Gifts and I have had some rough times. Not long ago I did not like gifts. I maintained a low overhead lifestyle and the meant not having clutter or large furniture. Everything except the bed and TV fit in the car. It was great. It’s been that way for a while. Most gifts I now receive are either small or experiential. This year, for the birthday, I received a coupon for custom made shirt. I didn’t know in advance, only that I had an appointment that would take a bit of my afternoon. When I opened the envelope I got very excited. Anything custom made is awesome. Dress clothing in particular is difficult for me are weird because of my freakish physique. I am not lizard skinny like most European cuts nor am I fat and sloppy like most off the rack American cuts assume. Getting something that fit was going to rock.
I’m not a building snob. I’ve shopped in some pretty shady places in the name of saving a buck. Despite the questionable attire on display, I knew anything that I picked out would be fine. I met my person, let’s call her Patchouli, and her gaggle of sisters. She took my coupon, set me up with some material to look at and then told me if I bought 2 more shirts I could get a 3rd for free. The shirts came in two levels, A and B. A was 20% more expensive than B, but since I didn’t know anything about this process I had been looking at the B shirts. As I later found out, the coupon I received was for the A shirt, but this was not specified, thus negating the original bargain of the transaction. I thought about it and decided that an off the rack shirt at a high end men’s clothier was comparably priced to the B shirt, so why not. I was flush with fantasy golf winnings and felt rich. I picked out 4 materials, cuffs, collars, monograms and started getting measured. It took longer than I thought it would, but I was enjoying the experience. Then it came time to pay. I had my coupon for shirt #1, I had to pay for shirts #2 and #3 and I got #4 for free. So I owed 2x Cost of shirt B. I started to pay with a credit card but was told that cash was better. Hmm so it was one of those places. I don’t mind an entrepreneurial spirit, trying to keep the tax man off your stack, so I went along. I got the cash out and paid in full. Normally I do not like paying before goods are received, but I was in a good mood. Afterwards I was told to wait 3 weeks and they would call me. Perfect.
So yesterday was about 3 weeks removed from the shirt fitting. I got an email saying my shirt (singular) was ready and was told to call when I could come by. I tried calling, got a busy signal and decided to walk over. I met the salesman/head of the store and he directed me to Patchouli’s sister, Cardamom. She got my shirts, I tried them on and was feeling pretty good. They looked and fit great. Cardamom asked if I had paid and I said that I had, explained how it all went down and then she tried to get me to look at more shirts. I said I was busy but maybe on Friday, if I had time. I also said that I had a few really tall friends and if I liked the shirts I would refer them over. By the time I got back to the office, I already had a voicemail from Cardamom. I called her back, only to be informed that I owed her quite a bit of money. I’m sort of ticked off now but assured her that something must be wrong and to check with Patchouli and that I had to go to a client and to call me at 4 with good news. 4pm came and went and I figured she felt like a dope and wasn’t going to call. At 4:25 she called and started apologizing for the bad experience and said when I came in on Friday to look at more shirts that I could pay her. Pay her for what? She didn’t want to explain what I owed her for, only that she had the figures in front of her and I owed her for three shirts and she could show it all to me when I came in. In most of my jobs I am the one trying to explain something absurd to an angry person and many times I have wished I could be the angry person, just so I could rant and vent. This was one such opportunity, but I wasn’t going there yet. In my calmest voice I assured her that she sounded like a reasonable person and explained that a) I had a coupon for a free shirt, b) Patchouli said I could buy 2 more and get a third for free and c) I paid Patchouli for two shirts. Cardamom agreed that since she witnessed the whole transaction that I was saying made sense. So my question to her now was why am I being charged for three shirts if I had two for free and paid for two? She apologized again, said she couldn’t read Patchouli’s handwriting and said when I came in to look at more shirts we could work it out. I told her it was unlikely that she would ever see me again and unless she called me back to apologize for the big misunderstanding that I was entering the angry customer zone. On my train ride home I noticed she left me a voicemail, which I have still not listened to. I can only imagine what it says. Not to mention the small detail that the original coupon was for the more expensive A shirt and they started the whole transaction by ripping me off. There are any number of ways this can conclude, but there is no way I’m going back any time soon to check out more shirts.
In another gift-related debacle, I received a number of books for Christmas. I had heard of the author, David Foster Wallace, probably because he recently committed suicide and literary types were very upset by his passing. His magnum opus ‘Infinite Jest’ is about 1200 pages long, with very small font. There are several hundred pages of footnotes, which are required to properly enjoy the work. It is not to be taken lightly. I’ve read long books before. I’ve read complicated books before. I majored in English and did reasonably well in it. I got good verbal SAT scores. Books sort of come naturally. I was excited. I figured anything this long would probably be worth it, since publishers don’t cut down forests unless there is money to be made and Harry Potter aside, getting people to read dictionary-length books is not an easy feat. I got about 200 pages in and gave up. This book makes absolutely no sense. There is no plot. He makes up words. He invents parallel worlds and history. I know it’s fiction, but this goes beyond science fiction in its bizarreness and reliance on suspension of disbelief.
I feel bad when I don’t finish books. Every time I see a book on the shelf that I didn’t finish I imagine a whining puppy asking why he is being ignored. Sure we had a few laughs and spent quality time together, but in the end I didn’t want to keep playing. I took to the internets to see what the big deal was. Message boards all told me the book was ‘totally worth it’. I also saw Infinite Jest appear on a few ‘worst book ever’ lists. I try to avoid immediately agreeing with anything that confirms my opinions, so I filed that information away and sought out more reasons to continue reading. Recently, a coworker mentioned that his book snob friend criticizes his choice of reading material. Book snob? What qualifies her as a book snob? She works for the high-end arm of a major publishing house. I asked this coworker to send a one line email to her asking “Did she like Infinite Jest”. Note that I assume that she has already read this book. Coworker doubted where I was going with this until she replied instantly with the single line reply “I cried when DFW died”. DFW how this man is known in the book world. It’s like saying ‘Scorcese’ or “Hitchcock” to a movie fiend. Single name identifiers signify great reverence and familiarity with their work. I pressed for more information. Infinite Jest is the master work, to be enjoyed by someone already familiar with the man’s portfolio. I was told to read his essays, his smaller books. This started to sound like I had to acquire a taste for the man before I had earned the right to enjoy the masterpiece. I’ve acquired a few tastes. Usually they are for things that are initially repugnant. Coffee, wine, beer, tobacco, hot sauce, strong brown liquor, stinky cheese, raw fish, daily vigorous exercise in the early predawn hour. Usually I eventually like these things, but for others I spit the bit. I do not enjoy burning wet mummy cigars (thank you David Sedaris), peaty campfire scotch, tounge numbing and intestine twisting sauces, unpronounceable sea creature organs or mouth pickling burgundys. I read his commencement speech to Kenyon College. Go ahead, look it up. Search for ‘DFW commencement speech’. It sort of makes sense. Clearly this man is intelligent and has a particular world view and expresses it in a unique way. I still don’t get it. I have a fear that this book may end up being like “Raging Bull”, which always ends up on a ‘best director’ list. Bull one of the most depressing, hardest to watch movies I have ever seen. I don’t think I would ever watch it again. I suppose for someone who gets off on technical displays of mastery of technique it’s a good thing to watch. Maybe I am approaching the book all wrong. Should I be enjoying the aspects that are driving me crazy? Eventually I’ll get back to it. Michael Chabon wrote a chapter in his most recent book about DFW and mentioned how he tried to read Infinite Jest on multiple occasions and failed. That makes me feel a little better. A little.
