I had to get a haircut the other day, due to the fact that my hair was getting too long. It was kind of hanging all over and, if a wind came up, it’d blow all about and I’d look like Nick Nolte’s mugshot, only without being drunk and in police custody.

My boss had mentioned it in a gentle, approachable way – she said, “so are we getting a haircut or is it time to start considering a ponytail?” I don’t know why she said “we”.. she must have just meant me because her hair is shorter than mine and she couldn’t wear a ponytail if she tried. I told her I’d be getting a haircut that day, after getting off work.

I’m not driving these days, due to not having a car, so I had to find somewhere close. I have a bicycle but it was 3:30 in the afternoon; I was concerned that by the time I found a decent place that gave a decent haircut, it’d be closed, and then I’d have to go to work another day looking like Nick Nolte. If that were the case, I’d have to start swaggering and talking in a tough voice to stay in character. It might have even led to beating up a customer and I didn’t want to do that, so it was imperative that I find a haircutting place nearby.

Somebody told me there was a salon right in the shopping center where I work, and a trip around the Target store on the bike revealed this to be true. There WAS one, and I hadn’t noticed it because it was kind of out of the way, back by the Target nursery center. I shackled the bike to a post and walked in.

The place was full – it was Saturday and I guess everyone goes to get their shampooing, cutting and styling done on the weekend. There were about 40 people in there, most of them women, and every one of them turned and looked at me as I strolled through the door with my backpack firmly strapped to my shoulders and my Nick Nolte hair flying wildly around. A hush fell over the room, giving way to an awkward silence that was quickly broken by the smiling lady at the counter, who greeted me and asked if I was there for a haircut.

I stammered an uncomfortable “yes” and looked around at the 40 or more people, who were probably looking back at me because I was the only white person in the place.. they were all black.

I’m sure we’re all agreed that I shouldn’t have felt awkward or out of place in this day and age - not after all that  Martin Luther King Jr. has done - and especially in California, the melting pot of the universe (second only to New York City), but the fact is, I did. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights because the hush continued for a bit more, until a large black woman patted the empty seat next to her and said, “You come over here and sit by me sugar, ain’t nobody gonna bite you.” She smiled and patted as I smiled and made my way across the room toward her, sensing the stares and feeling the sharp glances they tossed at one another as I went by.  I really wanted to leave, but there was no getting out of this now.. I was fully committed to getting a haircut in this place.

I had to wait almost an hour for Mike, the barber that the counter lady said did men’s hair, and so I got to know Yolisha really well (she was the large lady I’d sat next to).. along with Tanika, Lamisha, Yakima and Grace. The first two, it turned out, weren’t there for haircuts or anything else but to sit and gossip. Grace was cutting and styling Yakima’s hair and the chair was only five feet from Tanika, Lamisha, Yolisha and I, so we all chatted with Grace and Yakima about the weather, George Bush, Halloween and that new Walgreens going in over on Third Avenue. Things were actually going quite well - I seemed to be accepted, and I began to feel like one of the girls, as I took to going “Um-hmmm..” whenever something profound had been said, which was every other sentence.

Finally, Mike had finished cutting the hair of the young man who’d been in his chair when I came in and, after sweeping up a little and fluffing his sheet thing, he grinned and invited me over. I felt more sharp stares, and the hush resumed, if only for a moment. Once in the chair, I could see into all the mirrors around the room and, as Mike and I engaged in small talk about the Navy (his late brother had served), I could now see the glances being tossed back and forth. I wondered if I wasn’t just being paranoid, but nope.. the girl cutting someone's hair across the room had definitely looked right at me and then looked at another girl seated against the far wall with a look that said, “THIS is something we’ll be talking about for the next few weeks, starting the moment he’s out the door.” I don't think she realized how effective multiple, angled mirrors can be.

Mike did a great job for fifteen dollars – I’ve had better cuts at higher end salons for much more, but his attention to detail and meticulous snipping of stray hair strands was appreciated. He even trimmed my eyebrows. Good thing too; I was beginning to look like James Whitmore in that department. If I were still in Hollywood, my agent would have been selling me as a Nick Nolte/James Whitmore type.. no wonder I didn’t make it there.



I think Mike appreciated the challenge of having a different kind of hair to work on for a change, and I didn’t get out of there without a big handshake, a smile and tipping him 20 percent. I think I’ll go back there in another couple of months, when Nick shows up again.. and this time I’ll be ready..