Donald Trump Isn’t Your Fault, But I’m Going to Blame You Anyway

An open letter to Scünci hair products

Dear Scünci,

I’m upset. I have used and loved your black hair-bands (item #58634-A) for over two decades. Recently, however, the quality of your product has deteriorated. Your once durable bands often break on the first use. So, I decided to call you.

Here’s how I imagined it would go down: a customer service rep would immediately pick up. They’d understand my outrage, comfort me with a scripted, yet sincere apology, and graciously offer to send several free packs of your hair-bands (item #58634-A), resuscitating our damaged relationship. But this is not what happened. I sat on hold for fifteen minutes. “I have better things to do,” I thought, while continuing to not do them. When a rep finally picked up, not only was she unfamiliar with your product, she didn’t seem to care at all about the betrayal (NOTE: I am now referring your decline as “the betrayal”).

I politely asked for several packs of replacement bands (1 to 3 seemed reasonable). She took down my address, but told me the complaint would have to be run by a supervisor. It’s as if you had to decide whether you believed me. As if you didn’t know your product was defective. You knew Scünci, you knew.

Then, I waited. For six weeks. I checked the mail every day. Nothing. I called again. This time, I waited twenty minutes to talk to a rep who informed me that my complaint was still under review. What the fuck, Scünci? (How do I pronounce you by the way? Skooncee? Shcunsie? Scunce? I have a hard time when I’m constantly telling this story to friends.) I told the rep I’d be expecting more packs now (maybe 5 to 7?). My tone was harsh, but I assured her I was upset with the situation, not her personally (indicating that I am firm yet kind).

I tweeted at your parent company, Conair (congrats by the way, that’s huge!) but I got no reply. You tweeted that day. You don’t have a lot of followers. You saw my tweet and you ignored me. Why even bother having a Twitter feed? To teach girls how to French braid hair? Guess what, Scünci: the only person who still French braids her hair is Eleanor, the receptionist at my doctor’s office, and she’s not on social media. Two more weeks have passed, and, as I write this, I’m on hold for a third time. You thought I’d give up, didn’t you, Scünci? No. I won’t stop. I’m your Erin Brokovich and I am fucking furious.

It’s possible I’m upset about other things. This might not matter to you, since you’re a hair-band, but Donald Trump is running for President of the United States. If all we had to do was look at his face this much, I’d be angry, but we also have to listen to his ideas? His supporters don’t even realize that he doesn’t care about them. Even if he wanted to help someone other than himself (not a possibility), he doesn’t have the attention span. He shows up late to meetings for his own company because he’s been out accosting women.

As I sit on hold with you, I’m Googling to see what election news has popped up. Will be repulsed by it? If he continues to be repulsive, I can feel confident that he’ll repulse other people and tank the election. If I’m not repulsed, I’m terrified. How did we get to a place where I’m rooting for a tape of a Presidential candidate saying the N word? And now he’s not going to concede, so we have to keep hearing about this dick after November 9th? Ooo! I’m getting a Twitter notification. Is it an apology from you, Scünci? That would feel so fucking good right now… Nope, it’s an anti-Semitic hate group letting me know that “my kind” controls the world banks, Hollywood and the media.

You know what else sucks, Scünci? In addition to witnessing society break apart faster than your elastics, we still have to go about our daily lives. So it’s the election on top of the normal bullshit. For example: my handyman Carlos took $250 to fix my AC, left to buy a part and never came back. I went to one of those bra stores where they make you feel stupid for wearing the wrong size (turns out I’m a 17M!) and the $150 bra I bought broke the first time I wore it. Lattes cost six dollars now. My dentist messed up my tooth and then retired, so I can’t get mad at him about it. None of my friends with babies text me back. I shouldn’t have sent that last text to my mom, she’s mad at me now. I knew she’d be mad, but I couldn’t help myself. I am running out of Klonopin. On the Access Hollywood bus, I’m pretty sure Billy Bush did the gross thing gross men do when they hug tighter than necessary to feel a woman’s breasts against them. A lot of noteworthy things happened on the bus, but no one talked about that. It’s truly a bummer to be hugged like that, Scünci.

So please, do something. Help me. Send me a couple packs of your hair-bands (maybe 80 to 90??) and make this right. Give me a tiny semblance of control, a second of relief, a morsel of hope that there’s justice in this world.

Your hold music just stopped. I got through to a customer service rep. He seems really nice. He’s apologizing. Item #58634-A has been discontinued. He promised me some better hair-bands are on the way. I feel better now. Thank you, Scünci. Thank you.

Ali Waller

P.S. I really hope Ivanka Trump’s brand is ruined.

P.P.S. What’s it like to have an umlaut?!