A Wested Oddessy
Posted: Mon Mar 01, 2004 8:01 pm
It all began on February 16th 2004. It was the day I ordered my Wested Authentic Goatskin online. Two days later I received an email from Peter at Wested thanking me for my order and projecting that my jacket would be ready to ship in abgout 21 days. Some unnecessarily complex equations and a quick look at a calendar showed me that I'd be waiting at least 3 weeks on my Wested, more like 4 with the shipping... ####.
The next two weeks passed excruciatingly slowly but they have a ghostly quality in my memory. It seems as if no matter what I try to remember from the past 14 days, all I can recall is waiting for my Wested. I can't tell you what i had for dinner last night but I can tell you exactly how many times I checked my calendar and order confirmation... 4.
Then today. I came home at around 11:30am to find a slip of paper placed at the foot of my apartment door. My curiosity was picqued because I had been waiting on numerous pieces of Indygear to arrive. Which would it be? If I said that my Wested was furthest from my mind it would be a lie. Rather, it was the first thing in my mind, but it was quickly dismissed by the calmer, cooler, rational part of my brain that insisted that it would be yet ANOTHER 14 days until it arrived. I put mental tick marks next to everything I had ordered in the past few weeks, an MKVII bag, some shirts, a coffee maker, all the while drawing closer to my door. Then I froze. My keys, which I had fished out of my pocket to unlock the front door, fell from fingers which now felt like they were calling the rest of my body long distance collect. The sound of them hitting the floor broke my paralysis and I rushed forward and grabbed the slip. The letters at the top were "DHL." At this point the more imaginative irrational part of my brain looked at the cooler, calmer part and told it to go sit in the corner, which it did. It had come. It had come, and I had MISSED IT!
The next hour was one of the most difficult excersizes in willpower that I have ever faced. Naturally I had called DHL immediately and told them what had happened. They very courteously informed me that the center where my jacket was being held was in Syracuse, a 1.5 hour drive from my current location, but that it was no problem and that they would be happy to try to deliver the jacket again tomorrow. I asked for the address anyway, "just in case I happened to be in the Syracuse area." In the end I decided to wait until tomorrow. It was the cool, calm and rational thing to do.
I awoke several hours later headed north on I-81 in my '91 Toyota Tercel. As best I can figure it, the impulsive, immaginative center of my brain got fed up with being ignored, tied up the calm rational part and threw it in a closet. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late, the Syracuse exits were up ahead. I somehow knew the address of the DHL in Syracuse, 6678 Northern Boulevard. I turned off instinctively at exit 26 and after a few turns found myself on Boulevard street a residential neighborhood filled with "Slow, Children at Play" signs. A sneaking suspiscion began to gnaw at me that something had gone terribly wrong. The fear was confirmed a few minutes later... when Boulevard St. stopped in a dead end at number 1120. I couldn't believe it, I racked my brain for answers, but the impulsive immaginative side just looked around the skull, whistled, and left under the pretense of leaving something on the stove. At this point my rational mind succeeded in struggling out of his bonds and took a moment to assess the situation.
I was hours from home and I had no Wested. My jacket was being held in a heavily fortified DHL compound minutes away and yet I had no way to get to it. My only lead, that the compound was located on Northern Boulevard, had turned out to be a dead end... or had it? I looked up at the street sign. Boulevard street... NOT Northern Boulevard. My mind was racing, I knew now that I had the wrong street, but where was the right one? Sensing the crisis was beginning to be averted my impulsive side of the brain came back into the room to try lend a hand, but after one look at the rational part he decided he was better off back in the kitchen. My rational mind began reasoning. Northern Boulevard must run North to South... so in order to intersect it I had to head East or West. But which way to go?
While my rational mind was laboring over a table full of charts, diagrams and calculations my impulsive mind tiptoed back into the room. A choice needed to be made and he decided to make it. The answer came to me suddenly and with surety. East.
I backtracked and found a likely enough looking thouroughfare that went by the name of Taft Ave. and ran west to east. As I travelled down this road my confidence grew. It was next to the airport, lined with warehouses, and exactly what I expected a boulevard that hosted DHL to look like. Sure enough I came to Northern Boulevard and found DHL. At this point my rational mind realised what had happened and began to argue with my impulsive mind about making dangerous decisions.
Ignoring them both, I went inside to collect my prize. My hand shook slightly as the woman handed me the package and as a result my signature came out slightly warped, but she didnt' seem to notice. I slinked out of the DHL office like a fugitive on the run from the authorities. I had made it so far. The only thing seperating me from my Wested was a few layers of plastic. I took a deep breath and opened it... In the presence of it's staggering beauty both sides of my brain fell silent with awe. I checked and rechecked all the specs I had requested; they were there... they were ALL there.
