I called Jay Bell, my good friend from “Bradenton-Fun—in-the-Sun-Baby, Florida,” to tell him the story of my lost hat.
“You want hat stories?” he said. “I’ve got some good ones.”
“I wanted to tell you mine,” I replied.
“Hold on,” he said and launched into his first story.
About a decade ago, Jay Bell got an old-fashioned fedora as swag from a company. He never wore it, and it collected dust, so he got rid of it.
Not long after, he saw one of his friends wearing the same hat. Frankie is 75 years old, and he loves that hat. He washes it and takes care of it, but it’s frayed and showing its age.
“I felt like, man, I could’ve helped him out, but I threw mine away,” Jay said. “Then I went to my storage unit to get something, and there it was.”
Jay was excited about the chance to help his friend. “When I give it to him, it’ll be like he’s going back in time,” he said. “After I clean the dust off first.”
“Cool story,” I said, “so I kept this hat in my passenger side door, and it must’ve slipped out in a parking lot.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jay said. “If you want to talk about hats, you need to hear about my dad. He’s got about 100 of them stuck to the wall. They’re all covered with cobwebs.”
Jay and his dad are St. Louis Cardinals fans, and some years ago, they attended a spring game in Florida. Jay’s dad bought a hat and got it signed by a player.
“I was down there and saw that hat on the wall with, like, 100 others. Again, covered in cobwebs,” Jay said. “But I also could feel a little bit of what my dad had felt, the excitement he had when he got that autograph, like a little kid.”
“Yeah,” I said, “so two days after I realized my hat was missing, I flew to visit family in the city where I’d bought it. I wasn’t planning to get a replacement, but we arrived at the movie theater early one day and had some time.”
“Oh, I told you about my dad’s. Let me tell you about my Cardinals’ hat,” Jay said. “I’d paid $28 for it. It was my favorite hat. Then our dog, Petey, ate the back of it, that part where it connects.”
Rather than throw the hat away, Jay tapped into his vast network of friends and acquaintances. A friend agreed to fix the back of it for him.
“She had it for six months. I don’t know why it took so long,” Jay said. “But it’s back, baby. We’re together again. It’s ready to go to more Cardinals games.”
“That’s great,” I said.
I waited for him to start another story about another hat, so the line was quiet for a slightly uncomfortable length of time.
“So what about your story?” he prompted.
“You’re ready for it then?”
“Sure, shoot.”
So I told him about arriving at the movie theater early and having time to drive up to the place to get a new one. I got the same color, but they must’ve changed manufacturers because it didn’t fit the same as the last one. I doubt I’ll keep it in the car as my hat on duty.
“That’s your story?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Mine were better,” he said.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
