I was standing in line at the bank and noticed that all four men in front of me were bald, and the row of round, gleaming heads seemed kind of funny to me. I know it’s creepy, but secretly laughing at other people is one of my small pleasures in life. There was a young guy with a full head of hair standing behind me and I decided to share the joke, whispering, “I feel like I’m in a bowling alley.” The young guy smiled and then said, “I guess that happens when you guys hit a certain age.”
We were two compadres, sharing a private laugh when suddenly the words “you guys” registered. And then I did a double take. Actually if I were drinking water it would have been a spit-take worthy of Milton Berle or Danny Thomas. Was my former compadre saying I was also bald? But I wasn’t bald. Or was I? I hadn’t looked at the back of my head in an awfully long time.
I anxiously continued my business at the bank. I was tempted to turn around and ask the teller if I was bald. However, I really didn’t want to call attention to myself. And who knows, maybe the bank has a special service charge for telling someone if they’re bald – they have charges for everything else.
So I went home and used the double mirror technique to look at the back of my head. And sure enough, there was fairly large bald spot back there. It was like a large pink grapefruit juice stain on a gray carpet.
I felt like I was punched in the stomach – I suddenly realized that I looked older than I thought I did. It was reminiscent of the first time I was given, unasked for, a senior discount. My first thought was that I was being punished for making fun of those other bald guys. But that was silly. My hair couldn’t fall out because of a bad joke. If that were the case, I would have been completely bald years ago.
My second thought was to change the term bald to balding. That little “ing” made me feel
somewhat better. I wasn’t quite bald yet. Of course “balding” is an active word and it meant the spot was growing, spreading, taking over my head.
My third thought was to fix the problem. I researched hair transplants, hair thickening, laser therapy, herbs, wigs, the Donald Trump comb-over, and that spray that kind of looks like you’re putting shoe polish on your head. I even thought of turning to religion. I’m a Reform Jew but if I became Orthodox I would always wear a yarmulke – hiding my bald spot.
Okay, I realized I was going a little crazy. I also realized, during my research, that baldness isn’t necessarily a sign of getting older. There were many young people who were bald (and that made me happy). And also, there were some really good looking bald men. There was Bruce Willis and there’s uh, Bruce Willis, and did I mention Bruce – okay, I can’t think of anyone else right now but I’m sure there’s lots of them. Anyway, I just decided to accept my situation.
I wish I could say I learned some moral lesson about all this – don’t make fun of people because it will come back and bite you. However, the following week I was again at the bank and this time the four guys in front of me all had long shaggy hair. I turned to the man behind me and whispered, “I feel like I’m at the Westminster Dog Show.” And we both laughed (yes, I know it’s sad).
Sy has written for The Bob Newhart Show, Taxi, MASH, Maude, The Wonder Years, and Frasier. He has been married for forty-one years which is great because they say the first forty are the toughest.