Or the Fuck You Can’t Fix.
Often one kind act leads to another. Like a daisy chain of good intentions.
A friend of mine contacts Otis Elevators to see if they’ll give Elias an insider’s tour. Otis and Local Chapter 19 of the International Elevator Constructor’s Union (IECU) respond with open arms, with a behind the scene look at elevator shafts, mechanical rooms, the underside of an escalator, and a gift bag of Otis and IECU memorabilia—hoody, t-shirt, water bottle, flashlight, his own union card and a certificate of expertise.
Of course I write about this experience— because, well, that's what I do.
And my blog post is shared within Otis, and the International Eleveator Constructors Union, and reaches a man in a state as far from Alaska as you can drive. He contacts me and says he wants to send Elias a care package from his local union and from Schindler, another elevator company, one of the four that remain.
Touched by his offer, I write back with our address. I don't yet know that an error of less than an inch, a finger tip, a slip of a 6 for a 5, will set in motion a train wreck on this kind-hearted track between us. Between the gathering of all things elevator and the joy we anticipate on my boy’s face when he opens the package.
“Did it come yet?” the man messages a week after sending.
“Not yet, but that’s typical for Alaska.” I’m not worried.
This goes on for a bit, until one week turns to two, two stretches towards three, and he messages me a few more times and I finally retrace our points of contact and see my mistake. I wrote the wrong P.O. box number.
Oh fuck.
I drive to the post office and fill out the correct form for a package addressed incorrectly. I message him again to see if he addressed it to me or Elias.
No name, just the box number.
The wrong box number.
I write a letter to the occupants of the box above mine, pleading for the return of the package.
This is on a Friday.
On Tuesday, I receive a letter back saying:
“Yes we did receive the package in early March and you are correct that it had no addressee name (or sender's name also).
My wife opened the box thinking it was an order she had placed and was surprised to find the elevator items. Unfortunately, because we didn't know to whom to return it to and had no use for the items we donated them to Good Will in Anchorage last week.
In fact it was the day you wrote your letter. Our apologies to you and to Elias. We felt bad when we read your letter. Our best hope is that you can contact the sender again and have him reship the items.
Again our sincere apologies.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
More kind people, taking the time to send a hand written letter back to me, with a sincere apology to boot.
But oh, how I wish they had returned the package to the post office, or to our tiny local thrift store in Seward, where I could easily find every item and the nice staff who run the shop would have laughed with me when I told them the story and not charged me for any of it.
But no, they donated the contents of the package to the behemoth of Anchorage’s Good Will, who I call within the hour of receiving the letter.
Not knowing what exactly is in the box, I don't get very far with the store employee (“Everything had to do with elevators..?”), who tells me there are three different donation sites that items start in before they even make it to the shelves. That is, if they don't just end up in a box in their giant warehouse, never to see the light of day again.
Fuck.
So I have to message the kind sender, and tell him the painful story, and ask for the specific contents of the care package.
Irreplaceable memorabilia I am told. Stuff he can't get again. He uses the word nightmare to describe the situation.
After multiple messages, with his descriptions of the items (that I relay to a Good Will Supervisor) our communication ends with the following exchange:
"I am beyond touched by you and your colleagues kindness and actions, that you took the time to collect and send so many meaningful items to Elias. I am heartbroken at my mistake and wish I could change this whole situation. Regardless, it is your empathy and generosity that still shines. Thank you."
"Your welcome, this meant a lot so I don't know how I feel about this. Unless they find the items please don't contact me again."
I read his words and just crumple, cry till my shoulders shake.
Only to eventually peel myself from the couch, to walk on the beach, where a collection of tiny moon-snail shells momentarily stops me from replaying the situation in my head.
I can’t make my 6 a 5. I can’t proofread my message before hitting send. I can’t reread our exchange and catch the mistake a week before I finally did. I can’t write the letter to the other box holder a day earlier.
I cant fix it.
All I can do is drive to Anchorage and look through Good Will for a blue Shindler Polo shirt. A bright yellow Schindler shirt. Two brand new International Elevators Constructors Union t-shirts. A Schindler ball cap. Gloves. Mug. Stickers. Pens. More..…
None of which I find, after spending almost two hours slowly searching through racks and shelves until here I sit, a stone’s throw from Good Will, alone at a table at New Sagaya’ cafe, writing, because its all I can do...
...even when there isn't a happy ending to share.
