Did I Cheat on My Barber
Trill or Not Trill?
I’ve lived in Jersey City for three years. One of the toughest things about transitioning from being a life long New Yorker to a Jerseyite was finding a regular barber. The first shop was cool but it was a bit too far from my apartment. I found another barber that held me down for a minute but then the guy cutting my hair moved to Virgina to go get that work. I think that was a drug reference, but I think he reads this blog, so forget you just read.
After some searching, I finally found a shop in walking distance from me. Win.
Hip hop playing upon entry. Plus.
TV with ESPN on mute. The Double plus.
They have a woman doing eyebrows in the back, so there’s always a random fly sister walking in.
Triple Word Score!
I met Jerry and after one cut knew this was going to be my shop. I don’t get terribly difficult cuts but I could tell he was an excellent barber. Could I do without the haircut being interrupted every time miss bootylicious walks by; sure. Would I rather he not use the phone while working on my line up? Of course. I bypass those transgressions because he’s excellent with keeping appointments. He knows exactly how I want my sideburns and goatee trimmed. There’s no question of whether or not I want the back of my head shaped in a box or rounded off. After a few visits I knew that Jerry was the barber for me.
Then it happened. It was late after work. The shop was closing soon and I had a major speaking engagement the next morning. I texted Jerry while at my office and got nothing. As I rushed into the shop I saw my barber cutting someone else and two more waiting.
“Yo Jeff, my bad. I saw your text but I been so busy. I’m done after these guys but my man Dave could cut you.”
I didn’t trust it. Dave was antisocial. I’d only seen him cut Latino and Indian brothers. Those dudes were only getting faded tapers. Not really my look. Then Jerry hit me with, “yo he’s dope. Don’t worry.” Such words are ones you never want to hear from your barber.
There was no choice. A cut was necessary. I went to Dave. He peeped my Mets hat and immediately went into a conversation about Matt Harvey’s last start. My last sports conversation with Jerry involved a heated debate about why he thinks Steph Curry is an all time better player than Kobe Bryant. I told Dave, I just wanted a dark Caesar and the cut began without a hitch. This dude moved swiftly yet carefully. He paid close attention to my line. It was razor’s edged to perfection. Dave brought out the hot towel for my face and I thought man, Jerry never uses the hot towel. Long story short this was one of the best cuts I’d ever had. The banter was just enough. Jerry on the other hand never stops talking about everything from side hustles to side chicks. I put on my glasses and was looking like young Malcolm X outchea. I handed Dave his money plus tip and he handed me back his card.
So, herein lies the dilemma. Jerry has held me down for a year and change. He’s been super cordial and I’ve never been nowhere near zeked. Dave on the other hand was super professional and gave me a masterful haircut.
What is a brother to do for the next haircut?
Do I go with Jerry and stay with the good cuts and some flaws or Dave with amazing clippers?
Stay trill, folks.