Persons attempting to find a "text" in this [story] will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a "subtext" in it will be banished; persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise "understand" it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR - Wendell Berry's introduction to Jayber Crow.
This article was posted to Jayber on 25 January 2006 by to the following categories: Feature, Stories.
An audio version of this article is also available.
I can count on one hand, the number of people who have cut my hair. Growing up, I granted exclusive rights to my Ma. In college, I graduated to cutting my own hair, which meant that every quarter-year, I'd brush off the $12 Wahls, snap on a dismembered no. 2, and buzz myself an Astronaut-Heiny.
I've only paid for a haircut once in my life, and that was at an amateurish suburban Master Cuts two weeks before I got hitched. At this point in my life, I'm not a fan of forking dough in return for chopped locks--especially from someone outside the family. It's just not my gig.
One Saturday recently, after re-reading part of a book about a Barber (don't ask), I decided that I was ready to go to a barbershop. I opened the phone book, took a look, and saw that "Mr. Afro's Barbershop" was only three blocks away from my house, right between Broadway Liquor and JJ's Used Furniture on 26th. I knew right where to go so I threw on a jacket, some shoes, and got my stride on.
As I opened the door to Mr. A's, and started inside, I suddenly found myself face-to-torso with an extremely tall (6' 5" at least) African American man. I leaned sideways to look around him, and found that the entire place, which was full of large African American men had stopped what they were doing, and were silently staring in my direction.
After what seemed like 20 minutes, one of the Barbers said exuberantly, "What up Playa'?" In an instant, the silence was broken, conversations resumed, haircuts continued, and the man in front of me stepped aside and said, "Come on in and have a seat, Bro'."
Sitting in the waiting area, I twiddled my thumbs. NCAA basketball was flickering on the boob tube and I noticed that there was a sign indicating that they took cash only, and my hairstyle options were:
Since I didn't have long-enough bangs for Braids or the Hi-Top Fade, I didn't have a beard or a mustache at the time, and I don't really look that great with an Afro (I've tried), I figured that Corn Rolls were my only option. But Corn Rolls were $17 and I only had $15 with me. There was no ATM around, and I didn't especially feel like asking anyone to spot me the change so I left.
The End
You’re right about the former afro!
Priceless! Thanks for sharing that story - you made my day!
Hrm yes - I seem to remember a few ‘fros in high school…yes?
» Exhibit A: Afro
» Exhibit B: Dreds
Those pictures bring it all back to me. Thanks for the good laugh.
That’s extremely funny - though I suppose you could have figured that by the name. I had a similar experience playing sax at a gig at a private (i.e. unlicensed and illegal) club in the hood on Valentine’s Day a few years ago. It was full of old pimps in red tuxes and the parking lot was full of Caddies. It was a little tense until the set started - by the end I was invited back anytime and had an open invitation to their soul food buffet.
Crazy.
Please say that is a true story. Also, please confirm that Exhibit A is an un-photoshopped image.
I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of making a few modifications
benski
benski 2
Absolutely a true story, and I confirm that Exhibit A is in fact genuine.
Good photo mods. Those are ‘fros I’d be proud to claim.
too funny…..made my day! I remember those old hairdos!