From the time that I was about 10 years old, my parents used to send me to "Art the Barber" to get my hair cut. Art cut my dad's hair, so that was where I got my hair cut too. I always hated getting haircuts and Art the Barber seemed to excell at the art of making a hair cut a particularly unpleasant experience.

Art looked like a greasier, angrier version of "Floyd the Barber" on the old Andy Griffith show. This was about 1968, and Art hated hippies and young people in general, and everytime I went to get my hair cut, he would always lecture me about what was wrong with society today.

Art also loved to screw with people's heads, here's an example:

One time when I was about 14, I was sitting in the barber chair getting a hair cut, and Art asked me "So, do you have a job this summer, or are you just sitting around on your ass?".

I knew he was getting ready to lecture me, and as it turned out, I did have a job, so I snapped back, "Yeah, I'm working in an Orange Grove, cleaning out the irrigation ditches."

Art didn't say anything for a while, he just continued to cut my hair. About 30 seconds passed, then Art snorted, "Hah! that kind of work is for N****s and Mexicans!".

I didn't say anything back (it's best to watch one's mouth when someone is standing behind you with a straight razor). Art went back to cutting hair, and after another few snips and clips, he repeated "Yup! N*****s and Mexicans". Another few seconds of silence, and then again "N*****s and Mexicans".

When I was about 16 years old, my parents finally let me grow my hair long, so thankfully, I stopped going to see Art the Barber.

Years later when I had grown a mighty, shoulder length mane of hippy hair, I bumped into Art the Barber and his wife at the local mall. I walked up to Art, said "Hi Art" and stuck out my hand to shake, but Art just looked at my long hair and snorted "Hmmph!" and turned and walked away.

I guess it bugged him to lose a customer.