In our last blog, Joey was trying desperately to find a job - with no results. Finally he is forced to turn to the one place he doesn’t want to go - Jack’s Barbershop!

“Hey Joey, don’t worry, me and the fellas are only joshing ya. Listen, I got a deal for you… I’ll give you a job, say one or two hours after school every day, and I’ll pay you two dollars an hour. Two dollars an hour, Joey. That’s more than the minimum wage! But you gotta do one thing for me, one thing to live up to your end of the bargain, OK?"

Uh-Oh.

You gotta let me give you a nice haircut, the kind you used to get. Make your father proud. You use some of that Vitalis, gives you that smart, clean look.”

A disenchanted frown crosses my face.

“After all, Joey, you’re gonna be representing my business. I got to have someone that looks respectable, right? Deal?”

He puts out his hand to shake.

I want the job. Actually, I need the job. Esperanza. Black clothes. I do want to make my father proud, at least on some level. But it feels wrong. I mean, I love my hair. My new look. It’s opening all these doors for me.

Shit, shit, shit… why does everything have to be so hard?

His hand is there right in my face.

“Um… no. I-I can’t do it, Jack.”

His face instantly alters from this victorious, almost condescending, expression, to one of complete puzzlement.

“Whataya mean, you can’t do it, Joey?”

“I-I just - can’t do that haircut thing, Jack, I- “

“I’m offering you a job here, Joey! Two dollars an hour. C’mon, don’t tell me you can’t use that?”

Now he’s really angry.

“Hey Harry, he yells over to Mr. Coogan. I’m offering Joey a job here for two dollars an hour, and he won’t take it because he doesn’t want to put a little Vitalis in his hair.”

Mr. Coogan looks up over his glasses, from his newspaper.

“Tsk,tsk,tsk…shameful, shameful.”

“Let him go hungry for a couple of days, Jack, like we did when we were kids, you’ll see how fast he changes his tune. Yup.” Mr. Krokowski adds.

“Look, Joey, don’t be so damn selfish! I know your old man is having a tough time right now, being out of work and all.” Jack snaps.

How the hell does Jack know that? My father is completely paranoid about letting anybody know. He hardly even leaves the house, because he doesn’t want the neighbors to be suspicious.

“Geez, you’d think you would want to help the old man out, for crissakes. All I’m asking you to do is get a respectable haircut.”

Tension. Pressure. I feel like my stomach’s going to explode.

“Hey Joey, Gustav interrupts the interminable silence, I know you for a long time, right? I’ve fixed your bike I don’t know how many times, we’re buddies, right? My advice to you, Joey? Just take Jack’s offer.”

“C'mon Joey, this is a no-brainer here! Take the job already.” Jack continues to pressure me relentlessly.

I’m just standing there, paralyzed with sickening conflict. All the faces are staring up at me reproachfully, waiting for me to make the right decision. I want to cry and kill them, all at the same time. Jack keeps pumping his hand, waiting for me to shake. I start to raise it, ready to succumb.

“I-I can’t- I can’t- I’m sorry, Jack.”

I turn, run out the door and down Amsterdam Avenue as quickly as I can, sucking in the air in deep, heavy breaths. The air of freedom.