THE BARBER SHOP
When I get my hair cut, it can be a major excursion. I go to a barbershop (that certainly has no web page) in Roscoe Village. I have been going to The Barber, with the exception of my time away for school, since about 1988 or so. That makes me a newcomer at the Shop. Not so new that I am one of the yuppies The Barber barely tolerates, but new enough that I am expected to actually leave after I get my haircut. This is not true of the old Roscoe Village crowd, which spends its time talking about when Johnny the Weasel got stabbed at the biker bar that is now a boutique, and when Tommy the Vietnam Vet shot that kid in his garage. Such are the old days of Roscoe Village.
The Barber is an Italian man. I think he might be Sicilian, but I always worry about offending a man with a straight razor in his hand, so I never confirm. The Barber might be 65, he might be 70. He might be older. It is hard to tell, since I only see him in a professional context. When I see him, he is wearing his dark gray pants, black shoes, and a blue barber's shirt, open just enough buttons from the top to let his chest hair and the top of his open-heart surgery scar show. There are also a few gold chains in the mix. He drives a Cadillac with a vanity plate. When the neighborhood first started getting its yuppies, a free newspaper profiled The Barber. They said his Cadillac was parked out front. He never forgave the Press for that. His Cadillac was never parked out front! That would be too ostentatious for The Barber.
There are a few important things to know about The Barber. First, it may be physically impossible for him to speak English without swearing. I have seen him try and it just doesn't work. Consequently, he doesn’t cut women's hair at all, and he rarely cuts children's hair. When I see kids in there I always remember the Simpson's where Moe turns the bar into a family eatery, then snaps and uses the word "freakin," which immediately causes Rod (or is it Todd?) Flanders to yell, "Ow! My freakin' ears!" Any kid at the Shop will leave with an education.
The Barber also likes younger women. Very young. Like 40. He takes them dancing, and as he has told us several times, he can't use Viagra for two reasons. One, his heart will "f-ing explode," and two, he might kill one of his young girlfriends if he doesn't give them a break. Besides, with Viagra the girlfriends would be there too long, and The Barber doesn't like to share his bed. When he's done, you have to go. As he tells us, he always says, "I love you, babee, but I don't a share my bed wid a nobody, sonofabitch."
That last part is not so much directed at the woman in specific. It is just another quirk of The Barber. He ends most of his sentences with "sonofabitch." For instance, "look at it snow, sonofabitch," "I'm going out dancing tonight, sonofabitch," or "I think the Cubs game is on, sonofabitch." It is really just another way of letting you know he's done talking. Very helpful, really, since he sometimes gets excited and it is impossible to keep up with his rants. Picture Mussolini with a grudge against the city (for telling him he couldn't paint a tree on the parkway red, white, and green), bouncers (they always seem to hone in on The Barber when he's just dancing), or anyone who ever wants special treatment.
Anyway, I said that it can be an excursion. This is because The Barber does not take appointments, and for whatever reason, he is extraordinarily busy. Thus, on a Saturday morning, you have to go in and get a number. Woe to he who is not there when his number is up. Sometimes at 8:45 (although the Shop opens at 9:00) you walk into the Shop and he hands you number 10. "Two and a half hours, buddy." If the Shop is full, it really will be two and a half hours, so you can go run errands. If the shop is empty, there are a bunch of guys out running errands, some of whom will certainly miss their turns. Decision time. If you stay, you may jump four, five, God help us, six guys in line. If you go run errands, all of those guys missing could speed the line up and YOU will miss your number. No choice but to stay as long as it takes. Luckily The Barber has an extensive collection of five year old Hustler's, National Geographics, and Rolling Stones for people waiting. He also keeps a 20 year old Highlights for kids just in case. Gotta do what you gotta do.
By the way, today, at 8:40, The Barber handed me number 10, with a two and a half hour wait. I got a coffee and a newspaper and decided to gamble. One hour and twenty minutes later I was in the chair. The guy after me was number 22, skipping an incredible 12 spots. In almost 15 years, I have never seen anyone skip so many spots. That guy's Saturday could only go downhill from there . . .
DID YOU LOOK UNDER THE CAR?
The Boston Globe reported Friday afternoon that a New England 80-year old reported missing since Monday was found (alive) in a wooded area near his place of employment. Apparently he left work in his car. So far so good. Somehow he lost control of the car. Uh-oh. Happily he careened into a wooded area (as opposed to a school bus or something) and down a hill.
Up to that point, this is all in the range of Things That Happen. Now it gets strange. The man got out of his car and tried to climb up the hill he had just driven down. He slipped down. Undaunted, he apparently tried again to climb the hill. This time he tumbled down the hill and was stopped when he wedged UNDER his car. Three days later the police found him. He is 80, he fell down a hill (twice), got wedged under a car, had neither food nor water for three days, and is alive. If the guy I saw skip 12 spots in the Shop had been older, I might have thought it was this guy.
