Shave And A Haircut...Oh Shits!

I had planned on returning with tales of my Christmas, reflections on 2005, resolutions for 2006, discussion of my impending birthday, a look at our current geopolitical climate, but something happened to me last night and I feel compelled to share that with you first.

Last night I got my hair cut. I also almost died. Here we go.

The haircutteries around my apartment (and there are a LOT of them) are all either Italian-run or Indian-run. All of the barbers are extremely old school and extremely possessive. Last night, I was walking home from the gym at about 10:30, figuring they'd all be closed, but I spotted one with the lights on. I walked in, waited my turn and climbed into the chair.

Shortly after my cut began, the other barber finished his guy up and the two of them left. It was just me and the Indian man alone in a tiny barber shop at 11PM. He cut in silence, which I always GREATLY appreciate. We said nothing, just listened to the sweet Bollywood music blaring from the television. 

Suddenly the door came flying open, and in stormed a man who looked a great deal like DMX. He had a white doo rag on his head, a big black jacket on his back and a scowl on his face.

"What's up man?!?" he yelled at the barber. "I got to talk to you! We gonna have a talk!"

"Get out!" the barber yelled. "We are closed!"

"Then why the fuck the door open?!"

"Get out!"

"Naw man, you finish with the brother and then we gonna have a fuckin' talk."

"We are closed!"

"Naw." The DMX guy then reached over, locked the door of the shop, and took a seat. "NOW you closed."

My mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on here. I was certain of a few things:

a) The DMX guy was sitting next to my coat, which contained a rather pricey 60GB Ipod. This made me very nervous.

b) I wished he really was DMX, because then at the very least I could show him that I know each and every lyric to "Party Up (Up In Here)" and maybe he would spare my life and perhaps have me open for him on tour.

and

c) I was probably not going to live to see 25.

Things got VERY tense in the shop. The DMX guy seemed really pissed off, and he alternated between pacing and sitting with his arms folded. The barber was shaking a bit, (always a sign that a great haircut is in store), and breathing heavily. I was trying to come up with ways to diffuse the situation. I had been at the gym, so I didn't have my cell phone on me, which was bad. However, since the DMX guy was willing to wait until the haircut was over, this led me to believe that he only wanted to kill the barber, not me, which was good. (Not for the barber, but come on. I didn't know the guy and he was in the process of botching my hair).

The barber shakily spoke: "You know, I have to close right after this..."

The DMX guy snapped back: "Just cut the fuckin' hair, man."

Then the weirdness got weirder as the barber picked up the remote, looked the DMX guy right in the eye and turned up the volume on the Bollywood as high as it would go. I watched all of this in the mirror. This was starting to seem like a deleted scene from Crash: the hardcore thug, the mysterious Indian, and the pasty white Irishman, engaged in a tense standoff.

The haircut was finished, the ribbon removed from around my neck, the baby powder applied, and I stood up ready to die, Biggie style.

I looked at the barber who was staring at the DMX guy. "What do I owe you?" I asked.

"Just give me ten," the barber said. I gave him 13, put my wallet in my pocket and started toward the door, holding my breath. As I walked past the DMX guy, he jumped up and yelled at me. "Whoa whoa whoa baby! Where you going?"

I kept walking towards the door, my heart in my throat.

 "Hey baby! You forgot your coat!" he yelled. I turned. He placed the coat in my hand. "You can go," he said. I pushed on the door, forgetting he had locked it. The barber spoke up. "Turn the lock!" I looked back at the barber one more time, trying to read his eyes. Did he want me to call somebody? Did he want me to stay?

I pushed the door open and walked out. The second I was outside, the DMX guy locked the door behind me. I crossed the street and then turned and looked back in the window, certain I was about to witness my first murder. The two men were arguing back and forth, hands in the air, tension rising.

Then the DMX guy walked right up into the barber's face, reached up, and pulled the doo rag off of his head. The barber stepped back, startled, and stumbled a bit. And then the DMX guy pointed at a little spot on his head.

And the barber walked over to his table, pulled out his scissors, and with a few snips, fixed the man's hair.

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