the time that I was about 10 years old, my parents used to send
me to "Art the Barber" to get my hair cut. Art cut my
dad's hair, so that was where I got my hair cut too. I always
hated getting haircuts and Art the Barber seemed to excell at
the art of making a hair cut a particularly unpleasant experience.
looked like a greasier, angrier version of "Floyd the Barber"
on the old Andy Griffith show. This was about 1968, and Art hated
hippies and young people in general, and everytime I went to get
my hair cut, he would always lecture me about what was wrong with
also loved to screw with people's heads, here's an example:
time when I was about 14, I was sitting in the barber chair getting
a hair cut, and Art asked me "So, do you have a job this
summer, or are you just sitting around on your ass?".
he was getting ready to lecture me, and as it turned out, I did
have a job, so I snapped back, "Yeah, I'm working in an Orange
Grove, cleaning out the irrigation ditches."
didn't say anything for a while, he just continued to cut my hair.
About 30 seconds passed, then Art snorted, "Hah! that kind
of work is for N****s and Mexicans!".
say anything back (it's best to watch one's mouth when someone
is standing behind you with a straight razor). Art went back to
cutting hair, and after another few snips and clips, he repeated
"Yup! N*****s and Mexicans". Another few seconds of
silence, and then again "N*****s and Mexicans".
I was about 16 years old, my parents finally let me grow my hair
long, so thankfully, I stopped going to see Art the Barber.
later when I had grown a mighty, shoulder length mane of hippy
hair, I bumped into Art the Barber and his wife at the local mall.
I walked up to Art, said "Hi Art" and stuck out my hand
to shake, but Art just looked at my long hair and snorted "Hmmph!"
and turned and walked away.
it bugged him to lose a customer.