It’s been ages since I wrote a family story. Recently I was editing my upcoming book Salvaged and a line about my shiny bald head reminded me of the time a package of hair growth tonic arrived in the mail.
It was my Senior year at Westmont College. Midyear my Dad came to visit for a weekend. We did all the stuff Westmont students do with their parents: sightseeing in Santa Barbara, going out for dinner, and conversations about the family. Then Dad headed home and my studies resumed.
About three weeks later a package arrived at the Westmont post office for me. It was from a company in the midwest. It was in a small box, just big enough for a couple of books.
I took it to my dorm room to open it. Inside were two bottles of shampoo formula meant to grow hair. I thought, “Huh?” and read the labels. Just basic instructions about using it daily to regrow hair, with big promises for great results. I looked for info on the shipping info about who sent it — but nothing. I looked for return information — nothing.
Now you have to remember, this is long before Rogaine or any other real solution. So it was a joke, right? My hair was thinning, and I could see my buddies doing this to get a laugh. So I put the bottles on the counter in my room and waited for somebody to fess up.
But…nothing. A few laughs, but nobody said a thing, except my roommate who thought it kinda weird to have those bottles where everybody could see them (had to agree with him).
After a week I put the bottles back in the box and pushed them to the back of my closet. A week or two later I tossed them out.
Then two months later an official looking letter from the Postal Service arrives. I opened it and found a $40 check inside. The cover letter explained that I was the victim of mail fraud, so the post office had sued the company involved, and this is my refund.
Which company was sued? You guessed it, the company selling the hair growth formula, which unsurprisingly was the equivalent of snake oil!
I laughed out loud — and appreciated the found money! My immediate thought was whoever sent me that gag gift had spent way more money than they should have. And my second thought was, “Cool, pizza this week!”
A year or two later I’m married, we’ve started a family, and I’m working for my Dad. He says something — I’ve long forgotten what — that made me look up at him curiously.
“Dad,” I shout, “you son of a gun! You’re the one who bought that hair growth snake oil for me, aren’t you!”
He sheepishly admitted he had. He expressed his concern that I was going bald and he didn’t want me to have to suffer that way.
I burst out laughing — “But Dad, it was all a scam! I eventually got a $40 refund on that junk!”
He was shocked! “Really?” he asked, “it was just a scam?” He sincerely didn’t realize he’d been hoodwinked into buying useless products.
We had a good laugh at his expense.
I went home and told D’Aun about it. She laughed and said, “You know, my Dad is bald. I’ve never loved a man who wasn’t bald. So don’t worry about it.”
And with that, life went pleasantly onward.