The Bronze Setter

A few months back, around Christmastime, I needed to get a haircut just prior to the company staff party. Fortunately, as I was walking around downtown I happened upon a quaint little barber shop called The Chipper Clipper. It wasn’t the fanciest place I’ve ever had my hair cut at, but it did feature a fairly laid back atmosphere. The apparent manager was a typical hipster who greeted me cheerily, although he continued to play video games on a medium sized television mounted high up on a wall. He was racing against his friend and both halves of the flat screen showed the point of view from the driver’s seat of a Formula One car. A young male receptionist asked if I had an appointment so I told him that it was a walk-in. They had a vacant chair waiting for me all the same.

I took a moment to freshen up in the men’s room and when I returned to the chair my barber introduced himself to me. He was an older gentleman named Raz, whose long curly hair glimmered grey. He wore a black dress shirt (collar unbuttoned) and matching pants. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was clean shaven. I could already tell there and then that he was quite a character. He asked me how I wanted my hair cut so I gave him some basic instructions; fades on the sides–short on the back–trim the top but leave it tall. Raz acknowledged these requests and proceeded with his work. We exchanged the usual banter that surrounds the holiday season. He promised to make me look prim and proper for the company Christmas party. Yet at one point he came in closer and asked me in his vaguely Italian accent:

“What do you think of this place? You can be honest with me.”

“Uh,” I hesitated to respond, wondering what he meant. “It’s cool. I like this whole setup you guys have going here. Very open concept!”

Again, Raz edged in close and this time spoke in a tone or derision:

“This place is nothing special. My friends are opening a new place soon, they call it – The Bronze Setter.”

“The Bronze Setter,” I repeated absentmindedly.

“Shh,” said Raz silently motioning toward his current employers. “They don’t know about it. But here, I give you my card and you see I write it on there.”

“Thanks man, your secret’s safe with me.”

I put the card in the wallet and pocketed it. By then, Raz’ job was pretty well done. He handed me my glasses and presented the mirror exposing the back of my head. I approved and thanked him once more. We shook hands and I went to the cash register. The management wished me a good day as we settled up. I made sure to leave a ten dollar tip, specifying that it was for the barber.

Excessive you say? Maybe. Scoff if you will, but the whole affair certainly had a cloak and dagger feel to it that I’d never gotten anywhere else before. Besides – that was only the first part of my story and the best is still to come...

Fast forward to last week; my hair was a godawful mess. It had gotten to that point where it becomes necessary to constantly cover it with a hat. Although even then, frizzy sideburns peek out and must be regularly tucked back under mon chapeau. While it may be true that most people don’t notice such things as much as one thinks they do, it’s nonetheless an embarrassing issue.

Anyhow, I ventured forth once more to find the Barber’s pole, wherefore I recalled Raz and the The Bronze Setter. It wasn’t on Google Maps let me tell you, oh no, I had to go on a wild goose chase, asking around the shadiest spots in town. Finally, I tracked the place down, right behind the Italian embassy.

I went inside and was surprised to see that all the barbers were dressed in attire that resembled something out of Faust or possibly Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Cowls and masks were outlandish in themselves, however, each barber was blazoned like a knight and bore arms. There were seven of them standing in a circle. The one opposite to the entrance addressed me:

“You must earn the right to be sheared here, for we are the Knights of Verona. Would you duel for said privilege?”

“Um, yeah sure, I guess. Can I borrow a weapon at least?”

“Yes, you shall be furnished with a blade forthwith.”

Indeed, I was provided with a hefty little Estoc and subsequently invited into the back area, where I thought there might be another room. Hence I was a taken a bit aback when I realized we were going outside to a broad courtyard hedged by a Topiary garden. An angelical water fountain coursed quietly amid the lawn. My rival revealed:

“Forgive us but we must ask, who sent you here?”

“A man named Raz told me about The Bronze Setter. He cut my hair around Christmas.”

They all gasped and I heard them whispering among themselves:

If Raz chose him, he must be a serious candidate.

Raz never chooses a loser!

Shut up you idiots, he’ll hear us...

Ostensibly Raz was not among their number. I saw them drawing lots. Somebody got the short straw. He darned his luck yet drew his sword and approached. I had no clue what the hell was happening to be honest. Nevertheless, I felt strangely cocky as well. The lilac breeze wafted through that surreal arena. It went whizzing sublimely within the shrubbery. The Knight of Verona raised his sharpened fencing foil and saluted:

“I am Andrei Segundus, prepare to be destroyed!”

Andrei came at me like a whirlwind. The Estoc could weather those hits but it was a bit too clunky to lash back at my opponent. Segundus was able to parry my every stroke. We were in stalemate for a long time until at last, I got the hang of the dang thing and managed to riposte Andrei’s attack – cutting him across the back!

Of course this was a gentleman’s duel, so I let him get up. He and the others removed their masks and made a gesture of respect, inquiring:

“Who are you stranger?”

To which I merely answered:

“Obsidian.”

Then they welcomed me with open arms and treated me to caffè macchiato.

The End (for now).