You know my first thought when I read the man's reaction and (unkind) words back to you? That this is a man who has never apparently had a real grief, or a real loss, or a real trauma to know that they were just *things.* They may be irreplaceable and would have been appreciated, but it was an honest, accidental mistake! And perhaps that isn't fair -- maybe he has his own stories of loss or heartbreak tied to those items -- but one thing I've learned since Charley died is that stuff is just -- stuff. Things he touched, used, loved -- after nearly 12 years, they don't matter all that much; they're not him. They can be powerful artifacts one time, transporting me back...but another day, it's just a thing. Which things hold meaning for someone else can be so one-sided and capricious. Maybe Elias wouldn't have cared at all past the first day. Maybe he would have lost them, or they'd be destroyed by a roof leak, or any number of unforeseeable things. *This is not your fault.* You'd never have done it on purpose.
Don't beat your self up over it, and try to forgive yourself daily for it, until it no longer stings. I wish he'd reacted more kindly ... and who knows, maybe you (I) read more into it than he meant. Hang in there....
Posted by: Candice | 04/02/2017 at 08:03 AM
And perhaps if he'd put a return address or your or Elias's name on the package, some of it could have been salvaged. *It's not all on you.*
Posted by: Candice | 04/02/2017 at 08:06 AM
Oh, Christy.
You've got to let this go. Right now. This is just an example of a huge cluster**ck that occurs in our universe. You are too good a person to hold onto any guilt at all about this. It was an accident, and it's over. The only person who did wrong was the guy who told you not to contact him again. He needs to get over it, too.
You've got bigger fish to fry. Don't dwell on this. You've forgiven the guy for not putting a NAME on the package (WTF??), and you've forgiven the people who took the stuff to Goodwill. So, now, forgive YOURSELF.
Vicki in Tennessee
Posted by: Vicki Beever | 04/02/2017 at 08:41 AM
I don't know you. I don't know the full background of this story. What I do know is that the man's reaction to your revelation says everything about him and nothing about you.
Stuff is not more valuable than people no matter what the stuff.
"If you are willing to look at another person's behavior toward you as a reflection of the state of their relationship with themselves rather than a statement about your value as a person, then you will, over time, cease to react at all. - Yogi Bahjan"
Posted by: Christa | 04/02/2017 at 02:36 PM
I too wish for you the gift of self-forgiveness. You love Elias very much and want him to be happy.
He bet he is happy.
Julie
Posted by: Julie A | 04/02/2017 at 03:54 PM
"Unless they find the items, please don't contact me again."
The sounds harsh but I would chalk it up to his own awkwardness. I wouldn't assume he is trying to make you feel bad.
And who would send a package of irreplaceable items without doing a better job of including your name or address and his own?
Finally, you could probably find this kind of stuff on eBay. By irreplaceable he means that he had no more stuff, not that this stuff doesn't still exist.
Posted by: jay | 04/02/2017 at 08:07 PM
See, here is the website for Schindler stuff.
http://www.schindlerstore.com/category/PROMO.html
It was very cool that someone wanted to send you a box of this stuff for free, but it is hardly irreplaceable. A golf umbrella! Wow.
Posted by: Jay | 04/02/2017 at 08:17 PM
Thank you all for your thoughtful words. As is usually the case with me, the moment I finished writing this post I felt better, getting it out of my head helped me to move on instead of dwelling on the story.
And I do think his reaction was more about his own issues of having to go back to his colleagues without the heartwarming story of the boy opening the box, instead its a story of multiple errors, by multiple players in the saga, not mine alone.
So yes, Ive forgiven myself. And Candice is right it is just "stuff". And as another friend reminded me, famine and war are disasters, this is, as Vicki says, just one of those clusterfucks that happen in this universe of ours.
Christa i read the Yogi quote twice, and will keep it in the back pocket of my brain for the future as well, thank you. And Julie, Elias didnt even know the package was coming so he is not upset in the least by the loss of the items. Jay, thank you for your perspective and the link, good to know we can always purchase some Schindler bling for our boy.
Again I love reading your comments and thanks for reading this piece.
Posted by: Christy | 04/03/2017 at 08:12 AM
A friend introduced me to this story the day you posted. I happened to be in Goodwill today and I looked a every yellow shirt, every blue polo, every ball cap and every, single coffee mug. Nothing today but just know that there are strangers out there that were thinking of you.
Posted by: Riley Scott | 04/08/2017 at 09:00 PM