Back to the barber shop

I've written about my barber shop before. It's located at Fiesta Plaza in West Tampa, I've been going there for almost 30 years and I am frequently the only fluent English-speaking person in there. I speak no Spanish, yet the inherent language barrier has never prohibitted me from getting a haircut. They know what I want and I know what they expect to be paid to do it. It's a system that works flawlessly.
It's about 10 minutes from my house and about the same distance from my old place. Yet, for whatever reason excuse, I will sometimes get lazy about getting regular haircuts. Such was the case when I showed up at the barber shop a shaggy mess last Saturday. Suddenly, my barber speaks enough English to tell jokes at my expense.

"So, the kidnappers, they feed you but they no cut you hair? Ha ha ha ha!"

Okay. Ha ha. I haven't been here in a while, my hair is messed up and I'm still fat. Good one.
Then he tells it again in Spanish so everyone else can get a good laugh, which they do. One of the customers says something, in Spanish of course, and everybody laughs again. My barber, not wanting me to miss out on my own multi-cultural humiliation, translates for my benefit.

"He say, what was Bin Laden really like? Ha ha ha ha!"

"All right", I respond. "I thought this was a barber shop, not a comedy club. I came in for a haircut, not to be on Sábados Gigantes." Pause for translation followed by laughs. "Shouldn't at least one of you be wearing a sexy nurse costume?" Another pause, more laughs.
Yep. Always a good time at the ol' barber shop.