Over the weekend the LA Times brought us an obvious and completely ordinary profile of the city’s oldest barber. We offer a more utilitarian tale as ever-on-the make for a cheap haircut contributor Chris Namon tells of his recessionary misstep getting his ear’s lowered by the worst barber in Hollywood.

You got Thai Town salons advertising “First Haircut $3” and retro-barber shops with PBR on tap, but the stylist with the cut-rate pricing that’s been keeping me coming back is Fantastic Sam’s on Western Avenue. Now I am not selective when it comes to picking a barber; on a recent day when I jumped at the next available chair? I paid for that indifference.
Before the customary hair talk, this bald guy rattles me, asking “your girlfriend, she is Armenian?” Glancing back at her-she happened to be tagging along- I state she is not. “Oh, she looks Armenian.” Rolling here eyes, she says she’ll wait for me outside, not knowing she was about to miss the scariest haircutting experience in the civilized world. “You enjoy comedy?” the barber asks. I explain that yes, indeed I do.
“My name is the Armenian Comedian” he says “I was on Kimmel last week. Google me!” he shouts. Not sure if I should believe him or not, but my concern was him launching into a physical comedy routine with scissors flying around my head. My instinct was right on.
“You speak Armenian? “
“I can order at Zankou Chicken, that’s it” I tell him. Perhaps forgetting that my girl friend isn’t Armenian he whispers in my ear “say these to her. She’ll go crazy” teaching me a litany of profane Armenian words and phrases. My bad I didn’t take notes, forgot the lesson and have nothing to share here. But during this close, personal exchange I note an unmistakable scent: Los Angeles Super Chronic emanates from his breath and breast pocket.

OK, I’m thinking that’s fine, a little reefer is nothing to worry about, a lot of people function perfectly fine stoned. I’m trying to assure myself when he launches another routine, rapid-fire snapping the scissors near my ear. Starting far away and gaining speed and intensity as the scissors hover to an inch of my head, he waits for me to flinch. When I did, he breaks up in gut-busting, riotous laughter. This goes on again and again and again. I begin to get annoyed. Thankfully, the haircut was nearly over. I rush him along and flee with the worst haircut I’ve ever had.
Back on the pavement, my girlfriend asks “What happened in there?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I respond. “First, lets google the Armenian Comedian.”

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