The First Visit, the Ice Broke Me

 I was full of excitement, ready for my first, real journalistic experience. Kat, the supervisor of Platinum Boyz Baber Shop in Morningside, had granted me green light so I hit the road and got my destination. 

Morningside is not the typical black neighborhood. It is dissected by a nice segment of Biscayne Blvd where all kinds of nice businesses flourish.  Platinum Boyz blends in the block, which ethnicity is difficult to define. 

Morningside has a historical value because it emerged as a pillar of the MiMo architectural movement in the 1920s. Real Estate in small pockets of Morningside is actually skyrocketing.  Therefore, the authorities keep this major artery and other spots well presentable. However, the landscape drastically changes just turning in any direction on any corner.  The combination of low-income and black presence is obvious then. The contrast is somehow shocking.

Two men were sitting in the tables by the sidewalk at the perimeter of the barber shop. I passed by and said, “Hi”. As soon as I grabbed the doorknob, one of them a big, black guy intercepted me. “Can I help you”, he asked.  I introduced myself as the student journalist who had talked to Kat. “Kat is not here but come with me”, he kindly said. My host took me inside and walked me to one of the six barber chairs –the only one that was not in service located at the end of the row - and told me, “Have a seat”. The chair had on top a big bag of hair-cutting tools and other devices he removed for me to seat down. I have to say that looked a little awkward to me; but, I sat down anyway. He left the store right after.

An on-duty barber was narrating a story that had everyone around engaged: the three costumers sitting in the waiting area, the co-workers, and the costumers receiving service. The story was evidently about some argument with a sort of enemy from the past. The teller emphasized the seriousness of the event with his body language. I was confined   to the back of the room. I and the barber in front of me  -working on a kid- seem to be in a whole different world. I spoke to him for several minutes; but, he looked Hispanic and was working with the only white people in the premise. 

I barely could understand the potential story occurring at the front. The speaker pumping loud Hip Hop music was right behind me and the distance from the action was also considerable. So, I decided to move to the waiting area at the front. 

I exchanged handshakes with two of the barbers and introduced myself and traded little salutes with the costumers. Jon and James avidly introduced themselves. About one minute later the third barber finished talking and started to throw questions on me, which I found kind of normal. “So, you are a student? Where do you study? What are you looking for?” Right after, I asked him his name to which he replied “Bubble, Bubble is my name because I live in a bubble world”.  “Oh, good to meet you Bubble”, I said while shaking his hand.  Everybody else was sort of surprised or puzzled. They displayed short smiles followed by a silence that lasted for several minutes.

All of the sudden, the three barbers started to speak Creole. I didn’t imagine these guys were of Haitian origin. The costumers remained silent as the Creole chatting continued. 

Bubble came back to me in English and told me, “You missed all the action. All the news people were here already, including the channel 7”. “What happened”, I asked. “I am not gonna tell you. If you wanna have stories, you should go to the salon next door. I can give you their number”. “I don’t think so, I am good here”, I replied. 

I stood for probably another fifteen minutes. They barely responded to my attempts to establish a topic. Jon, the oldest of the three barbers, actually told me, “I don’t want to talk to you”. Shawn, the man who welcomed me at the door returned. He was less apathetic than the rest. I decided it was time for me to leave. I thought maybe I pushed a little bit too much already. I went by each of them shaking hands and saying bye, including the rough Bubble who surprisingly drew a smile. 

I felt I was in the eye of a hurricane.  I guess I did something wrong or many perhaps. The fact is that I still don’t know if it was me or this is just the way this is supposed to happen. I feel terribly frustrated and confused. The frustration is due to the fact that I could not get a story. On the other hand, I feel my experience is a story.

One thing I can tell. I will be back soon. I have the intuition it is going to be way different next time. They already know I am coming back. 

I tried to break the ice but the ice broke me. 


http://www.platinumboyzbarbers.com/