Row, row, row, Rogaine your boat

Sometimes you just get one of those "whatever" moments.

In the midst of all the fun that is a Friday night, one middle-aged white guy rolled in to Customer Service with his son in tow. Cute kid, didn't yell, scream, act stupid or try to play games with the hiring computer.

Suburban father with a kid trying to return something. No major trouble here.

Then Daddy Dearest pulls a container of Rogaine out of a Wal-Mart bag and starts fishing around in his wallet for a receipt.

And he says "This didn't help me at all."

I didn't break out laughing, but man, it was hard.

I look at the Rogaine. I try to remember if we can or cannot return that stuff and can't think of ever returning any before. I can't remember anything that says we CAN'T return it, so I figure "give it a try and see what happens."

There's nothing that comes up on the register, so I return it and give him his money back.

Then I can't help myself. I had greeted the man, but then I have to actually look at his hairline to see just how bald he was -- and he caught me looking.

White man was going bald -- and bald early. Big bad receeding hairline. But the brother should have given the Rogaine more than ten days to work -- doesn't it take like at least a month or something?