.”
Before I knew it, the appointment was winding down. There was only one pressing issue.
The eyebrows.
I was starting to resemble my late, great Scottish terrier, Oscar, albeit with less charm.
“I’ve got to get those eyebrows,” said Nancy — who, to my immense relief, did not require a Weed Eater.
After the eyebrows were trimmed and the back of my neck was mowed, the appointment was over.
I thanked Nancy and Randy and, with a spring in my step, headed toward the exit in a cordial, yet businesslike, manner.
There was, after all, a story to be written — a hair piece, if you will.