yesterday, chacho, this dominican barber who I've come to tolerate, was not only there at my barbershop straddled between a serbian bakery and a car wash, but it also appeared that he wouldn't be coming back. ever.
wasn't it mark twain, the great wit that he was, who conceded that "all things change except barbers, the ways of barbers, and the surroundings of barbers?"
well, enough of this dependency on rigid interpretation of dead men's epigrams and undocumented hair clippers.
so I settled with manuel, the resident phat guy, the one who can be relied on to bring bootleg cd's to keep on thumping without glitches the shop's audio ambience.
I reckon, should I come to tolerate his tonsorial skills as well, that since he is puerto rican then surely he shouldn't have any problems with immigration. and therefore, no more surprises for my very easily frazzled hair.
as he was doing me, another of chacho's loyal patron came and inquired about his whereabouts. manuel told the guy in xxxl shirt and way out there loose denims that our favorite barber had to fly back to santo domingo because his mother died.
after the guy left, manuel, almost in glee, explained that chacho, since he came in illegally in the first place, would find it hard getting back, if at all.
the ever pragmatist (cold hearted bitch, if you insist) that I am asked him why didn't just chacho wire money back home so he can stay and continue his gainful employment here in the land of leche y miel.
manuel just stopped snipping, his face turned ashen. then in a conspiratorial whisper he told me that chacho's mother spouted this deathbed wish that her barber son should braid her hair so she would look decent in her coffin that chacho had already paid for two years ago.
"well, if he has to go, then he has to go," the cleaning lady, another dominicana, blurted from the other side of the barbershop. talk about a real callous bitch.
I left the barbershop fiercely debating still whether to live with manuel's haphazard blade skills as well as the relative folly of chacho's decision to obey unquestioningly his mama's dying wish.
as I put on my cap, I saw the serbian bakery's chimney coughing up a frizzy column of white smoke. smoke, so thick and nappy, it sure looked like it could use some serious professional plaiting.