Post #2375855

30ish years ago, I used to get my hair cut at a place in Hoboken. It was primarily staffed by gum-snapping Puerto Rican girls who seemed amused by me. Or at least, they were observant of the difference between me and the usual Hoboken yuppie-types. The girl who often cut my hair was named after a well known line of beauty products, had ornately painted fingernails, and frequently complained about her boyfriend to me. I had a small crush on her. On several occasions, a particular Hoboken cop would make a big show of coming into the shop, greeting all the girls by name, and striding past the waiting customers to take one of the vacant barber chairs. Whenever this happened, there was a noticeable change in the room. Typically lively with bilingual banter, conversation would become stifled, with the sound of the local dance music radio station being the only thing breaking the silence. Backs would stiffen. Knowing gazes were exchanged amongst the staff. It was weird. I eventually figured out this cop made it his business to enter the shop several times a week, sit in a chair, and demand that one of the girls BRUSH HIS HAIR, which he kept in a style similar to David Hasselhoff. He never said thank you. He never paid. I don’t think he even tipped. He just sat there, having his hair brushed, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. What a creep.