Haircut and Sushi

My first haircut was at a little place called Harry's Barbershop on the main drag of my hometown. My dad took me there one Saturday morning in his maroon Chevy Caprice, and said I could drive home (just sit on his lap and steer) if I didn't cry. Harry old as hell, and bald, which even at that young age struck me as ironic. Harry smoked like a chimney the whole time. When he was done he hoisted me off the chair, set me on the ground and gave me a lollipop. I went to Harry's for a long time, but eventually he became senile and would poke the shit out of my head with the tip of his insanely sharp scissors. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and had to find a new barber. Harry has been dead for at least ten years now, but when I look for a barbershop, I usually seek out one that looks like Harry's. Plain, clean, and always with the spinning red and white barber pole in front.

When I moved to DC I spotted a place that looked a lot like Harry's on the outside, so one afternoon I went in for a trim. As soon as I walked in I realized this place was a lot different than Harry's. P-Funk and Sportscenter were both blaring and competing for your attention. Clean is not a word I would use to describe the place, but it was tidy enough. Along one wall were four barber chairs, with four men in the seats, and four men cutting hair. Along the other wall were eight red plastic chairs, all but one were filled with men waiting for cuts. There was one young kid sweeping the floor with a push broom that was taller than him. There was another, tougher looking, kid sitting in a chair in the back of the room near the restroom. All of these men were black. The proverbial record scratched when I walked in and I had a few dozen eye balls on me. I thought "Okay, it's a little different than Harry's, but a haircut's a haircut.", and I sat down in one of the waiting chairs.

That was three years ago, and I have been back for every haircut since then. No matter how long your hair is, or what type of cut you ask for, it's done entirely with clippers. I don't even think there is a pair of scissors in the shop. The Skins are one notch below God there. Never, EVER, utter a bad word about the Skins no matter how shitty they are doing. Oh, and the kid that was sitting in the back of the room by the bathroom, he sells dime bags of weed and does a little booking. Not one time in three years have I ever seen another white kid in the place. I'm not sure what the barbers make of me, but the cuts aren't bad, you're out in like 15 minutes, and it only costs $22 with tip. I really like the place and wish I could give them a plug, but won't for obvious reasons.

I went for a trim last night, then rode down the way to get some take-out at a sushi place I like. The restaurant is not known for it's stellar service, so I sat at the bar and had a beer while I waited for my order.

When I came in there was a tall blond girl working the bar that I had never seen in there before. Halfway through my beer her shift ended and another girl took over. The blond punched out, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of sushi and sat down next to me.

Blondie: The bartender was about 5'8", in her mid-to-late 20's, with a curvy body and a mediocre face. She was wearing a small jean skirt, boots, and a tight wife-beater. Under the t-shirt she had on a black bra that was clearly struggling to contain it's huge cargo. On a scale of 1-10, though, Blondie was only about a 5, 6 if you wanted to be generous.

Blondie had checked my ID when I ordered my beer, so she knew my name and asked me what kind of bike I rode. She knew a fair amount about bikes, even the engines, which is unusual for a woman. It was about 8pm, and she said she had been on since that morning prepping for lunch. The other bartender dropped a shot glass in front of Blondie and filled it with Patron, then the bartender nodded towards me and held up a second glass. "Thanks, but I can't." I said, and pointed towards my helmet, which was sitting on a stool near me. Blondie downed her shot without "training wheels" (salt and lemon), then took a swig of her beer. We talked for a little while, mostly about sushi joints in the area, and had a little debate over what the best tequila was (Herradura is my favorite).

Blondie finished her last roll and said "So, is all that sushi you ordered for you?" I said yes. She said "Good. I want a ride on that Ducati. Why don't you give me a ride to my place. You can have a beer and eat your sushi while I shower, then we can go out and get a bunch of tequilas together." It was an interesting proposition. On one hand, she wasn't that great looking. On the other, things are clearly in limbo with Kay and I could use a roll in the hay to decompress (and that is clearly what this was about). Also, I had a feeling that this girl knew a few tricks in the sack.

"Tell you what, I have to work tonight, but let me get your number, we'll shower and get drinks another night." She laughed and rattled off her number, which I punched into me phone. I obviously didn't have to work last night, I just didn't feel like getting tangled up with that chick, who frankly looked a little dirty. Another problem is that I get sushi from this place a lot, and didn't want to get black listed from it by having a one night stand with the dirty bartender who probably fucked every waiter (and maybe a few waitresses) in the place. I had a vision of a wad of jizz on my next spicy tuna roll if I nailed Blondie. I did appreciate the offer, though.

I rode home, ate my sushi solo, had vodka, then went to bed.