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Herman missed Alopecia. At the time it had seemed so vital that he try to get his hair back, but looking back, he wouldn’t advise anyone to down a serum bought from a man that lived in a rickety wagon and wore a green wizard’s hat without asking a few more questions.
The man wasn’t necessarily a wizard, though his hat had resembled that cliché image given to so many characters set in the days of yore. And his wagon looked well traveled. Either way, no matter the details, a glowing orange bottle of “Uncle Willard’s Hair Tonic” had just enough appeal for Herman to throw down two dollars and thirty seven cents to take it home.
Nothing happened for twenty two days. Herman had uncorked the bottle, downed the foul smelling liquid and waited. By day three he assumed it wouldn’t work. But on the dawn of the twenty second morning, Herman awoke with a full head of hair. But what he hadn’t counted on was the full face of hair, the full chest of hair, the full back of hair, the full foot sole of hair, and basically, the full hair.
His embarrassment was crushing. He wouldn’t leave the house, he wouldn’t go to work, and he would barely look in the mirror. A crushing depression took over. It was crippling. He tried shaving, but the hair came back. He tried hair removal creams, but the hair came back.
And that’s when the name calling started. It was Herman’s family first. “Hey Hair-Man,” “Long Time No See Hair-Man” and “Is that a new haircut, Hair-Man?” Herman wasn’t going to lie, the names hurt. He was a Sasquatch. He was a yeti. He was barely human. Or so he felt, until the flyer arrived at his door.
The flyer was an invitation to attend the International Overly-Haired Association’s (IOHA) annual gathering to be held in Düsseldorf, Germany. Herman thought and thought, but he finally decided to go track down more of his kind. The flight wasn’t easy, being in public and being mocked, so when he finally arrived, he went for a walk to de-stress and try to be alone by the nearby river.
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