That is how I often look during the cold nights of Washington, DC. A pencil tucked in my right ear completes my look. I admitted to someone who knows my name that I am often stared at, they say it is because I look like a thug. I don’t pretend to be naïve about perhaps why, but my appearance is not for show, and it not the wildest to be seen.
I walked into a barbershop yesterday looking exactly how I described. I black skullcap with the words HARLEM showed below my black hood, my mouth covered. Everyone turned to look at me, and you could see mystery and confusion in their eyes. I wore a mask of a bravado smile that no one could see.
It was my first time in the barbershop, and no one said a word to me as I casually looked around getting aquatinted with my surroundings. The men that sat in the barber chairs turned and looked at me intently but didn’t say a word. So, I sat down, still a little unnerved by the silent stares.
Before I could get comfortable one of the men spoke to me in an accusatory tone, as if my presence was almost…or just close to being annoying to him. “Can I help you?”
I told him I wanted a hair cut and he rebuked me for not saying anything earlier. “No, one greeted me, so I didn’t know who was cutting hair, I wanted to take a seat and wait for service.”
“You wanna take your stuff off?” He retorted
“Sure.” I showed him my polite smile and walked to the knobs hanging on the wall to put away my book bag and coat.
