As I write this the cool north wind finally revisits my town. The window shears blow open knocking some magazines I left on a small table by the window down. As soon as the wind hits me the cool air re-opens my nasal passages and I can breathe again. I haven't been able to breathe properly since Thursday. It's December and the temperature is 85 degrees with near 70% humidity. It's a sauna outside. The mold levels are through the roof. I know when this happens I won't be breathing right for a while.
But the wind shift drastically changes the temperature. Within an hour the temperature drops a good 20 degrees and the humidity falls to where you no longer feel it on your skin. I can breathe again, my sinuses draining properly now. My ears unclog and I can hear normal again. No more echoing.
I haven't posted anything in a while as I fired my last ISP/Cable provider (Time Warner) whom decided to up their bill a good 50 bucks. So having now switched my provider to Ma Bell, I pay less than I did before and get really good internet service (no more dropped wifi waves) and 100 extra channels on my telle. I can't stop watching the Japanese channels and their crazy shows.
MTG is out of town on a much needed vacation from work. She kept debating on going or not but I told her to get out of here before work dragged her down. And while on vacation one does not check work e-mail or anything remotely work related. Thusly I demanded she leave her crackberry and laptop, and only taking her personal mobile with her. Just get out of here and have fun. So away she went to spend a week and a half with her friend up north. Calling a couple of times to check on me.
I was pretty much ok until the stupid weather changed again. The beginning of last week was great. Temps in the 40's no humidity. Then Thursday night, the temp went from 60 to 70 and the humidity went sky high. The mold count rocketed and I damn near lost my voice from being stuffed up. It's December the weather shouldn't be getting close to 90 degrees. It was 90 further down in South Texas. Cold one day hot as hell the next. No wonder half the people are sick all the time. Oh well, I should know better. It never actually gets cold down here for a good while until mid-January.
Once more my hair is grown very long. Not to my shoulders or anything mind you but I need a hair cut. My dad told me however that the old gentleman I go to is probably no longer in business. I had to check for myself. I drove down to the projects where his shop is, located in the middle of an old shopping center. And my dad was right. He had been forced out. They owner of the center demanding five times the rent he paid, only because the government welfare office rented and remodeled half the space there. I read his sign he taped on to the glass door of his shop. "Dear friends" it begins. "Thank you for allowing me the honor of serving you for the past 40 plus years. It is with a sad heart that I retire from cutting your hair, telling stories, reminiscing of past times, talking sports, politics, or whatever came to our minds. I will miss providing this service to you, your kids, your grandkids, and other souls who walked in my door. I will not be opening up a new business anywhere else, and will retire all together. I wish you the best in your endeavors. God bless and stay safe my friends." I read the sign and stare through the windows into the open space with nothing there. The outlines of the barber chairs the only visible reminder of what used to be there. I can see myself reflection in the glass. My hair long enough to be blowing across my face. The hand painted sign of his shop the only thing left on the glass. The people coming and going from the welfare office next door now pay no attention to what used to be. I get back in my car and drove home, unwilling to stop at a Supercuts or other place where they only know how to style hair and what number cut you want. So I left my hair go.
As MTG is away I moped around the house doing paper work for my business and filling out applications for licenses that I need. I got most of it completed and my agenda's just about in order for when I'm actually going to start everything. I haven't quit my job just yet. That'll be some time later. I have to make sure that my project takes off first. But I'm planing an exit strategy as well from my current job. I had skirted around the issue of going out on my own in business but finally thought that what good are dreams if you never make them come true. So I cast my lot in, and see what cards the fates hand to me.
