Vinny had known Kevin McKenna for years. He stood for the old guard. That bloke who ran a tidy little business, knew its customer, stayed true to its product. Free from the burden of trends and the bullshit that came with them. A spot where men could be themselves, speak their minds, be comfortable in a chair without judgement. An institution that once dotted the retail landscape and yet was now a dying breed.
Sitting around one Saturday afternoon once the shop had wrapped its trade, Kev mentioned it may be time to slow it down and hang up the clippers for good. Problem was - and Kev was well aware of it - selling the business wasn’t going to be an easy feat. Anyone looking to take over the lease was most likely on the tangent of converting it into a café, dry cleaner or something far more mundane such as accountant or law firm offices.
Vinny’s ears pricked! His other set-up; Palace Barbering, located only 6 or 7 clicks down the road was established and doing well. He felt he had accomplished everything he had set out to… but a fire was still burning. There were more things to be done.
Taking on any existing business involves big shoes that need filling – and Vinny was up to the task. He loved that the shop had its roots buried deep in time-old tradition. The fact there were a mix of younger clientele mixed with the pensioners who, like clockwork dropped by on certain days, at specific hours. Then there was the quiet reflection (accompanied by a whiskey) at a days end.
The challenge now was to upkeep Kev’s standards, giving the location a new lease on life, whilst honouring everything Kev had built in his 23 odd years at Tuart Hill.
The handover had begun.