Hair Me Out

I went for a hair cut recently, to this Italian barber's shop in downtown Montreal. This wasn't the first time I went there and the elderly barber seemed to recognize me; he asked me to wait till he was done with the customer he was serving right then; "Amigo, 10 minutes?"

I sat down and noticed the fashion magazines lying around - a playboy edition too amongst them. This side of the shop seemed to be just for men. I figured that behind the mirrors in the middle, the other half of the shop, was meant for the ladies.

After a while, it was my turn. As he prepared me for the cut with the cloaks (aprons - whatever they might be called) he asked me how I was doing. Small talk ensued. I don't completely remember how the conversation went about - I was partly immersed in thought about assignments and midterms and due dates and all the rest of the university blah. What I do remember are snippets of the conversation.

It was difficult to understand what this person was saying most of the time. He is quite old and has an accent that makes it more difficult to distinguish the words in the mumbled speech.

He told me how he had his business on another street before..and how there was a 'tavern' there. It was a long time ago he said, when there used to be taverns - he described to me what a tavern was. He said he came to Canada 55 years ago from Italy. Told me about his parents who stayed in Italy. He told me how McGill College St. was not a big street back in the days. Didn't have much business he thought. He told me about having a sister in Argentina. His last visit to Italy was in 84/86. His father passed away in the late nineties. His father was a healthy man..and he died in a road accident. He has a son who is an engineer too.

He asked me where I was from and upon finding out I was from Bangladesh he told me that he had a client from Bangladesh come to his shop recently. The customer was Christian. "What religion are you from?" he asked me with a pause. I answered and he was very quick to clarify that it doesn't matter what my religion is. He pointed up and said there was just one. All are the same. He said he changed over time too - he was born Christian. He then went on to describe the pictures of the floods he sees. He compares the floods in the USA and in Bangladesh. He remarks on how poor and unfortunate some people are. He said something about working on Sundays and how he doesn't care if someone works on Sundays or not..and that it is their choice.

He keeps on going on till the end. I only understood half of all that he said and could barely respond from time to time - with an understanding nod or a smile as he talked about different things. As I paid and was leaving, he said, "I also work on Saturdays..fewer customers!". I suppose he just wanted to talk - it must be a welcome break from the monotony of scissors and brushes.