Now came the moment of truth. I didn't so much put the jacket on as I did slide into it, as one would slide into a hot bath after a day of gruelling manual labor. It fit perfectly. The sleeves were just right, the length exactly where I wanted it, and the leather smooth, soft, and somehow durable. I fell in love, and was envolped welcomingly in layers of authentic brown goatskin, cotton and satin.
Fin
The next two weeks passed excruciatingly slowly but they have a ghostly quality in my memory. It seems as if no matter what I try to remember from the past 14 days, all I can recall is waiting for my Wested. I can't tell you what i had for dinner last night but I can tell you exactly how many times I checked my calendar and order confirmation... 4.
Then today. I came home at around 11:30am to find a slip of paper placed at the foot of my apartment door. My curiosity was picqued because I had been waiting on numerous pieces of Indygear to arrive. Which would it be? If I said that my Wested was furthest from my mind it would be a lie. Rather, it was the first thing in my mind, but it was quickly dismissed by the calmer, cooler, rational part of my brain that insisted that it would be yet ANOTHER 14 days until it arrived. I put mental tick marks next to everything I had ordered in the past few weeks, an MKVII bag, some shirts, a coffee maker, all the while drawing closer to my door. Then I froze. My keys, which I had fished out of my pocket to unlock the front door, fell from fingers which now felt like they were calling the rest of my body long distance collect. The sound of them hitting the floor broke my paralysis and I rushed forward and grabbed the slip. The letters at the top were "DHL." At this point the more imaginative irrational part of my brain looked at the cooler, calmer part and told it to go sit in the corner, which it did. It had come. It had come, and I had MISSED IT!
The next hour was one of the most difficult excersizes in willpower that I have ever faced. Naturally I had called DHL immediately and told them what had happened. They very courteously informed me that the center where my jacket was being held was in Syracuse, a 1.5 hour drive from my current location, but that it was no problem and that they would be happy to try to deliver the jacket again tomorrow. I asked for the address anyway, "just in case I happened to be in the Syracuse area." In the end I decided to wait until tomorrow. It was the cool, calm and rational thing to do.
I awoke several hours later headed north on I-81 in my '91 Toyota Tercel. As best I can figure it, the impulsive, immaginative center of my brain got fed up with being ignored, tied up the calm rational part and threw it in a closet. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late, the Syracuse exits were up ahead. I somehow knew the address of the DHL in Syracuse, 6678 Northern Boulevard. I turned off instinctively at exit 26 and after a few turns found myself on Boulevard street a residential neighborhood filled with "Slow, Children at Play" signs. A sneaking suspiscion began to gnaw at me that something had gone terribly wrong. The fear was confirmed a few minutes later... when Boulevard St. stopped in a dead end at number 1120. I couldn't believe it, I racked my brain for answers, but the impulsive immaginative side just looked around the skull, whistled, and left under the pretense of leaving something on the stove. At this point my rational mind succeeded in struggling out of his bonds and took a moment to assess the situation.
I was hours from home and I had no Wested. My jacket was being held in a heavily fortified DHL compound minutes away and yet I had no way to get to it. My only lead, that the compound was located on Northern Boulevard, had turned out to be a dead end... or had it? I looked up at the street sign. Boulevard street... NOT Northern Boulevard. My mind was racing, I knew now that I had the wrong street, but where was the right one? Sensing the crisis was beginning to be averted my impulsive side of the brain came back into the room to try lend a hand, but after one look at the rational part he decided he was better off back in the kitchen. My rational mind began reasoning. Northern Boulevard must run North to South... so in order to intersect it I had to head East or West. But which way to go?
While my rational mind was laboring over a table full of charts, diagrams and calculations my impulsive mind tiptoed back into the room. A choice needed to be made and he decided to make it. The answer came to me suddenly and with surety. East.
I backtracked and found a likely enough looking thouroughfare that went by the name of Taft Ave. and ran west to east. As I travelled down this road my confidence grew. It was next to the airport, lined with warehouses, and exactly what I expected a boulevard that hosted DHL to look like. Sure enough I came to Northern Boulevard and found DHL. At this point my rational mind realised what had happened and began to argue with my impulsive mind about making dangerous decisions.
Ignoring them both, I went inside to collect my prize. My hand shook slightly as the woman handed me the package and as a result my signature came out slightly warped, but she didnt' seem to notice. I slinked out of the DHL office like a fugitive on the run from the authorities. I had made it so far. The only thing seperating me from my Wested was a few layers of plastic. I took a deep breath and opened it... In the presence of it's staggering beauty both sides of my brain fell silent with awe. I checked and rechecked all the specs I had requested; they were there... they were ALL there.
Now came the moment of truth. I didn't so much put the jacket on as I did slide into it, as one would slide into a hot bath after a day of gruelling manual labor. It fit perfectly. The sleeves were just right, the length exactly where I wanted it, and the leather smooth, soft, and somehow durable. I fell in love, and was envolped welcomingly in layers of authentic brown goatskin, cotton and satin.
Fin
