The Hustleman Barbershops are the perfect hunting grounds for the hustleman. Those are people who have taken life by the proverbial horns and decided to sell things to strangers all day for a living. Be it incense, weed, illegally recorded movies and albums, clothes, home-cooked dinners, clothing, body oils, their own music (which usually sounds terrible), bootleg lotions/perfume, or stolen toys, the list is virtually endless. These folks’ livelihoods depend on you buying their goods, and luckily for them — in the barbershop — you’ve nowhere to run or hide from their advances. Waiting for the barber to motion you to his magical chair should be a peaceful endeavor, one that’s not disturbed by some dude’s half-assed hustle and his heartfelt speech about needing to feed his 13 children. If nothing else, they should set up a stand in the corner of the parking lot like the Tamale Lady or the Hot Dog vendor at the local public park. Listen; talking to me about your struggles isn’t going to make me cop a bottle of Patchouli body oil, a pack of Strawberry incense, or a church-sponsored chicken dinner, no matter how many dollars you knock off of the price.
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