So Tuesday was a big day for me. Instead of going into my midtown office, I had to travel down to Tribeca to work at one of my firms off-site centers. I knew where to go, but it’s that same feeling that you get when you have a job interview—you know where to go, but not exactly. Anyways, I was wearing a suit because after work I had to meet up with some of my buddies at the University Club and they have a strict dress code. Mind you this is the same suit I’ve had since high school graduation—almost 7 years ago.
So I get off the subway in Tribeca and bend down to tie my shoe, when I hear a loud….
I stand up praying the ripping sound was just my boxers. I reached behind and could only feel bare skin. Not a good sign. My suit pants were ripped from below the zipper all the way around to the belt loop on the other side. It was similar to the scene in Tommy Boy when Chris Farley rips David Spade’s coat. What made matters worse was the fact I was on my 12-string boxers—I haven’t been able to pick up my laundry from the cleaners for a variety of reasons. The boxers are ill-fitting and not attractive, which is the precise reason they are my 12-string boxers. Also, since I’m way down in Tribeca, going home to change isn’t an option.
Since I’m 20 minutes early for work, I decide to go buy another pair of pants. However, that area is a weird combination of cheap jewelry stores, Jamba juices and yoga studios—no men’s clothing stores in sight. After roaming the streets for 15 minutes I finally stumble into a hole-in-the-wall men’s store. I ask the clerk to find me a pair of pants that matches my suit jacket. He magically finds a pair, and I try it on. The “changing room” is just two swinging doors in the wall, similar to a western-style saloon bar door. The pants fit, and I pay ($20, a steal!).
The pants looked fine on first glance, but after checking the tag, they are 65% polyester, 35% rayon. I’m pretty sure medieval kings draped themselves in 65% polyester, 35% rayon gowns and robes.
After buying the pants, I immediately head to a tailor in the hope she can sew up the pants by the afternoon. I find a cleaners a block from the off-site center. This woman says she will have it ready by 4 pm. I can only pray she is correct.
At the end of the day, I race over to the dry cleaners to pick up the pants. It ends up only being $7 (steal!). I dash across the street to a local Dunkin Donuts to change in the public bathroom (always fun to play the game “don’t let any body part touch any part of the bathroom”). Miraculously the pants fit and she actually did a decent job of sewing them together. It’s not a long term solution, but it should be good for another couple of wears.
I walked out of the Dunkin donuts and handed the 65/35 blend pants to a bum on the street, satisfying my good deed for the day. You can’t exactly return worn pants to a store like that. I made it to the club in time and no one was the wiser.
I have reached two conclusions:
1. Stay calm and cool under pressure and everything will work out.
2. I need a new suit. — J. Cliven