It’s not easy to find a good dry cleaner these days. Most of them are just bogus storefronts trying to pose as actual laundering facilities. In reality, all the actual cleaning is done miles away in giant warehouses, where immigrant workers are beaten into submission with recycled wire hangers.
That’s why before I trust anyone with even a soiled sock, I go in the back and inspect all the equipment. Are the washing machines free of lint and loose pennies? Does the pants-pressing contraption reach the required temperature for optimum results? And what about that on-site tailor? Does he really know what he’s doing with that 90-year-old sewing machine? He sure as fuck better.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m in the process of investigating a new dry cleaner. Since this particular one passed the initial inspection, I decided to start them out with something easy: a few shirts that I wouldn’t miss.
I’m pleased to say the shirts came back virtually spotless. And more importantly, they included plenty of packaging. That’s a sign of a good dry cleaner: a lot of extra packaging. As a rule, you should have to remove at least four things from a garment before you’re able to wear it.
The plastic bag is a given. But there should also be a paper cover to protect the shirt from the plastic bag. And a plastic clip on the top button to ensure the collar doesn’t crease during the rough ride home. Inside, the garment should be stuffed with no less than eight long sheets of tissue paper. And if the dry cleaner is truly professional, they’ll also attach a paper tag to the bottom button hole with a staple.
Since my shirts came back in such excellent condition, I felt it was time to entrust this dry cleaner with something much more precious: my grey jacket.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I sort of get into a rut with my outerwear. If I find a jacket I like, I’ll wear it every day until it falls apart. For the past two years, that jacket has been my grey jacket. Fortunately, I’ve managed to keep it fairly clean. The only problem is, about three months ago, I broke the pull tab off during an unusually aggressive zippering incident.
As much as I hated parting with my grey jacket, it had to be fixed. But could it really be repaired? The dry cleaner wasn’t sure. He told me I’d have to leave it with him so the tailor could look at it in the morning.
That day I spent without my grey jacket was the longest I’ve endured in quite some time. I had no choice but to resort to wearing my black jacket. Granted, it’s a nice jacket. But it’s a little heavier than necessary. And more importantly, it’s not my grey jacket.
When I returned the next evening to pick up my cherished jacket, I saw something I wasn’t quite prepared for: The tailor had attached a black pull tab and slider to the zipper without my consent. Not that I have anything against black pull tabs. But this particular jacket used to have a slim, silver tab dangling from its zipper. Now, with this black pull tab, it looked so. . . ordinary. But the damage was done. What could I do? I paid for the repair and took my updated (read “destroyed”) grey jacket home.
The next day, I slipped on my grey jacket and went out to run some errands. It felt good to have the old jacket on again. It felt right. But that feeling quickly subsided the moment I slid my left hand into my jacket pocket. Something was in there that shouldn’t have been. Something small. Something square. Something I couldn’t quite place. Was it a pill of some sort? Maybe an antacid I had forgotten about?
I pulled my hand out and couldn’t believe what I saw. It was a piece of Nicorette gum. See, the funny this is, I don’t smoke. I’ve never smoked. And I don’t have any friends who smoke or are trying to quit smoking. There was only one explanation: Somebody else had been wearing my jacket.
But who? Obviously, it had to be someone at the dry cleaner — most likely the tailor — which at first seemed rather creepy. Then I got to thinking. You know how after mechanics repair a vehicle, they’ll drive it around the block to make sure everything is working right? Well, maybe this tailor really gets into his work. Maybe he took my jacket for a walk around the marina to see that everything was in working order. You know, button the buttons on the sleeves, work the zipper up and down, listen for any squeaks or rattles, that sort of thing. Of course, he didn’t want to smoke while he was out and risk damaging the jacket, so he took a couple pieces of Nicorette gum with him, just to tide him over until he could have a real cigarette. He was just being thoughtful, that’s all.
Then again, maybe the creep was just cold and grabbed the first coat he could find. I feel so violated. Like I said, finding a new dry cleaner is a bitch.
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