
It’s after dark and that Survivor guy just left the warehouse. He needs to shave. As the garage door slowly began to slam shut, I make my move. Full running start, skateboard duct taped to my chest, I glide gracefully and silently under the door. Success. The Survivor guy doesn’t seem to notice, as he grumbles something to himself about “downward dogs” “chakras” and “tofu”. He is no longer of concern to me. I’m in.
The Tundra Gear warehouse is everything I hoped it would be. There are no words. Imagine maybe Willy Wonkas digs meet Santa’s Workshop with a little bit of Playboy Mansion. Then make that way sweeter.
It’s sensual overload. The smells. Oh, the smells. I always thought that the smell of cardboard would remind me of a dreary office supplies closet. No longer. The cardboard aroma now brings back memories of my hot babysitter tickling me in second grade. This makes no sense, but you know what? Neither does love. I begin to cry tears of joy. It is almost too much. The hats, like a rainbow of furry animals, frolic and cuddle with each other. Am I hallucinating as a result of pure excitement? Maybe. Am I leaving this place? Never.
The memories come rushing back.
The package came in the mail. I opened it. There it was. My Tundragear hat. I wore it for four days straight without taking it off. Did it matter that people looked at me strange? No. Did it matter that I lived in Miami in July? Why would it? Should I have been concerned that I passed out from heat exhaustion twice? Whatever; past is prologue. All that matters is that I am here now. Tundragrear headquarters. My mecca.
“What now?” I asked myself. I ripped the skateboard from my chest and began to explore. I crept from box to box, imagining the possibilities. Grabbing a handful of sports pins I begin to construct hats. I take a Penn State pin and put it on a GREEN hat and blow my own mind.
Skipping down the isles, a whistled tune on my lips and an impending arrest warrant for trespassing in my future, I take it all in. I climb into a box filled with pink hats. I am in utero for the first time since mom. And there’s no way her womb was this fluffy. Does that make me weird? Pondering this thought, I briefly contemplate my own sanity, a fleeting rush of emotion that there may be something seriously wrong with me. This passes as soon as I see the Bordo colored hats. They are absolutely adorable.
Fast forward fifteen minutes. Needless to say the handcuffs are far less comfortable than my precious Tundragear hats. The officer asks me where I live and I gesture with a nod back to the warehouse. Screw Mom and her “optional rent”. This is home now. Face pressed up against the glass I mouth the words to my precious hats “I will see you again soon”. The Survivor guy signs some sort of “restraining order” (must be some sort of way to order Tundragear in bulk or something) and walks into the warehouse shaking his head in disgust.
Do I regret my choices? Does George Bush regret invading Iraq? Does Mike Tyson regret eating ear lobe? Did Jack the Ripper regret….
Maybe I should be less impulsive.



