quislibet | (no subject)

I walked into the barber shop, and it was full of people. There was a table set up with food and drink.

It was the "Gran Apertura." Most of the people were there to celebrate or to hang out. I was one of three who had come for an actual haircut.

After about 10 minutes they started with the other two customers. The barber shop party people started to clear out (including city council members and bankers). By that time, they had mostly been replaced by men who had come for haircuts.

It shouldn't be long now; the guy in the chair only started with a half inch of hair anyway.

I listened to the Latin and/or Gospel hip-hop soundtrack for a while. I read through the "Best of Boston" issue of Boston Magazine and learned that Mark Wahlberg recommends Legal Seafood.

The various children of the barbers or of other customers played and ate cake.

An Irish-pride tatooed skinhead and a man with a mighty Afro joked and talked.

After nearly forty minutes it was my turn in the chair. My own haircut took about as long as the one before me. Giovanni, one of the two barbers, to judge from "student of the month" awards dated October 2001 and January 2002 recent graduates of a barber school and now owners of their own shop, was meticulous.

My facial hair has never been so symmetrical.

I could hear the Lord's Prayer being sung soulfully over the stereo. Then a man began to rap about the Bible. Somehow, Gospel hip-hop manages not to sound as cheesy as Christian Rock.

The barbers told the man with the 'fro, a friend of theirs, that they'd be doing hot-towel shaves on Mondays and Tuesdays.

"Man, that's old school. You have to go to an old guy to get that."

He asked if they'd run that on appointments, and they said yes.

"You'd have to. There's a lotta pretty boys in Salem."

Every now and then, Giovanni twirled his scissors around, like a gunfighter.