Joe-Bob sat despondently in Mr. Martin’s Barbershop at the corner of Kentucky Street, waited to be served. The barbershop was empty because he was early. He was early because he had taken the day off work to get some hair to cover the oval and round shape, black mole that has grown on his forehead.
Joe-Bob was a short, stout, sedentary and bald person, who was never considered to be handsome, in fact, the exact opposite-ugly. He had been the victim of school bullies ever since going to primary school, because of the black mole that has grown on his forehead. As a result, this earned him a nickname as “Mr. Mole”. Joe-Bob was always seen alone, he had no friends, apart from “Mr. Mole”. Now that he was bald and has a big mole on his forehead, he was never ever going to become handsome.
As Joe-Bob recounted his past, the torturous days of his life, he revealed he was now desperate to the dispose the mole and grow some more hair on his head.
Mr. Martin soon came. They grunted at each other, a greeting sorts, the sort of courtesy that had eroded with familiarity.
“Good day, Mr. Mole! How are you mate? Haven’t seen you in ages! What can I do for you?” Mr. Martin exclaimed.
“I…I need some…ha…hair,” Joe-Bob muttered.
“Pardon me?” Mr. Martin asked.
“I need some…ha…hair,” Joe-Bob repeated.
“Ah, you want some hair to cover that mole you have on your forehead right? But you see, you’re Mr. Mole, you’re never going to become the beautiful duckling.” Mr. Martin said.
“I just want some hair okay!” Joe-Bob yelled. “I know I’m not Mr. Perfect, nor am I going to stay being Mr. Mole for the rest of my life.”
“Poor Joe-Bob, he doesn’t know what he’s doing for himself.” Mr. Martin said.
Mr. Martin tied a piece of cloth around Joe-Bob’s neck, ready to rebind some of the hair to Joe-Bob’s forehead. He squeezed some glutinous cream on his fingers, and rubbed it against the forehead area, where the mole had grown. And then, slowly, gently, he reached his hand into the pile of spare hairs lying in the box, and carefully stuck them on, one lot at a time, to Joe-Bob’s forehead. Now, that he is almost finished, he spread some jell on Joe-Bob’s hair, and made it looked shiny and clean. ‘What a sophisticated piece of work!’ thought Mr. Martin.
Mr. Martin handed over the mirror to Joe-Bob, so he could take a thorough look at himself.
“I’m not bald anymore, I have no moles; but HAIR, Beautiful human hair!” Joe-Bob responded in tremendous delight, as if having hair meant the world to him. As Joe-Bob made his way out of the barber’s shop, he stopped for a second, and sniffed. At first, he thought the smell came from the barber shop, but then he realized it was the smell of his hair. Even though it appeared like human hair, but he was sure, the hair that was used to cover his forehead belonged to a horse. “HELP ME! “He shrieked. He put his head in hands and began to sob.