Found A Spot

Romanticizing the barbershop is something I'm quite fond of. In my childhood, I think I made it the place where I interacted with "real" people. I think I was just jealous of all the ghetto latchkey children who came and went as they pleased. And I kind of admired all the teens and older kids in flashy fake gold with elaborate handshakes to match their precisely cut Gumbys and fades.

But I always felt like an outsider. In adulthood, I still have searched for that mix of camaraderie, familiarity, and just straight comfort. The closest I got was when I had dreads. I saw the same stylist for the duration of their existence, and we developed quite the rapport. Even followed him to his new digs and paid for a $25 cut and shave just cause of the familiarity factor. But I realized it wasn't smart to keep paying and my sojourns have taken me back to those places where I enjoyed it, but still an outsider.

I think the search is over though. I went to this place a couple months ago because my usual spot had a longer line than I would have liked. But the barbers there are mostly West Indian and hearing their patois, sometimes decipherable, makes me feel quite comfortable. And today when I walked in after someone, my usual barber actually said I was next. They're comfortable enough to watch "Ellen" and British comedy on the flatscreen as well. Most importantly, the cuts are precise and he doesn't ask if I want a razor for my shaves. He just does it. The fact that I can laugh along with their conversation, even as they diss potential customers under the disguise of their funny foriegn colloquialisms just adds to the allure.

It's nice to have a home.

Ugggggggggggggh/Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss

So today I decided to go get a cut. I'm really not used to having them every two weeks but I would love to get back in the habit. Though I've gotten better at self-maintenance, something about sitting in the chair and having someone else do the dirty work.

But it's Friday so already more likely to have a line and I knew it but I had an iPod. However, after I finaly answered the alarm and moseyed my way over to the shop in the soon to be blistering sun, the line was even longer. Even worse the two people that I would have gone to were nowhere in the building.

So off I was to another section of the neighborhood with more barbershops. In one shop only one barber and an Algonquin round table of people waiting to get in the chair. In the next, it seemed full and I was about to say screw it all. But then it would be a month for a cut. And I might see people this weekend that I might want to look nice for. Plus it's just nice to be clean and I really had no plans.

So there we are. Five black guys of disparate ages all eagerly anticipating the rising of one person from any one of the four chairs. In the interim, people came in to inquire how long the wait was and usually left with the promise that they would return. Some came in and seemed like they presumably skipped us already on the couches, but we were reassured that they had appointments or simply were there before and came back.

Finally after learning how to make pie with Rosie O'Donnell and almost learning how to cut hair myself with the attention I was giving some people, I made eye contact with one barber and he indicated I was next. Now someone was there before me, but I thought he told someone else he was waiting for a specific barber. So when I got up and in the chair, I had no problem. I was giddy as a schoolboy.

And he did me so nice. And used razors to shape me up without asking. It's honestly the most comfortable I felt. I actually was texting during the cut, something I don't think I've ever entertained. It was absolutely phenomenal.

When I left, another man got in the chair and the guy who was ahead of me got upset. But I left knowing that he saw my ass get up past him and in the chair and he didn't say jack so he needs to work that out.

Earphones in. Exit.

I look too clean to sweat the small stuff.

The Obligatory Barbershop Post

Since I arrived in the city much later than usual, I had to hustle down to get my cut since I had a busy day tomorrow. Plus it's Good Friday so everybody and they momma gonna be up in chairs looking to be nice for Easter Sunday. Just in time for Jeopardy I placed my butt in the chair.

But as I sat down and dude starts cutting, the guy I usually see steps back in with his evening snack. He and the barber cutting my hair playfully jaw about "taking his customer." And that's an unavoidable element of the barbershop, competition. Like when I came in, the barber that did cut my hair was sitting towards the entrance and waiting to meet all comers. Now someone to his right was just chilling in the cut and his eventual customer actually came and searched him out. Always interesting.

Jeopardy was good. I got Final Jeopardy right too though I can't even remember what I answered. Plus I'm clean so who can complain.