![]() |
And a good day to you, m'lady! |
Captain Ahab had his White Whale, and now I have my Red Beanie. After an arduous ordeal (relatively speaking), I finally snagged the object of my desire. Hopefully it won’t pull me under the waves (metaphorically speaking), like Moby-Dick did to Ahab and the crew of the Pequod. (But only time will tell…)
It all started innocently enough. After about a decade of wearing an orange The North Face beanie, I wanted to switch to a red beanie. While we’re on the subject, I hate calling it a “beanie.” It conjures up images of a rotund boy in a propeller cap (and Tim Pool). I’d much rather call it a “stocking cap,” even though that sounds downright Dickensian. Can we find a decent contemporary name for it? Wikipedia calls it a “knit cap,” which I could certainly live with. Whadda ya say?
The only reason for switching to red was to match my winter jacket, which is dark grey (almost black), white and red. I didn’t really think the change was necessary, but who knows? Perhaps if I’d gone with the red beanie instead of the orange on that fateful day at Urban Outfitters in Uptown ten years ago, my life would’ve turned out differently. Maybe I would’ve met the woman of my dreams, gotten married and lived happily ever after. Maybe it’s the discordance of my winter jacket/beanie combination that has kept that woman at arm’s length, rather than all my emotional baggage.
Really what motivated me to get a new knit cap was being unemployed. There’s just something about being out of work that makes me wanna go shopping. I think it’s the combination of boredom and not wanting to feel economically limited by my joblessness.
Traditionally, I would’ve searched my local brick-and-mortar stores for the item, starting with thrift stores, Marshall’s and Burlington Coat Factory. But I didn’t want to spend a lot of time on what would most likely be a wild goose chase. So I started online by just googling “red beanie.” There were plenty of results, but I wanted something that was genuinely warm, like The North Face beanie.
I found a red Hurley beanie on Amazon and ordered it, but when it arrived I knew it wouldn’t cut the mustard. It was too thin to provide adequate insulation for my noggin. Next, I ordered a Carhartt cap, also on Amazon, that would surely be warm enough. I was right about the warmth of it, but the cap was orange, even though the color I’d chosen was “Red Barn.” I examined it carefully to make sure I wasn’t driving myself crazy with this orange-vs.-red obsession, but it was clearly orange.
My next purchase was the same Carhartt cap but in “Chili Pepper.” I almost thought I’d solved the riddle when it showed up, but upon closer inspection it was more of a dark orange than red. I felt like I was being gaslit (by Carhartt? by Amazon? by God Himself?!) into thinking these orange beanies were actually red, like when my best friend in high school insisted that the red Beatles 1962-1966 compilation double album was actually orange. (It’s red, Dan! Just let me have this one!)
This is one of the pitfalls of living alone. I had no one to reassure me that I wasn’t going insane, that these beanies really were orange and not the color of a “Red Barn” or “Chili Pepper,” at least not in the classic sense. (Really, Carhartt/Amazon! It’s bad enough that you called an orange beanie the same color as a “Red Barn,” but then you also had the audacity to say that the color we all associate with “Chili Pepper” is actually dark orange! How dare you!)
My salvation came when I left the madhouse of Amazon and found sanctuary in the warm embrace of a brick-and-mortar website: Dick’s Sporting Goods. Their Rosedale location had a red The North Face beanie. (It was the last one, in fact!) I bought it online and drove to the store to pick it up. It was quite the relief when the cashier brought it out from the back, and it actually looked red inside the clear plastic wrapping.
As I made my way back through the mall, I tore open the plastic, dumped it in a waste receptacle and put the cap on once I was outside. It was warm and red, the only two things I had asked for. One would think that, in the supposed consumer’s paradise of early 21st Century America, it would be a piece of cake to find such a product or service. But it proved surprisingly difficult, even with my willingness to drop $30 (not including the earlier purchases).
What have I learned from this experience? Mostly, that my belief in the imperial decline of the US is well-founded. But, other than that, I’d say that the “wonders” of the Digital Age are, more and more, resembling blunders. (Yes, I know I’m ripping off a Simpsons bit. That’s the point.) Of course, it’ll all be worth it if Elon gets to Mars and establishes a new beachhead for humanity. (Sadly, there are US citizens who truly believe that. And they call me the traitor!)