Bad Haircut
In the daily routine of no bad news, spats with others, or major events, is there anything more traumatic than a really bad haircut. That's the kind of haircut that can't be overwhelmed by gel or spray for several weeks, that is just embarrassing. The last one I had was maybe 17 years ago when a first time female hair cutter who may have been attracted to me decided to give a young look to yours truly that led to almost shaved sides and a rooster top. I was headed to my hometown the next day. There was nothing I could do and it was obvious that my mother was appalled, as was yours truly. People in general, like my mother, were too polite to comment
Yesterday was a day for a needed haircut. It turned out that I was on the cusp of a really bad haircut. My regular barber shop, old style pole spinning outside, has lost its two most reliable barbers and my last cut there had led to a growing out pattern that had the sides of my head robustly full in a way that was not appealing, sort of grotesque, at least to me. This time I was assigned to a young man who had no idea what he was doing. He used the electric clipper almost totally and trimmed with scissors minimally. When he thought that he was done, sides still way too long, I protested and he gave me advice on how to comb my hair. I had a poor reaction to that, inappropriately saying that I know how to comb my #%^&*! hair. The owner of the shop, an elderly man who knows me, came to the rescue and spent 15 minutes repairing the damage for the most part.
For maybe ten years this local town traditional barbershop had been a place of relaxation and relief. There was a regular barber who I had met at various community events and meetings, and he gave me reliable attention, always dealing with my eyebrows, ears, and nose, and even at times a complete shave which with great trust and done well is a lost art almost. He was from Uzbekistan, from the capital Tashkent, as was his friend who had the chair next to him.
He had been from a wealthy family there but, upon the disintegration of the Soviet Union, protections and rights for native Russians in that region and in particular Russian Jews, all fell apart. Eddie and his entire extended family seem to have come to the U.S. in 1991 and 1992. One could be tempted to mention Afghanistan, which under a Soviet style non-democratic rule had uniformly open rights for women to be educated, become doctors and lawyers etc., and participate in society, a rule which was ended by "Charlie Wilson's War", blindly lauded in the U.S., and which led to the vicious rule of Sharia and the Taliban. I will avoid that temptation of course.
Eddie was a good friend and a good barber, and now he is nowhere to be found. His car was spotted in town last week so I presume that he will show up at some point. I know that he and his compatriot must have had some other sources of income as $17 a head plus tip would not have paid for Eddie's nice Acura or his friend's five children. I will not speculate on what that other source of income might be, but one can speculate about his Brighton Beach connections, the Russian area where he regularly took his mother to dinner. This is New York, and one can have next door neighbors with connections of various sorts that are fairly obvious and of no business to those who do not need to know.
Well, this musing about a bad haircut certainly took a turn in a different direction, but I am free to do that. Hopefully I find Eddie.
Yesterday was a day for a needed haircut. It turned out that I was on the cusp of a really bad haircut. My regular barber shop, old style pole spinning outside, has lost its two most reliable barbers and my last cut there had led to a growing out pattern that had the sides of my head robustly full in a way that was not appealing, sort of grotesque, at least to me. This time I was assigned to a young man who had no idea what he was doing. He used the electric clipper almost totally and trimmed with scissors minimally. When he thought that he was done, sides still way too long, I protested and he gave me advice on how to comb my hair. I had a poor reaction to that, inappropriately saying that I know how to comb my #%^&*! hair. The owner of the shop, an elderly man who knows me, came to the rescue and spent 15 minutes repairing the damage for the most part.
For maybe ten years this local town traditional barbershop had been a place of relaxation and relief. There was a regular barber who I had met at various community events and meetings, and he gave me reliable attention, always dealing with my eyebrows, ears, and nose, and even at times a complete shave which with great trust and done well is a lost art almost. He was from Uzbekistan, from the capital Tashkent, as was his friend who had the chair next to him.
He had been from a wealthy family there but, upon the disintegration of the Soviet Union, protections and rights for native Russians in that region and in particular Russian Jews, all fell apart. Eddie and his entire extended family seem to have come to the U.S. in 1991 and 1992. One could be tempted to mention Afghanistan, which under a Soviet style non-democratic rule had uniformly open rights for women to be educated, become doctors and lawyers etc., and participate in society, a rule which was ended by "Charlie Wilson's War", blindly lauded in the U.S., and which led to the vicious rule of Sharia and the Taliban. I will avoid that temptation of course.
Eddie was a good friend and a good barber, and now he is nowhere to be found. His car was spotted in town last week so I presume that he will show up at some point. I know that he and his compatriot must have had some other sources of income as $17 a head plus tip would not have paid for Eddie's nice Acura or his friend's five children. I will not speculate on what that other source of income might be, but one can speculate about his Brighton Beach connections, the Russian area where he regularly took his mother to dinner. This is New York, and one can have next door neighbors with connections of various sorts that are fairly obvious and of no business to those who do not need to know.
Well, this musing about a bad haircut certainly took a turn in a different direction, but I am free to do that. Hopefully I find Eddie.
posted by John Borden at 11:43 AM
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