A tale from the risky life of a smartass baldy

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One day I wisecracked about baldness to my then–biggest client. He was a chrome–dome, but then, permit me to direct your attention to the above photo of my own chrome dome, snapped but minutes ago. I figured if anyone had a right to wisecrack about baldness, I did.

But then, not all chrome–domes appreciate the use of their pates for comic material, and from the manner of his prompt frown I immediately gathered that he numbered among said not all chrome–domes.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Not for fear of losing his business—he wasn’t petty—but for fear that I had been thoughtless. The moment I arrived at work the next morning, I phoned him. “I feel terrible,” I said. “I shouldn’t have made that baldness wisecrack. I was out of line.”

He replied, “Sorry to disappoint you, Cuno old boy, but I’ve been desensitized for decades. Once I asked my barber why he charges me the same amount he charges customers with a full head of hair. He said he gives me a discount, and the rest is a finder’s fee.”

I slept better that night.