Joe's Barbershop
Today was the day for our fortnightly haircut appointments with Joe the Barber. I love going to Joe's. it anchors the quotidian march of days like going to church on Sunday used to do.
What I really love about going to Joe's is Joe: gifted, twisted, wry, intelligent, sardonic, sarcastic and irreverent as fuck. And very very good at bringing people together. That's the best part of experience. People who are customers, people who are friends, neighbor-hoodies from the Castro, it all keeps the barbershop busy, lively, full of good spirits.
I was sitting in Joe's chair, feeling of a cold straight-razor being dragged across my scalp, mirrors everywhere. Sam was reading a magazine, his haircut already done. Jeff, the other barber giving a high-and-tight to a bisexual lesbian with a face full of piercings while her lover, a man called Lance (who I believe used to be a woman) sat near Sam. Another man, another Lance, was there just to be there.
We were talking about Nazi's and Catholics. You know, typical shootin'-the-shit kind of stuff. And the Pope. And whether he was a Nazi, and methodology aside, whether their goals were much different to the goals of the Vatican. I'm not saying that I believe the Catholics are Nazi's, or even that Benny is a Nazi. It's about purity, about identity, about ascendancy.
But in the end, it didn't matter what was being discussed. It was the fact that everyone didn't know everyone and yet an involved discussion took place. Not everyone agreed on everything but to be honest, there was little dissent about the Pope Benedict the Arnold being a totalitarian jerk.
The whole scene—5 gay men and a woman, or 2 barbers, 3 customers, a catholic and a transsexual, or just six people sharing company—was oddly reminiscent of the local barbershop back in Luzerne, PA, or the coffeeshop down the street from there. Or the “milk bar” that my mom and dad grew up with in the 1950s. Or Cafe Commons down at the foot of Bernal Hill here.
My dad had his people; my parents had their group of friends and other students around; my grandfather had his coffeeshop.
We have our people; we have our Castro; we have our Joe.
Comments
You forgot to mention the dogs. Even dogs love Joe. They can't pass by the shop without putting their face up to the glass door, looking in. Joe knows every neighborhood dog's name, and opens the door so they can run around and say hello. He gives them a dog treat and then they run back out. I think it adds to the flavor of the experience.
Oh, that and the fact that Joe is smokin' hot.
Posted by: Sam | April 24, 2005 11:27 AM