I ALWAYS wondered how federal policymakers could be so oblivious to the size of the national debt. The United States now owe banks and foreign countries about $3 trillion, constituting a large chunk of our Gross National Product. Each year we spend more than $130 billion in interest payments on the debt--money America could otherwise use to solve several major national problems.

Why, I used to ask myself, doesn't anybody do something about the debt?

That was before hair began to accumulate on our shower drain. Now, after three months of living with The Mound, I am beginning to understand some fundamentals of American economic policy. Problems may be so obvious and so disgusting that nobody dares do anything about them.

THAT'S right. I'm going to talk about hair loss, a subject that strikes fear into the hearts of Harvard men of all academic concentrations. Hair loss is a warning sign of our own mortality, and perhaps more importantly, of the passing of our social prime. One day, we too many become overweight and middle-aged men who have a bizarre affinity for barbecues.

It's a horrible thought to deal with. About as horrible, in fact, as the United States dealing with its passing from the center of the global stage. Nobody wants to talk about the national debt because nobody wants to deal with its inevitable ramifications.

So in my rooming group, the first reaction to hair on the shower drain was denial.

"That's not hair," we told each other. "Those are very fine iron shavings that result from the unique rusting process of a Leverett House shower drain."

But then The Mound began to grow. And grow. Soon we had to step around the drain while taking a shower. And when we missed...never mind. I don't want to think about it.

My rooming group thus faced the inevitable decision: Would we continue to ignore The Mound or would we clean it up? Our decision was much like the federal government's choice in recent years: Ignore the problem, or act?

We did what any rational, thinking group of Harvard men would do when confronted with hair on the shower drain. We blamed one another.

"You're becoming a ping-pong ball!" my roommate yelled.

"Baby's bottom!" I shouted back. I tape recorded advertisements to the Hair Club for Men and played them to my roommates as they slept.

Quite predictably, defensiveness set in.

"I'm not really balding," claimed one of my roommates. "These patches are where I remove hairs consciously. I'm going for the distinguished balding look."

"I'm not losing hair!" said another. "And if I am, I'm not losing hair in the shower. And if I am, I'm not losing as much as you guys!"