A couple

Of weeks ago your boy Bali needed a fresh new cut. I had been feeling lazy about getting it cut but my hair looked horrible. To give you an idea of how bad it was, let's just say if you put me next to Krusty the Clown you might not be able to tell the difference between us. When I headed into the barbershop I went into the second room. You would know about this room if you're a loyal reader. Guess who I saw there? If you guessed the Bengali woman who had cut my hair the last time I went, then you're correct. Once again, my loyal readers would remember her. She was busy cutting somebody's hair. Thank God. I returned to the first room and was approached by a petite woman who asked if she could cut my hair. Sure. Why not? My hair couldn't look any worse. She was friendly and immediately made conversation. I wasn't surprised. She wanted to make small talk so I would tip her generously. LOL! Like that would ever happen..pshhhh. The first thing she said to me was " What's this? Do you have a mohawk?" I told her that the last time I was there somebody fucked it up. Didn't want to tattle but I'm guessing she knew who I was talking about. I told her what I wanted and starting to cut my hair. Now something happened that confused me. Maybe I was being paranoid but I think my barber was molesting the back and the sides of my head. I understand barbers need to touch your head (no pun intended) in order to give you a haircut, but I feel like she was crossing the line. Then out of nowhere guess who I see? The Bengali Barber. I'm going to refer to her as BB from now on to simplify things. She went to the register and took money from the person she just had given a haircut. Then she sat down in a chair. The seat was about 15 feet away from me and a bit to the right. Then she proceeded to stare at me with a "Oh, I see how it is. Don't want me to cut your hair?" look. I tried to ignore it but after a couple of minutes it really bothered me. Then she got up and stood in front of the register and said "Anybody want haircut?" Somebody approached her. Thank God. I was in the clear, or at least I thought I was. Five minutes later she returns to the register and sits back down in the same chair. Damnit woman. Take your time when cutting somebody's hair. Have you no heart? This isn't a competition. You will not make it to the Guinness Book of World Records. By now I think she knew I noticed her so she proceeded to pull out her phone and stared to text, or pretended to. I think it was a Blackberry. Not sure. My peripheral vision isn't what it used to be. Here's the thing. After about 30 seconds of "texting" she stared at me again. While she was staring at me her fingers continued to push buttons. Homegirl was taking multitasking to another level. During this entire time, including both trips she had made to and from the second room, my barber petted my head more than she cut it. She asked me where I was from, what I did, etc. I answered without hesitation. When I asked her the same questions she gave very brief and vague answers. Her mumbling didn't help the situation. Maybe she just wandered in and wanted to make some quick cash. What really bothered me was that she kept on making suggestions as to what I should do with my hair. I would respond with "I know what I'm getting. I get it all the time." Even then she would insist I do something different. I had never interacted with somebody who cared about my hair so much. She finally gave up and left me alone. This was the most intense haircut I have ever had. I had to deal with enemies from the front and the back. I don't know how I survived it. I am Baliwala. I was physically and visually violated. That is all.