After a nice chat about haircuts with Shaun a few nights ago, I decided that it was high time that I received a shave and a haircut (two bits!). Actually, I only needed a haircut (I’m still working on my Ambrose Burnside throwback look). Usually, when I need a trim, I self-administer a basic clipper-cut. This time, however, I felt that I needed something a bit more extravagant, sassy even. I did not, after many failed attempts, feel comfortable going back to a maga-chain hair snipper, like SuperCuts, only to pay $20 dollars for a shit-ass hairdo, nor did I have the funds to afford a mango-scented wash-n-style from any expensive salon. 

Whoa is me! What to do?

It was then that I realized the answer my hairy situation was just across the street, in the form of Aiken’s Quality Cuts. So, I called to inquire about their rates and availability. I was pleasantly surprised to find that a basic haircut would cost a mere $13 and they, indeed, had an opening in the schedule. I was set! Little did I know that this was only the beginning of the amazing adventure upon which I was about to embark. Unfortunately, there is no time-traveling phone booth involved in this adventure; if you were expecting one, please do not continue any further in the story, as you will surely be disappointed.

Aiken’s Quality Cuts, which I would later be informed is owned by former University of Pittsburgh basketball star Curtis Aiken, is a gritty, cash-only, stereotypical, hole-in-the-wall barber shop located on Centre Avenue in North Oakland. As I approached the storefront, the middle aged barber, whom would later sadly prove not to actually be Mister Aiken, stepped out of the shop to greet some school girls (who were hanging from school bus windows, shouting and waving to him) and enthusiastically remind them to, “Stay in school now! Ya hear?” He then noticed me standing beside him (he was blocking the entrance to the store) and urged me to come inside and have a seat.

Once inside, the barber introduced himself and made sure that I was in fact his 3:30PM appointment, immediately after which he asked if it would be alright if he ran out for a moment in order to, as he suggested, “get some change.” Though this was an odd request, I told him that it was fine, and he quickly walked out of the shop leaving me sitting in a barber’s chair… completely alone. I, of course, began to survey the store to see if there was anything interesting about it. I was not disappointed. The first thing I noticed was the sexy groove that was filling the room. Rather than playing some bland, soft rock radio-diarrhea, as would be custom in most hair joints, Aiken’s barbers prefer to trim to the robust tones of legendary, up-tempo R&B/soul quartet The Whispers! While I rocked steady to the grooves, I continued to scope out this fine establishment. I noticed that there was a sign in the corner of the store that stated the rules of the shop, including: must hang up coats and hats; no sitting in barber’s chairs unless receiving haircut; no messing around! 

As I relished in the mere existence of the sign, the music, and, really, the entire shop, the barber returned. It was at this time that I realized what he meant by getting some change. Whether it is because he is not very adept at verbal communication or because he prefers not to exchange currency at a customary financial institution, apparently, “getting change” also involved the retrieval of a plastic cup filled to the brim with frosty beer! Or perhaps, unbeknownst to me, “change” is some newfangled slang for beer. If this is the case, I wish I had known as I certainly would have asked him to grab some “spare change” for me, too, while he was out. Now, we were ready to party. Old-school soul, sharp instruments, and beer… the only thing missing was my new, badass hairdo.

With his clippers at the ready, the fine, barley-sipping quaff-tamer began to inquire about my hair-related desires. I assured him that I simply wanted to tighten-up the back and sides, leaving the top longer. The barber, being a man after my own heart (one who deals in cold, hard numbers), requested a bit more clarification regarding exactly how tight I wanted my hair to be: a quarter-inch… a half-inch… longer? I decided that a half-inch would be sufficient, and away he went in a flurry of clipper-artistry! (Perhaps, this could, from this point forward, be referred to as clip-artistry. I don’t know. It’s just a thought.) His style was quick and aggressive, just the way I like it. (That’s what she said!) While he trimmed, we spoke of days of yore, residing in Oakland, going to school, and his lovely daughter, whom he refuses to hit even though he was beaten as a child. (Or, as he put it, perhaps more eloquently, “When she was little, I used to slap her hand or spank her on the Pampers, but I ain’t into that hittin’ shit! Maybe if I had a son, but not my baby girl!”)

Before I knew it, my cut was finished. He brushed me off and spun me around for one final look at his work before deciding that it was finally complete. I took a glance at my new do in the mirror and agreed that my man had done a fine job, indeed. I took out my wallet and paid him his well-deserved two bits. As I turned to be on my way, what some, namely Michael McDonald, might call takin’ it to the streets, the barber reminded me that if I needed a touch up to come back, however, Aiken’s Quality Cuts would be permanently closing on April 1st! What!?! Graver news has never been heard. But thankfully, he informed me that after the start of the month, I can find him working at the barber shop located just behind the Dollar General on Centre Avenue. 

Phew! Crisis averted.