While feeling miserable from my allergies on Saturday, my friend called me and asked if I wanted to go to Austin with her and her folks. Thinking that I'd be miserable either in a car or at home I opted to go. It was actually a very good time. I made new friends despite being stuffed up and miserable. Though I didn't do too much talking at first, manly because I couldn't hear clearly what was being said but eventually did get into the swing of things. I must say her parents gigantic van is super nice. Telle and everything in it. And very tall as well, you literally have to climb inside of it. We were almost level with the windows on the 18 wheelers. We did some things and went to dinner with some new friends. One of which seemed compelled to continually hug me through out the night. Not that she meant anything by it but she was one of those touchy, feely people. I'm not exactly that way so I squirmed ever so slightly every time she did.
And thusly my weekend comes to an end. I finish off my pisco sour and type the final words to this post. The cool wind blowing my hair around as I sit by the window. I wrap some strands of hair around my fingers and let it fall over my face just for kicks. And think of where to look for another good barber, and I wish Mr. Amaya the best, dear friend.
Showing posts with label Mr. Amaya barbershop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mr. Amaya barbershop. Show all posts
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Mr Amaya's neighborhood
I desperately needed a haircut this weekend. It was way too long. From the top of my head the hair reached almost down to the bottom of my face. I hate having my hair so long now. It's so hot to have it that long.
I went to a barber shop that I've been going to since my parents moved us here many years ago. Mr. Amaya's barbershop. It's near downtown and really in the projects. It's the kind of place that the tourists don't see, and that people from the north side of town are afraid of. (i.e. MTG) Nestled between the westside, and the southside between the railroad tracks.
I drive to this part of town, knowing that the man who's cut my hair since forever will do a better job than any hairstylist or high priced barber would and for only eight bucks too. The shop is in the middle of an old strip mall. With the housing projects on both sides of it. Basically it's the ghetto. Mr. Amaya's long since moved out of the area, but he keeps his shop opened. It's just himself in the shop, though he has about 8 chairs for other barbers. It's always been just him. He learned how to cut hair in the military and has done so ever since. He's an older man in his early 70's. His hands still work fast with experience.
The shop itself is old. The mirrors that line the wall are faded and spotted. He has pictures of his family up on the wall, with duct tape. The walls cement so you can't put anything in with nails. There's about 3 Selena posters (Selena the latin singer gunned down), a good number of Jesus pictures, the Virgin of Guadalupe, and various other items in the shop, as well as a picture of Geronimo in the far back corner. And least I should forget a picture of Pope John Paul duct taped to the old water cooler unit that stands in the back of the shop. (The thing is about 8 feet tall) The seats are old too, I'd say from at least the late 60's. And a shoe shine booth in the back corner long since abandoned, as the gentleman that manned it passed away some years ago now.
There's cracks in the walls and it has an old smell. But I'd never go anywhere else. Even when we constantly moved my father would always bring us here for haircuts. Whether we lived in the city or not. When we first came here the place was filled with old men. All smoking and talking. One old gentleman in the back shining shoes while Mr. Amaya cut hair. One old gentleman sitting next to Mr. Amaya in the corner smoking, only getting up to sweep up the hair on the floor between customers. And it's all in spanish. It was a place of wonder for me. Watching Mr. Amaya cut hair, shave beards, trim mustaches, all while holding conversations. Even though things in the neighborhood changed, he hasn't.
He's still the same only older now, I dread the day he closes for good. There's a younger man now that sweeps up the hair. (Younger as in late 40's or so) The older gentleman who'd sweep has since passed away. On busy days the place is packed, and Mr. Amaya takes no breaks. He appeases everyone telling stories asking about the families of his loyal customers. He's a genius at work. He cuts now with electric shears but still have the old hand held one he used in his army days. But he still uses a straight edge razor to give you a shave, and to get to the hard to do spots for hair cuts too.
Today there was only a few there so I got seated in little time. He asked me how I was doing and we talked about everything. He gives me advice for my trip to California, and MTG, and asks how my dad is doing, telling me he was just by this past week for a haircut. I tell him my dad's ok, though I didn't know he'd gone by this past week, and it makes me feel a bit guilty cause I really hadn't seen him in a while. He enjoys cutting my dad's hair and they talk about the day's when they were migrants in the fields and of times long since gone. It was while we were talking about my dad they my dad called and insisted we do lunch.
