I almost cut my hair today....

I had to get a haircut today. The wife was on my ass because we have the trade shows next week at the Jacob Javits center and she wants me to look presentable. Not the curly pubic head of hair I had that youse guys enjoyed mocking in our hot dog photo's. I have to look suave and deboner.  So at about five thirty I dropped into the local barber shop on Court St.

Now I just started getting my hair cut at this joint about a year ago. It is a tiny store between 2nd and 3rd place and it is the definition of no frills. Previously I would get my hair cut at one of my clients. I always had one or two clients that had hair salons. They would come and go because that is a tough business. But some hair cutter would always be taking over some salon somewhere and knew me and would call me to do their taxes. But once I got out of the accounting game I stopped going to my ex-client. Mainly because she was a nasty cunt. She used to have a whole passel of Chinese girls working for her doing nails and waxing and what not. Then she replaced them with Mexicans. Well most of the them. The few that remained were always fighting. It was like West Side Story with the Sharks and the Egg Rolls. Did not make for a pleasant atmosphere. Although you learned  quite a few cool curse words in Chinese and Spanish.

So I started to go to this old school barber shop. There was an Italian owner named Damien who was an old school immigrant who spoke broken English. And  a burly ugly brute of a Russian woman who spoke even more fractured English.  Two chairs. Plenty of waiting. But no talking. It was almost like a secret society. I would come in. He would go "How-a you-a want-a cut-a you-a hair-a." "Short."  And he would cut it without any bullshit. It was great. I didn't know anything about him. He didn't know anything about me. It was perfect. But it just couldn't last.

He saw us one day as they were filming us as we were walking down Court St with the camera crew. The next time I was in the chair he asked me about it so I told him. He would put the show on the TV when we were on. And he started to talk to me.

Of course it didn't help that I also over tipped like I always do. You see the wife and I are too friendly. When we go to Marco Polo the waiters come down and sit at our table when their shift ends. I mean that is cool but you get to know too much about everybody's shit. I guess it must be like living in a small town and you get to know everybody's business.

Anyhoo I am sitting in the chair getting my pubic head hairs trimmed and some yuppie douchenozzle sticks his head in the door and asks if they are still open. It is after six o'clock and I was the last customer along with the guy who owns the oil company next door.  The douche is an Indian guy and he goes "Hey you can take another customer right?" Now Damien starts to sputter  "NO I'a closed. This is the last customer." "Com'on I know you can do it what's the big deal. How about Olga?" "No she-a no-a can-a do-a. We closed." The douche goes "Arrgh" and walks off with his wife and the three kids they have in a monster stroller. Then the fucking floodgates open.

"DIs-a strungo walks alla day up and a down Court St and he wants-a hair-a-cut. I haveta  go-a home-a. You know how-a it is in your store. Capido?"

I go of course. I mean we stay late all the time but the one thing people like to do is tell you how to run you business. Especially if they want you to do something for them. Olga chimed right in. "DA IS THE TRUTH! He waste all day and then he wants us to stay late. Why can't I go home to my family. If he needed haircut he had all day. Yuppie sum."

I told them "Fuckin' Immigrants. They think who the fuck they are." They both nod their heads and agree with me. 

Everybody wants to pull the ladder up behind them.

Then the door opens and this old guy named Mike comes in and sits down and waits for his haircut. Damien looks at me and I look at him. We both start laughing.

You see Mike is a regular customer. You have to stay for a regular customer. He earned the right. Just as if I came as he was closing he would stay. Of course I wouldn't do that and that is the point. You earn it. Then the proprietor can put up with stuff. TIpping and spending and being a normal person goes a long way. Something yuppie douchenozzles don't get. And you couldn't teach it to them. They have a sense of entitlement. I hate people with a sense of entitlement. They think they can do whatever the fuck they want.

You know what I mean?