So, as most of you know, I go in every week for a shave and a haircut at my barber's. My first experience was awesome, but then I had a clowning experience, and of course, there was the photo opportunity when I had my eyebrows waxed.
Then, there was the time that I really felt like an asshole. I've linked it, but the relevant text is here:
Wednesday, after going to my barber's for my weekly trim and shave, was when I reached the realization that I am indeed an asshole. I walked into the barber's and immediately noticed that my usual barber, Raul, wasn't there. I asked the owner where he is, and she says, "Oh. Well, he's in the hospital right now. They found out that he might have lymphoma."
"That's horrible," I said. "Who's going to cut my hair and shave me?"
She gave me a slightly strange look. "Natalia is going to do it today. So, about Raul. Would you like his phone number? Some of his regulars are checking in on him and sending flowers or something."
On the inside, I'm thinking furiously. What the fuck can I say to that other than "Okay"? I don't want his fucking phone number – I'm not going to call my barber who might have cancer and make small talk! Maybe I'd send him something at the hospital, if he wasn't just my fucking barber! But there was no real answer I could give that would get me off the hook, so I shrugged and said "Sure. Maybe I can send him something."
Two days later, and I still haven't sent him something. If he doesn't die and actually comes back to work, I'll ask him if he got the nice arrangement that I had sent up, and when he says, "No," I'll blame the hospital and the old lady volunteers working the gift shop. But, in the end, and this is the REALLY asshole thing, I'm almost hoping that he doesn't come back so I don't have to worry about it.
Well, Raul made a full recovery, and returned to the barbershop. By that point, though, I had switched over to the owner and had no interest in having Raul do my shave. He was unreliable, and missed random days, had problems getting to work, and just went from being a meticulous, amazing barber to someone that I really didn't want holding a blade to my throat.
He's from Puerto Rico, and Cori, the owner, kept joking with him, every time he was there, about going back to Puerto Rico where his car would be top of the line and he'd have more money than most people, and Raul would joke with her about it, but you got the sense that he was serious, and one day he was just going to up and disappear and go back to Puerto Rico.
Yesterday, after getting my shave, and setting up my appointment for next week, I notice that Raul isn't in the appointment book anymore. "Oh," I said. "Looks like King Raul went back to Puerto Rico to rule over them with his mighty scissors and razor, eh?"
"No," Cori said. "He died on Sunday."
"Fuck! Really?"
"Yeah. Want to send his mother some flowers?"