He finishes my haircut and gives me a shave. I feel wonderful after he's done. He only charges eight dollars but I always do what my father taught me to and give him fifteen. He tells me he'll see my next time, and I tell him goodbye too. As I walk back out into the old stripmall the nostalgia wears off and reality sets back in. I get in my car and drive out of the ghetto. I can't imagine what I'll do when he finally closes one of these days. Hopefully it won't be soon.
I went to a barber shop that I've been going to since my parents moved us here many years ago. Mr. Amaya's barbershop. It's near downtown and really in the projects. It's the kind of place that the tourists don't see, and that people from the north side of town are afraid of. (i.e. MTG) Nestled between the westside, and the southside between the railroad tracks.
I drive to this part of town, knowing that the man who's cut my hair since forever will do a better job than any hairstylist or high priced barber would and for only eight bucks too. The shop is in the middle of an old strip mall. With the housing projects on both sides of it. Basically it's the ghetto. Mr. Amaya's long since moved out of the area, but he keeps his shop opened. It's just himself in the shop, though he has about 8 chairs for other barbers. It's always been just him. He learned how to cut hair in the military and has done so ever since. He's an older man in his early 70's. His hands still work fast with experience.
The shop itself is old. The mirrors that line the wall are faded and spotted. He has pictures of his family up on the wall, with duct tape. The walls cement so you can't put anything in with nails. There's about 3 Selena posters (Selena the latin singer gunned down), a good number of Jesus pictures, the Virgin of Guadalupe, and various other items in the shop, as well as a picture of Geronimo in the far back corner. And least I should forget a picture of Pope John Paul duct taped to the old water cooler unit that stands in the back of the shop. (The thing is about 8 feet tall) The seats are old too, I'd say from at least the late 60's. And a shoe shine booth in the back corner long since abandoned, as the gentleman that manned it passed away some years ago now.
There's cracks in the walls and it has an old smell. But I'd never go anywhere else. Even when we constantly moved my father would always bring us here for haircuts. Whether we lived in the city or not. When we first came here the place was filled with old men. All smoking and talking. One old gentleman in the back shining shoes while Mr. Amaya cut hair. One old gentleman sitting next to Mr. Amaya in the corner smoking, only getting up to sweep up the hair on the floor between customers. And it's all in spanish. It was a place of wonder for me. Watching Mr. Amaya cut hair, shave beards, trim mustaches, all while holding conversations. Even though things in the neighborhood changed, he hasn't.
He's still the same only older now, I dread the day he closes for good. There's a younger man now that sweeps up the hair. (Younger as in late 40's or so) The older gentleman who'd sweep has since passed away. On busy days the place is packed, and Mr. Amaya takes no breaks. He appeases everyone telling stories asking about the families of his loyal customers. He's a genius at work. He cuts now with electric shears but still have the old hand held one he used in his army days. But he still uses a straight edge razor to give you a shave, and to get to the hard to do spots for hair cuts too.
Today there was only a few there so I got seated in little time. He asked me how I was doing and we talked about everything. He gives me advice for my trip to California, and MTG, and asks how my dad is doing, telling me he was just by this past week for a haircut. I tell him my dad's ok, though I didn't know he'd gone by this past week, and it makes me feel a bit guilty cause I really hadn't seen him in a while. He enjoys cutting my dad's hair and they talk about the day's when they were migrants in the fields and of times long since gone. It was while we were talking about my dad they my dad called and insisted we do lunch.
He finishes my haircut and gives me a shave. I feel wonderful after he's done. He only charges eight dollars but I always do what my father taught me to and give him fifteen. He tells me he'll see my next time, and I tell him goodbye too. As I walk back out into the old stripmall the nostalgia wears off and reality sets back in. I get in my car and drive out of the ghetto. I can't imagine what I'll do when he finally closes one of these days. Hopefully it won't be soon.
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