Sketches New and Old

by Mark Twain

  ABOUT BARBERS

  All things change except barbers, the ways of barbers, and thesurroundings of barbers. These never change. What one experiences in abarber's shop the first time he enters one is what he always experiencesin barbers' shops afterward till the end of his days. I got shaved thismorning as usual. A man approached the door from Jones Street as Iapproached it from Main--a thing that always happens. I hurried up, butit was of no use; he entered the door one little step ahead of me, and Ifollowed in on his heels and saw him take the only vacant chair, the onepresided over by the best barber. It always happens so. I sat down,hoping that I might fall heir to the chair belonging to the better of theremaining two barbers, for he had already begun combing his man's hair,while his comrade was not yet quite done rubbing up and oiling hiscustomer's locks. I watched the probabilities with strong interest.When I saw that No. 2 was gaining on No. 1 my interest grew tosolicitude. When No. 1 stopped a moment to make change on a bath ticketfor a new-comer, and lost ground in the race, my solicitude rose toanxiety. When No. 1 caught up again, and both he and his comrade werepulling the towels away and brushing the powder from their customers'cheeks, and it was about an even thing which one would say "Next!" first,my very breath stood still with the suspense. But when at theculminating moment No. 1 stopped to pass a comb a couple of times throughhis customer's eyebrows, I saw that he had lost the race by a singleinstant, and I rose indignant and quitted the shop, to keep from fallinginto the hands of No. 2; for I have none of that enviable firmness thatenables a man to look calmly into the eyes of a waiting barber and tellhim he will wait for his fellow-barber's chair.

  I stayed out fifteen minutes, and then went back, hoping for better luck.Of course all the chairs were occupied now, and four men sat waiting,silent, unsociable, distraught, and looking bored, as men always do whoare waiting their turn in a barber's shop. I sat down in one of theiron-armed compartments of an old sofa, and put in the time for a whilereading the framed advertisements of all sorts of quack nostrums fordyeing and coloring the hair. Then I read the greasy names on theprivate bayrum bottles; read the names and noted the numbers on theprivate shaving-cups in the pigeonholes; studied the stained and damagedcheap prints on the walls, of battles, early Presidents, and voluptuousrecumbent sultanas, and the tiresome and everlasting young girl puttingher grandfather's spectacles on; execrated in my heart the cheerfulcanary and the distracting parrot that few barbers' shops are without.Finally, I searched out the least dilapidated of last year's illustratedpapers that littered the foul center-table, and conned theirunjustifiable misrepresentations of old forgotten events.

  At last my turn came. A voice said "Next!" and I surrendered to--No. 2,of course. It always happens so. I said meekly that I was in a hurry,and it affected him as strongly as if he had never heard it. He shovedup my head, and put a napkin under it. He plowed his fingers into mycollar and fixed a towel there. He explored my hair with his claws andsuggested that it needed trimming. I said I did not want it trimmed. Heexplored again and said it was pretty long for the present style--betterhave a little taken off; it needed it behind especially. I said I hadhad it cut only a week before. He yearned over it reflectively a moment,and then asked with a disparaging manner, who cut it? I came back at himpromptly with a "You did!" I had him there. Then he fell to stirring uphis lather and regarding himself in the glass, stopping now and then toget close and examine his chin critically or inspect a pimple. Then helathered one side of my face thoroughly, and was about to lather theother, when a dog-fight attracted his attention, and he ran to the windowand stayed and saw it out, losing two shillings on the result in betswith the other barbers, a thing which gave me great satisfaction. Hefinished lathering, and then began to rub in the suds with his hand.

  He now began to sharpen his razor on an old suspender, and was delayed agood deal on account of a controversy about a cheap masquerade ball hehad figured at the night before, in red cambric and bogus ermine, as somekind of a king. He was so gratified with being chaffed about some damselwhom he had smitten with his charms that he used every means to continuethe controversy by pretending to be annoyed at the chaffings of hisfellows. This matter begot more surveyings of himself in the glass, andhe put down his razor and brushed his hair with elaborate care,plastering an inverted arch of it down on his forehead, accomplishing anaccurate "part" behind, and brushing the two wings forward over his earswith nice exactness. In the mean time the lather was drying on my face,and apparently eating into my vitals.

  Now he began to shave, digging his fingers into my countenance to stretchthe skin and bundling and tumbling my head this way and that asconvenience in shaving demanded. As long as he was on the tough sides ofmy face I did not suffer; but when he began to rake, and rip, and tug atmy chin, the tears came. He now made a handle of my nose, to assist himshaving the corners of my upper lip, and it was by this bit ofcircumstantial evidence that I discovered that a part of his duties inthe shop was to clean the kerosene-lamps. I had often wondered in anindolent way whether the barbers did that, or whether it was the boss.

  About this time I was amusing myself trying to guess where he would bemost likely to cut me this time, but he got ahead of me, and sliced me onthe end of the chin before I had got my mind made up. He immediatelysharpened his razor--he might have done it before. I do not like a closeshave, and would not let him go over me a second time. I tried to gethim to put up his razor, dreading that he would make for the side of mychin, my pet tender spot, a place which a razor cannot touch twicewithout making trouble; but he said he only wanted to just smooth off onelittle roughness, and in the same moment he slipped his razor along theforbidden ground, and the dreaded pimple-signs of a close shave rose upsmarting and answered to the call. Now he soaked his towel in bay rum,and slapped it all over my face nastily; slapped it over as if a humanbeing ever yet washed his face in that way. Then he dried it by slappingwith the dry part of the towel, as if a human being ever dried his facein such a fashion; but a barber seldom rubs you like a Christian. Nexthe poked bay rum into the cut place with his towel, then choked thewound with powdered starch, then soaked it with bay rum again, and wouldhave gone on soaking and powdering it forevermore, no doubt, if I had notrebelled and begged off. He powdered my whole face now, straightened meup, and began to plow my hair thoughtfully with his hands. Then hesuggested a shampoo, and said my hair needed it badly, very badly.I observed that I shampooed it myself very thoroughly in the bathyesterday. I "had him" again. He next recommended some of "Smith's HairGlorifier," and offered to sell me a bottle. I declined. He praised thenew perfume, "Jones's Delight of the Toilet," and proposed to sell mesome of that. I declined again. He tendered me a tooth-wash atrocity ofhis own invention, and when I declined offered to trade knives with me.

  He returned to business after the miscarriage of this last enterprise,sprinkled me all over, legs and all, greased my hair in defiance of myprotest against it, rubbed and scrubbed a good deal of it out by theroots, and combed and brushed the rest, parting it behind, and plasteringthe eternal inverted arch of hair down on my forehead, and then, whilecombing my scant eyebrows and defiling them with pomade, strung out anaccount of the achievements of a six-ounce black-and-tan terrier of histill I heard the whistles blow for noon, and knew I was five minutes toolate for the train. Then he snatched away the towel, brushed it lightlyabout my face, passed his comb through my eyebrows once more, and gailysang out "Next!"

  This barber fell down and died of apoplexy two hours later. I am waitingover a day for my revenge--I am going to attend his funeral.