Humor

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Day of the Purple Turtleneck

In late summer or early fall of 2001, a thought came to me: I want a purple turtleneck.

I'm not sure why this thought came to me. I have plenty of other turtlenecks in other colors. One can only wear a turtleneck in cooler weather. I don't like them when the neck is too high (as is sometimes the case with a "real turtleneck") or too droopy with no shape (which is often the case with a
mock turtleneck"). I'm not sure what I thought I would wear with said purple turtleneck, and purple can be a tricky color to match.

I don't remember specifically, but a possible explanation for my thought might have been that I was looking at a clothing catalog at the time, and the lady modeling the purple turtleneck might have looked like she was absolutely delighted just to be alive!

Whatever the explanation, the thought struck (ow!), held, and then wouldn't let go. Which is a good thing, because I was about to enter into one of the most peculiar odysseys of my life, a long and twisted road that would take me through more than two years, past a police station, and to the very brink of madness itself...

You see, there's a conspiracy out there. I learned the truth very quickly in my Purple Turtleneck Quest. When I would get a catalog, I'd look through it and find no turtlenecks. It was a summer catalog, fair enough, I understand. Then a catalog for winter clothing would include turtlenecks, but not in my size, or turtlenecks in my size, but not in purple...

The plot thickens now. Sometimes there would be turtlenecks, in my size, with purple shown as a color choice in the picture, but...under the item description text, it would say "not available in purple."

And another thing--I didn't want lilac or lavender or heather purple or pastel purple, I wanted a true, dark, plum or violet or royal kind of purple. No, I'm not picky, I just want what I want. And the customer's always right.

Then came the joyous day--I found one! I placed the order on-line at night, and hugged myself with delight. I was going to be one of the blessed, one of the wearers of purple turtlenecks. Oh, day of beauty and grace!

The next day my order confirmation notification e-mail came back, notifying me that purple was no longer in stock. I should choose another size, color, or item. This was curious to me, as it had been available for purchase/in stock when I placed the order.

Oh, well, I'll try another time, I thought.

Little did I know that I'd wind up trying again and again and again over the course of two years. Sometimes purple wasn't available in my size, sometimes it was upon ordering, only to rudely dash my hopes again when the confirmation came back--not available, out of stock, discontinued. One on-line order even went through on the spot, only to languish somewhere in cyberspace until I checked the status of it, and it showed "Order Rejected." Have you ever even heard of that? I never got the confirmation message back on that one, telling me it had been "rejected," it just quietly waited for me to wonder about it and find out.

And the evil of the "back order!" A few times I thought I had successfully gotten in line for the next available purple turtleneck on the planet in my size. Okay. All I have to do is wait a while. Even if it doesn't come until spring, that's fine. I'll have it for the fall, then. I'll just wait patiently. I received notification after notification, sometimes by e-mail, sometimes by post card: Your item is still on back order. If you would still like to receive it, do nothing and your order will remain blah, blah, blah. After stringing me along for so long, the crushing blow would always come: Unfortunately, your order has been cancelled, because the item has been discontinued. We're sorry for any inconvenience.

Are you sorry for the emotional roller coaster I've been forced to endure? The highs, the lows, the drama! Only my iron will and invincible sense of perseverance can keep me going now! I will have a purple turtleneck before I die! I WILL!

You may be thinking: well, try another company, silly!

I did! Lane Bryant, Roamans, and others were in on it together! They met quarterly to discuss their DBKPT plan (Depriving Brenda Kern of a Purple Turtleneck plan). They all worked together to make sure that I could not order one by mail, phone, or on-line, and that no store I walked into in person had one, either. Actually, no, that's not quite right. They would let me order one, the only requirement of the plan was that I never could actually have one (right item, right color, right size, wearable) in my own personal possession.

In early October 2003 I spotted another one, and laughed the weary, leathery laugh of the defeated. I thought bitterly, "Sure, I'll order one, but I'll never get it. I've tried everything. Someone always gets in ahead of me, someone else probably orders it with special shipping, someone else isn't on the "Deprive Them" list...? Wait a minute! That's it! Here's something I've never tried before--I'll order it with faster shipping! I'll move to the head of the list! I'll show them! I'm going to WIN!

So I ordered the ever-elusive purple turtleneck in such a manner that the shipping cost was actually more than the item itself. No matter--I was going to have it! Tuesday, October 14th was probably going to be the golden day! (or should I say: the purple day!) I awoke that Tuesday with a smile on my face and a dance to my step--today, today, today!

My roommate and I share a carport, and as I left for work that morning, I saw that she had already left--her car was gone from the right half of the carport. Trash blows into the carport from time to time, so I didn't think much of the piece of blue plastic that I saw lying on the ground where her car would have been until she backed out. Then the thought came: sometimes they ship clothing in those blue plastic bags. Could this be...? It's very early in the morning for it to have been delivered already (before 8 a.m.), and that's a strange place for them to have left it...(UPS usually leaves items inside the patio on the step in front of the door, not in the carport.)

Then, the other, ugly thought came as I walked over to the crumpled plastic. Oh, no. No, no, no. I picked it up and saw the label. It was from the clothing company. It was addressed to me. It had been torn open. And it was empty.

My jaw dropped. I would think my color drained. I stood, with one hand on hip, the other hand holding the corner of the empty bag, shaking my head and repeating, out loud, over and over: "I can't believe this. I just can't believe this."

Monday the 13th had been Columbus Day. This is what I suspect happened: I was at work (that is not a holiday for us), but some little monster (I mean "child of sweetness and light") had been off of school, had seen the UPS delivery, had crept into my patio, and had stolen from me! Not great to contemplate on any normal basis, but this was far from normal--a purple turtleneck in my size, in what I have to assume was wearable condition, had made it as far as my patio itself, then was stolen! Pilfered! Taken away from me, ruining my glorious day of beauty and grace and happiness! Oh, the horror!

I made a call to the clothing company, to report this disaster. My inner sarcasm and suspicion assumed that the stolen one had been the last one on Earth, the one made from a special dye extracted from the last yak on the most remote mountain peak in the farthest range of the Himalayas. I assumed the response would be "Oh, we're sorry to hear that, but the purple is no longer available in that size. What other color would you like instead?" But I was shocked and delighted when they graciously offered to ship another as a replacement, free of charge. Another purple turtleneck in my size exists! I had them ship it to work this time, just in case.

I also filed a police report on the theft. I'm well aware that the little hooligan will never be caught or punished or executed or anything, but I didn't want to feel completely victimized--to be stolen from and do nothing but accept the fact. The lady recording my information at the police station said, "Oh, this (filing a report) is just for you, isn't it??" Yes it is, and I am not ashamed.

The day did arrive, miracles do happen, and I breathlessly tore open an intact blue plastic pouch at the front desk. There it was, gorgeous as the first ray of light at dawn, more luminous than a thousand moonbeams, and more or less purple. Success was mine at last! Victory!

I've even worn it a handful of times since then. But don't tell the folks on the DBKPT committee. They're everywhere...

Brenda Kern
December 17, 2003

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