The Evil Socks of Spring

On Sunday, March 20, at 11:23 p.m. Universal Time—7:21 p.m. in New Jersey—the vernal equinox occurred, marking the beginning of spring in the northern hemisphere. The next morning, we woke up to a snowstorm, which blanketed our neighborhood with about five inches of snow. This mushy precipitation had the decency to start melting away later on in the day, but the damage to my morale was done. Two days later, another snowstorm rode into town, reducing spring to a bitter and meaningless ruse.

The winter of 2010-11 was an especially grueling one, particularly for those of us who had to do our own snow shoveling. So seeing nature sneer at us on the first day of spring is a bit much. More sneering a few days later is totally unacceptable.

Just in case Mother Nature didn’t know, the “ver” in “vernal” is Latin for spring—not snow. In a show of optimism, many cultures celebrate the spring equinox. Putting a brave foot forward, I have selected two completely random observances that are my favorites. The first is from antiquity, the second is a more recent American tradition.

I'm thinking that winter may have some boundary issues.

Evil Winter
The Zoroastrian holiday of Persian New Year, or Nowruz, is particularly important to me because it involves a mythical king of Persia who saved everyone from a brutal winter that threatened to kill every living creature. This mythical king, Jamshid, constructed a throne studded with gems. He had demons raise him above the earth into the heavens so he could sit on his throne like the sun shining in the sky. The world's creatures gathered in wonder about him, and called this day the New Day or No/Now-Ruz. That said, here’s the important part of the story.

One day, Ahura Mazda, the God of Truth, warned Jamshid of an upcoming catastrophe: "Upon the material world, the evil winters are about to fall, that shall bring the fierce, deadly frost; upon the material world the evil winters are about to fall, that shall make snow-flakes fall thick." Ahura Mazda advised Jamshid to construct a multi-level cavern underground, two miles long and two miles wide. He was to populate this cavern with the fittest of men and women as well as with two of every animal, bird and plant. Food and water was supplied from the previous summer's harvest. Jamshid created a city underground with streets and buildings, and brought nearly two thousand people to live there. He created artificial light, and finally sealed the underground chamber with a golden ring. Thus, he saved at least some of the world from this terrible winter. My hero.

Evil Socks
Perhaps one of the stinkiest spring equinox traditions hails from Maryland. Boatyard employees and sailboat owners there celebrate the spring equinox with the Burning Of The Socks Festival. Traditionally, the boating community wears socks only during the winter. These are joyously burned at the approach of warmer weather. Officially, after this ritual, nobody dons socks until the next equinox.

Nothing says spring like the stench of burning socks.

A bit more recent than Persian New Year, this tradition is said to have begun in the mid 1980s, thanks to a guy named Bob, who managed the Annapolis Yacht Yard. He spent winters working on other people’s boats. At winter's end, his socks were coated with an unappealing mixture of dried varnishes, fiberglass goop and miscellaneous debris. One day, which happened to be the spring equinox, he shed his socks, placed them in a paint-roller tray, carried the tray out to a pier, doused it with lighter fluid and threw in a match. Thus, the hallowed Burning Of The Socks ritual was born.

Over the years, the tradition has expanded up and down the east and west coasts. Apparently, it is a low-key affair. Crowds tend to be small. And a barrel of oysters and a shucking knife were recently added to the festivities. Otherwise, it tends to be a quiet and smelly acknowledgment of impending spring. Only in America.

So what have we learned? Well, the message here is—and I hope you are listening Mother Nature—that spring is the time of year when snow is nothing more than a frosty memory, people who have survived the winter emerge from their caves, and socks are ecstatically burned in commemoration of a guy named Bob. Such is the eternal truth of the vernal equinox, and such is all we need know.

Tenacious G and Many Happy Returns

Last September, my mother and I went to a local store to buy a full mattress for her room at the assisted living facility. After much pondering and badgering, she chose a mattress set that suited her sensibilities. Two weeks ago, she called to inform me that her bed had sunk in the middle after only five months of use. The facility manager there told me that the box spring wood had warped.

Would you deny this woman a good night's sleep? (Offending bed not pictured.)

I called the local store. The salesman there said I needed to call the national customer service number. I called the national customer service number and was informed that an inspector would have to go out to investigate the mattress before a replacement could be issued. My mother is 84 years old. What improper use did they think she made of the mattress? I feel certain she did not jump up and down on it. Being a morally upright Protestant, it is unlikely she invited over any rambunctious gentleman friends.

After a week, I called to see where the inspector was. I was informed he would call my house and leave a time he was available. Unfortunately, he left a message during an evening that I was at a professional meeting and I did not notice the blinking message light until 11 a.m. the following morning. His voicemail informed me that tomorrow—which was now today—he was only available from 10 a.m. to noon, which meant his time window was about to close. Woops. I called and left a message. He called back and said he would visit my mother after lunch. I called to let her, and her facility manager, know about it. The inspector visited and I heard nothing more.

Oh, Laura Ashley! Warped after only five months.

A week later, my mother called and insisted I had to call the store "right now" to find out when the new box spring would be delivered. I called and was informed that the box spring was indeed found to be defective and was told that my mother would get a letter in the mail in a week or so informing her that she had a $368 credit to buy a new one. Unfortunately, she would be responsible for an $80 delivery fee. Apparently, the manufacturer was willing to supply a new box spring, but the delivery was contracted out independently.

I will not repeat my reaction to hearing that. However, following my reaction, the woman at the other end asked me to hold so she could see what could be done with the delivery charge. When she returned, she offered to have a box spring delivered the next day at only half price—$40. I proceeded to lecture her on corporate responsibility and the limitations of someone retired on a fixed income. Why should my mother have to pay more money to replace a shoddy product? She put me on hold again, then returned to inform me that this time, only, they would generously waive the delivery fee. Were they expecting more returns?

Since they were sending the same shoddy box spring as a replacement, I expressed the hope that this one would last more than five months. I called my mother back to give her the happy news. She had spent several weeks sleeping on a metaphor for the state of business in this country. I’m sure that can’t be comfortable.

Epilogue

The next day, when the box spring was supposed to be delivered, I received a call from the store. They had put a mattress in their truck, rather than a box spring. When they arrived, the facility refused delivery because they were expecting a box spring, not a mattress. I was informed that the store would have to send a second inspector out to look at the box spring because the first inspector's report stated that he had investigated a mattress.

I asked if they could waive the second inspector since the first one had clearly inspected a faulty box spring. The mattress was fine. After 15 minutes on hold, the customer service rep came back on the line to say that getting the approval to waive the second inspector would take more time; he would have to call me back. At this point, I wondered if it might have helped to bring Henry Kissinger out of retirement for the negotiations.

When he called me back, he told me they could not replace the box spring because its warping was considered normal wear and tear. I pointed out that it had been purchased at the end of September and this was the beginning of March—only five months' time. He put me back on hold. I was now handed over to a woman who informed me that they would only replace the mattress, not the box spring, based on the inspector's report. If Mom had to have another delivery, it would cost $80.

Completely puzzled, I decided to unleash my secret weapon—my brother. At the time of this writing, I do not know what the resolution of this process will be. In the meantime, Mom is still sleeping on a taco-shaped bed.