No appointments. Ya wait on a bench, while CNN blares on a set and old Italian men snip away. When a chair is free, bam, ya sit in it. The barber asks ya, "Short? Or Trim?" Short means you want it short. Trim means you just want it trimmed. Life used to be so simple!
Then, he spins ya toward CNN and starts snippin. CNN blares a story about a government official. "Thieves!" spits Tony, my barber, snip, snip, "Alla thieves!" Then "uhhyah!" grunts a barber down the line in reply, snip, snip. Tony, waving one hand while the other snips: "Alla thieves, this governt!" Other barber: "Uhhhyah!"Â
Tony tells me how it is while he's snipping, an opinion on every story. Sad story? He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Zany story? Short breathed, belly laughter. Complicated story? I can't really make out most of it...you could say he has a bit of an accent. Does it matter? Not in the slightest. It's all in his tone, his laugh, the grunts of agreement. They banter, these barbers. It feels good. Then Tony pulls out a straight razor and goes to work on the back of my neck. Yes, a straight razor on the back of my neck. Some shaving cream back there, and he goes to work. An if that's not the tightest fade the back of my neck has ever seen, this ain't Hastings Sunrise.Â
He slaps on a bit of aftershave, and spins me around. That scent brings me back. Listen well: a good barber should remind you of your grandfather.Â
17 bucks, and I'm out. Thank Tony. Uhhhyah!"
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