Barber Shop

Somewhere south of University Avenue and east of 30^th Street is a mysterious barber shop in a white stucco box-shaped storefront with a dirty window and a striped pole that doesn’t turn. There’s an old barber sitting in a wooden chair along the wall facing the big barber chair which has never been occupied since I first noticed the place 19 years ago. The old barber wasn’t as old then, but he wasn’t young, either – his skin has always been a dull orange, creased by long wrinkle-lines, giving him a basketball look. He wore then and wears now a neat black moustache, making his constant frown look even more hangdog and severe. His hair is perpetually neat, which has always made me think he somehow cuts it himself, probably every day. The barber doesn’t look dexterous enough to do that, which is one reason I consider him and his shop to be mysterious.

Another point of mystery is how he keeps his shop in business. I may have seen one customer in there over the past 19 years, but he wasn’t sitting in the barber chair, so he was probably a bill collector or an election canvasser.

Many times, I’ve thought about going into the barber shop and getting a haircut. It gives me a weird feeling to consider doing this – it would be like going to a strange church and taking part in the ritual of a faith I know nothing about. But who would do a thing like that, for no good reason? So I stand on the other side of the street and I stare into the barber shop for a half-minute or so.  Nothing ever changes as time goes by. Of course, I have and still do, which makes the barber shop more and more mysterious.