The Saloon

Went to the barber shop today with my host brother Ziad. He just wanted a shave, didn't have a razor at home. It's cheaper just to get a 1JD trim than buy the do-it-yourself version.

We pull up. Looks like any old haircut place. Go inside, sit there and watch Ziad get a meticulous close-shave from an old Arab man with one of those old-fashioned straight razors. The guy the chair over was having his neck applied with what looked like tar. I think it was some sort of even more insidious Nair (cuz that stuff sucks to begin with).

Ziad finished, paid the man, and as we were walking out I figured what was odd about the gold English lettering on the window: "Saloon".

I started laughing. Ziad stared at me. "What?"

I asked "Do you know Clint Eastwood?"

"No".

"Well...nevermind".