Herb Benham: All sunglasses go to heaven, even if you still need them
| Saturday, Sep 12 2009 12:00 PM
Last Updated Saturday, Sep 12 2009 12:00 PM
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I lost my sunglasses.
That's not breaking news, not if you have sunglasses. Sunglasses are like children. You have them for a while and then they leave you without a whisper.
Pet insurance? We don't need pet insurance, we need sunglass insurance. They're more perishable than a bowl of whipped cream.
People fall into two categories when it comes to sunglasses: cheap or expensive. Cheap is "I'm going to lose them anyway so why spend the money." Expensive is "Maybe I'll hold on to them longer if I pay more."
No, you probably won't. It will just sting more when you leave them on the table at the restaurant after lunch.
I bought the last pair at a truck stop in Tehachapi. They were $19.99. They were sort of wrap-around-ish. To me, they said cool and possibly dangerous.
"What do you think of my sunglasses," I asked Sam, the middle son, who is considered the arbiter of cool.
He paused. Then he looked again, trying to figure out something positive to say because, as children get older, they realize that's part of their job. Make parents feel good about their earnest efforts to look vigorous.
As we age, and this is what gave Sam pause, people buy larger and larger sunglasses until one day, we might as well just paint our faces, put on a clown suit and join the circus.
It just happens. We tend toward glasses that block all available light. If we could wear a darkroom over our heads, we would.
Cool or not, $19.99 lasted for about four months. Then, like all sunglasses, they went to sunglass heaven. Wouldn't we like to know where sunglass heaven is? That would be better than finding a chest full of gold doubloons.
I made a decision. This time, I'd buy a good pair. I was through with truck stop glasses.
I went to Wavelengths. Chad, the co-owner, is enthusiastic and a bridge between the youth culture and the comb-over set in which I find myself.
The sunglasses were in locked cases bolted to the wall that required little keys. With the sunglasses I normally buy, you can walk out of the store with the sunglasses and the rack.
While I was admiring the glittering array, a young heavyset guy who looked like a contractor walked in and made a right turn toward Sunglass Alley. He was agitated. I asked him why.
"I put my sunglasses on the front wheel of my truck," he said. "That's the last time I'll do that."
I sympathized, but withheld my opinion. He probably won't rest them on the front wheel again. Next time, it'll be the back wheel.
"I'd like to try a pair of those Electrics," I said to the pleasant, long-haired young man waiting on me.
That's Wavelengths. It's hair, tattoos, hip clothing and then, "How can I help you?"
God, these things were wonderful. No wonder people bought expensive sunglasses. They didn't saw a line across the bridge of your nose and they made the parking lot behind Wavelengths look like Churchill Downs.
Polarized? Where have they've been hiding these? I could stare down a solar eclipse and then spot a condor flying above Santa Maria.
The store gave me a soft bag to carry them in. I haven't shown them to Sam yet.