When I get my hair cut, it can be a major excursion. I go to a barbershop (that certainly has no web page) in Roscoe Village. I have been going to The Barber, with the exception of my time away for school, since about 1988 or so. That makes me a newcomer at the Shop. Not so new that I am one of the yuppies The Barber barely tolerates, but new enough that I am expected to actually leave after I get my haircut. This is not true of the old Roscoe Village crowd, which spends its time talking about when Johnny the Weasel got stabbed at the biker bar that is now a boutique, and when Tommy the Vietnam Vet shot that kid in his garage. Such are the old days of Roscoe Village.
The Barber is an Italian man. I think he might be Sicilian, but I always worry about offending a man with a straight razor in his hand, so I never confirm. The Barber might be 65, he might be 70. He might be older. It is hard to tell, since I only see him in a professional context. When I see him, he is wearing his dark gray pants, black shoes, and a blue barber's shirt, open just enough buttons from the top to let his chest hair and the top of his open-heart surgery scar show. There are also a few gold chains in the mix. He drives a Cadillac with a vanity plate. When the neighborhood first started getting its yuppies, a free newspaper profiled The Barber. They said his Cadillac was parked out front. He never forgave the Press for that. His Cadillac was never parked out front! That would be too ostentatious for The Barber.
There are a few important things to know about The Barber. First, it may be physically impossible for him to speak English without swearing. I have seen him try and it just doesn't work. Consequently, he doesn’t cut women's hair at all, and he rarely cuts children's hair. When I see kids in there I always remember the Simpson's where Moe turns the bar into a family eatery, then snaps and uses the word "freakin," which immediately causes Rod (or is it Todd?) Flanders to yell, "Ow! My freakin' ears!" Any kid at the Shop will leave with an education.
The Barber also likes younger women. Very young. Like 40. He takes them dancing, and as he has told us several times, he can't use Viagra for two reasons. One, his heart will "f-ing explode," and two, he might kill one of his young girlfriends if he doesn't give them a break. Besides, with Viagra the girlfriends would be there too long, and The Barber doesn't like to share his bed. When he's done, you have to go. As he tells us, he always says, "I love you, babee, but I don't a share my bed wid a nobody, sonofabitch."
That last part is not so much directed at the woman in specific. It is just another quirk of The Barber. He ends most of his sentences with "sonofabitch." For instance, "look at it snow, sonofabitch," "I'm going out dancing tonight, sonofabitch," or "I think the Cubs game is on, sonofabitch." It is really just another way of letting you know he's done talking. Very helpful, really, since he sometimes gets excited and it is impossible to keep up with his rants. Picture Mussolini with a grudge against the city (for telling him he couldn't paint a tree on the parkway red, white, and green), bouncers (they always seem to hone in on The Barber when he's just dancing), or anyone who ever wants special treatment.
Anyway, I said that it can be an excursion. This is because The Barber does not take appointments, and for whatever reason, he is extraordinarily busy. Thus, on a Saturday morning, you have to go in and get a number. Woe to he who is not there when his number is up. Sometimes at 8:45 (although the Shop opens at 9:00) you walk into the Shop and he hands you number 10. "Two and a half hours, buddy." If the Shop is full, it really will be two and a half hours, so you can go run errands. If the shop is empty, there are a bunch of guys out running errands, some of whom will certainly miss their turns. Decision time. If you stay, you may jump four, five, God help us, six guys in line. If you go run errands, all of those guys missing could speed the line up and YOU will miss your number. No choice but to stay as long as it takes. Luckily The Barber has an extensive collection of five year old Hustler's, National Geographics, and Rolling Stones for people waiting. He also keeps a 20 year old Highlights for kids just in case. Gotta do what you gotta do.
By the way, today, at 8:40, The Barber handed me number 10, with a two and a half hour wait. I got a coffee and a newspaper and decided to gamble. One hour and twenty minutes later I was in the chair. The guy after me was number 22, skipping an incredible 12 spots. In almost 15 years, I have never seen anyone skip so many spots. That guy's Saturday could only go downhill from there . . .
DID YOU LOOK UNDER THE CAR?
The Boston Globe reported Friday afternoon that a New England 80-year old reported missing since Monday was found (alive) in a wooded area near his place of employment. Apparently he left work in his car. So far so good. Somehow he lost control of the car. Uh-oh. Happily he careened into a wooded area (as opposed to a school bus or something) and down a hill.
Up to that point, this is all in the range of Things That Happen. Now it gets strange. The man got out of his car and tried to climb up the hill he had just driven down. He slipped down. Undaunted, he apparently tried again to climb the hill. This time he tumbled down the hill and was stopped when he wedged UNDER his car. Three days later the police found him. He is 80, he fell down a hill (twice), got wedged under a car, had neither food nor water for three days, and is alive. If the guy I saw skip 12 spots in the Shop had been older, I might have thought it was this guy.
posted by David at 3:15 PM
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