1977
An Open Letter To Myself About BULLSHIT, THE ART of MAKING Material Objects IMPORTANT AND FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS
I saw these sunglasses in January and decided that I should treat myself. Mostly because I hadn’t bought myself ANYTHING since I started getting legit money for my writing.
I found out that no one in Canada carried Celine sunglasses so I sent a text to my local stylist friend Leah, who was in NY for a shoot, and she said she’d check at Bergdorf.
Leah sent me a text. “They don’t have any Celine ‘The Originals’, but I put myself down on a wait list. I’ll text you when I hear from them”
It took a few weeks but I finally got the text,
“They’re in, call Yulis @ Bergdorf’s #######”
I called Yulis, paid for the glasses then got off the phone just as an email arrived..
“Kelly! I love NY, do you want anything? Love Mom”
RIGHT, my mom was in NY! I’d totally forgotten she was there, I replied,
“YES! Please go to Bergdorf and get my sunglasses from Yulis!”
15 minutes later she had the sunglasses, two days later they were on my face…
So I had the sunglasses from March until June when one afternoon I looked in the rear view mirror and one of the silver dots from the corner of the frame was gone. It wasn’t in my bag, it-was-gone.
I called Yulis and he said he had another black pair on hand and I could exchange them for those. He suggested that I Fedex them to a friend in NY who could do the exchange.
If I sent them directly to Bergdorf they’d end up in receiving for a long time.
The clincher for me was this: I’d just been in NY 4 days prior. Why the FUCK didn’t the silver thing fall out there?! JESUS.
So the next day I overnighted them to my GF Jessica in Brooklyn.
The next day she wrote “I checked tracking, they’re being held in customs”
Motherfucker, you know? Customs is bullshit.
I called them.
“Ma’am you need a DROP BALL CERTIFICATION FORM FILLED OUT. These *is* sunglasses?”
“Excuse me? I need a what?”
“A DROP BALL CERTIFICATION FORM, every pair of sunglasses needs one.”
‘Send it to me”
She emailed me the form, I called her back.
“This is, like, a form to prove that the lenses aren’t shatter proof??”
“Yes Ma’am”
“I’m not importing sunglasses into America. I am not a manufacturer of sunglasses. I’m sending my sunglasses to a friend.”
“We can’t deliver them unless you fill out the form.”
“Let me get this straight… You need me to lie and say my sunglasses passed my ‘drop ball’ shatter test in order to get them to my friend? My sunglasses that I bought in the United States? That’s some bullshit lady.”
“Look, you want them to get through? This is the only way.”
I’d sent them on Thursday, it was now Tuesday and I’d paid for overnight from Calgary to NY. I wanted my new pair. I was leaving for LA on Sunday and I wanted my sunglasses back. This was MY PRESENT TO MYSELF AND I WANTED TO WEAR THEM IN LA.
I filled out the form (LIED AND SIGNED A FORM FOR THESE SUNGLASSES) and the glasses were released.
Jessica got them and hoofed it into Manhattan to meet Yulis.
She got there and they didn’t have a pair.
What?
Yeah, he sold that last pair he’d told me he had on the phone, and now they were on back order.
Well, doy they were on back order. It was JUNE and I gotten on the list at the end of FEB because I knew they were HOT FUCKING GLASSES THAT WOULD BE ON BACK ORDER BY JUNE.
So I waited, and I waited and I went to LA without them and I came home and it was now Mid-July and I sent them in June and I finally said to Jessica.
“They still don’t have them.” and she said “I’ll call them, maybe I’ll call Celine.”
She then texted me,
“They don’t have them. I told them I was going to contact Celine directly and they said a manager would call me back.”
THEN
“They have a pair for you, I guess they didn’t like when I said I’d call Celine.”
And two days later FedEx drops the sunglasses off for me and they have the BALLS to charge me Tax and Duty for my own fucking sunglasses. But I have them and they are wonderful and I have them, I HAVE THEM.
So up until now, Kelly? I realize I’ve been a total asshole about these sunglasses. They caused me a lot of fucking grief and I’ve had two friends and my Mom spend time focused on these fucking things and that makes me feel terrible.
Do I really care this much about a pair of sunglasses?
I don’t even want to remind you how much you spent on them.
But I’m about to because you know what happened next.
The other day Sal and Beatrix heard me scream “FUCK!” so loud that my throat was sore for an hour after I screamed it.
We’d just left Costco (flower run/eating samples run) and while pulling up the hill and away from Costco, I had my hand in my bag and I couldn’t find my sunglasses case. I passed the bag back to Salinger, “They aren’t in here Mom”
(insert scream)
I’d noticed my purse was open in the cart while we were wandering around eating samples, in fact I’d noticed it three times and ignored it.
I pulled a U-turn and drove back to Costco. I drive right up to the door, like RIGHT in front of the door and put on my hazard lights because this was the only kind of emergency I believed in.
I carried Bea and Sal followed behind as I made my way to the main desk.
“Do you have an intercom system or something?? I lost my sunglasses in here and I need to find them, now!!!”
“We don’t. Do you want to look in the bin of sunglasses?”
The guy pulled out a plastic bin full of sad little spider-like bent cheap sunglasses. It was like looking into a bin of crying items, like Toy Story sadness.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND” I wailed, “THESE AREN’T JUST SUNGLASSES, THEY ARE A BUNCH OF BULLSHIT AND HARD WORK AND THEY ARE WORTH $400 AND I WILL PAY A REWARD FOR THEM!!”
“We don’t have an intercom system.”
The woman working with him leaned over, looking really upset. Gurl got it. She said very sincerely, “I’m so sorry” and touched my arm.
The girls and I scanned the floors of Costco for the white case they were in; we re-traced our steps.
I looked at the faces of the women in the store, trying to see which bitch looked evil enough to steal from me. Were any of them smiling, like they had a secret? Like they had a pair of sunglasses that I’d gone through a labyrinth of bad service and good friends to own?
I thought “I’m the only one in this entire city who has Celine ‘The Originals’! I will absolutely punch any woman I see wearing them in Calgary. Right in the fucking face, because those will be my sunglasses. I’ll walk up and say ‘HEY WHERE’D YA BUY THOSE, PRETTY GIRL?!?! And when the look of shock and guilt crossed her face? BOOM, for real”
We didn’t find them at Costco.
We piled into the car and made our way into a freeway halt of 5pm bumper to bumper traffic. I texted Jessica in Brooklyn.
“I just lost the Celines in Costco. They’re either there or (I’ve re-traced my steps) they are on the couch at home where I dumped my computer out of my bag.”
She replied
“NO ONE IN A COSTCO IN CALGARY DESERVES THOSE SUNGLASSES ;)” and then “I think they are on your couch.”
I’d already apologized to the girls for my loud “FUCK” and insanity motivated by sunglasses one hundred million times, but I just kept alternating between apologies and ‘I really don’t deserve nice things’ all the way home.
And then I walked in the house, gave the girls ice cream bars, saw this, and I took a photo.
And I realized how lame the entire process of owning these things that were supposed to bring me some tiny superficial joy had been.
And I realized that maybe I’m just not in a place where I can own really ludicrously expensive small items, and that maybe I don’t ever want to be the type of person who could be cool about losing or owning a pair of $400 sunglasses. Who the fuck am I to spend $400 on a pair of fucking sunglasses?
But, I’ll wear them, and every day before I put them on I’ll tap the side to make sure none of the 12 little metal silver decoration dot things fall out, and if one does- I’m gluing the motherfucker back in.
