Friday, January 18, 2002

MY BARBER
On my day off, in addition to sharing a free lunch with Karena at the UCLA Medical Center's Cafeteria (pretty smooth of me, huh?), I went to my barber to get my hair cut. Every time I go in, I think back to the first time I went to him. I was looking for a place near my apartment and debated between the big moneymaker place and a hole in the wall. Of course, I chose the hole in the wall.
My barber is a Korean guy who only says six words to me each time, "How you like cut?" and "Thank you." In between the time those two phrases are spoken, the man becomes a machine. He's artistic, crafty, and adept with clippers and scissors. It appears as if he sees my head, and each head, as a work of art. He's meticulous at getting all those little wayward hairs to all fall into place. And he completes the deal by first (and this may sound weird but it's really cool) putting a gentle vacuum around your head to suck up excess hairs that have been cut and then putting a little Jojoba smell. People leave feeling good about themselves.
Of course, I leave feeling good because I'm giving business to a Christian man who works hard on a daily basis to earn a living.
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