"No.  My arms are too long."

"Try the extra large.  Over here."

And the Fedco clerk searched in a rack for an extra large jacket.  "I don't know about color, but you can try this on for size at least."

It went on nice, and felt comfortable.  Arm length just right, even when stretched out as if holding onto a steering wheel.  It wasn't as snug as I'd like around the waist, though.  Let's see, an inside pocket, the outside pockets open on two sides, so there are four front pockets.

"Lots of pockets," I said.  "Is this water proof, or water repellent?"

"It says proof."

The tag, indeed, said water proof.  I noticed that the coat came from Bangladesh.

"What's the difference with the other coats, over there, beside the fact that these are from Bangladesh?"

"Nothing, really.  They all use the same materials."

I noticed the sign, "For Sale, $39.95."  Not bad.  Color isn't great, but it fits better than any other jacket I had.  "OK, I want this one."

A few days later, I took a hike in the mountains.  It was December, and cool enough to wear my new jacket.  I stashed my wallet in the inside pocket, some candy and nuts in an outer/upper pocket, and also some gloves in the outer/lower pockets.

Two miles up the trail I took a rest.  It was a good time to eat some nuts.  I was warm, so I opened the jacket.  That's when I noticed another pocket.  On the right side, inside.  A small one.  "I wonder what that pocket can be good for?"  It zipped open, and was quite deep.  "Hey, maybe I could put my cell phone in here."  At the bottom was an inspection slip, as usual.  It was folded, not like other inspection slips.  And it wasn't!

It was a note, with neat hand writing!

"Please, American, bring me good luck.  I work hard making coats.  I want to be free."  And it was signed "Sevali Galu. 139 Teshinka, Baloring, Bangladesh."

I felt bad, after reading the note.  Was this Sevali a slave worker?  I've heard of China using political dissidents as slave workers in clothing factories, but what about Bangladesh?  All I could recall about Bangladesh is that they have a lot of typhoons and floods that kill lots of poor people living on the lowlands by the sea.  I couldn't even picture Sevali, as I had no idea whether that was a man's name or a woman's.

Walking down the trail, thinking about my jacket differently, it struck me as preposterous that on the other side of the world, about as far as anyplace can be from me, is a person who helped make this jacket that kept me so comfortably warm.  And I knew the person's name, but that person didn't know mine.  "That's not fair.  I must write a thank you note."

And so, later that day, I wrote a brief note, thanking Sevali for making such a nice coat, and I wished her, or him, good luck.  Feeling awkward about not knowing if I was writing to a man or a woman, I asked Sevali to write back, and to tell what life was like making jackets in Bangladesh.

A month later, I got an airmail letter from Bangladesh.

"Dear Mr Bruce:  I am very happy to recieve your letter.  I know real people buy our coats.  You are the first American for me to know.  You ask if I am a man or woman.  I am not.  I am 13 years old.  I learn English at school.  The boys tease me, and say I am a boy.  The girls say I am a boy too.  I am a girl.  But I think all boys and girls are silly.  Men and women too.  I go to library, not play with girls, or go with boys, like others.  I pretend to be the same, but really not.  It is being a slave to live with everyone here.  I know that bigger world exist.  Books describe different ways to think.  I like German thinking.  Do you know Schopenhauer?  He my favorite.  Please tell, is American life like Schopenhauer says to be?  Not be silly, think more?  You bring me luck, your letter.  I read more.  Thanks.  You write again, please.  Goodbye, Sevali."
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This site opened:  October 30, 1998.   Last Update: October 30, 1998