Sketchism

After my class this morning I decided to use the first few hours of my free time to run some errands. Alright, two errands. The first was getting a fade at the local barbershop. I’ve had it with Hair Cuttery. I’m done with women cutting my hair. The last time I cut my hair there (about 2 months ago) the lady left one side of my hair (the right side) longer than the other. That’s just wrong. She must’ve been drunk on that hatorade. So this time I was willing to go back to my old style of hair cuts. I drove 10 minutes north from school to Alonzo Mourning-owned barbershop Cutz. The interior was spacous and inviting. I waited on the oakwood bench with a Rolling Stone magazine as the TV above played 106th and Park. In case you didn’t hear, dirty south rap has taken over the game. Gross, I know, but whaddayagunnado.

After about 10 minutes of waiting and reading, the barber finally calls me up. A warm quiet black gentleman sits me down and asks me what I’m getting.
“A one-and-a-half on the side and just trim the top with some scissors.”
“You got it,” he replies.

He proceeds to clip the side and rear of my head with precision and care. I’m taken back to my middle school days when I would go to Clippers, the local hiphop barbershop specializing in fades, blowouts, ceaser’s, and graffiti cuts. Yeah, cool stuff. But they also specialized in ringworms so I decided not to go there anymore. Plus I was tired of all the lame music videos they would play on the big screen. Booties and more Booties.

Cutz was different. It was peaceful. It was quiet. It was more expensive. Yeah, I was hesitant to stick around when I found out how much it would cost, but I figured I might be paying for some top quality fading. And I was right. He sculpted the hair on my head into a classic fade without any flaws. I saw the precision in his eyes through the reflection of the mirror. He was in another world, a world where each individual strand of hair is as important as the next. A world of conscious hiphop and subconcious designing. He was fading. It is his art.

15 minutes later I’m shaking his hand with a tip. I feel like a new man. Sure I have 20 dollars less in my pocket, but I see my reflection and I feel good again.

Afterward I walk down the same plaza toward the camera store. I needed to stock up on photopaper and film. I found what I was looking for and ready to pay. The young white girl at the register is pleased to help me, but she struggles with the buttons. It’s obvious that she’s new to the job. Naturally she fumbles up the student discount thing but I’m not upset. The owner offers me an extra roll of film for only 2 bucks to make up for the lost discount. It’s a good morning after all.

Now I’m going to eat a tuna sandwich and call it a day. I love Thursdays.