Measuring Up

I called an impromptu lunch with my work spouse the other day. For those of you who don’t know the term ‘work spouse’ it is someone of the opposite sex who you hang out with at work. There is no physical attraction but there is a good solid friendship. It is actually quite nice to have a work spouse since it is someone who you have a great time with but know there is no emotional spark. This is a person that you go have lunch with, grab a coffee, confide in work decisions, and get another opposite sex opinion when additional input is needed outside your spouse’s opinion. I have had my work spouse now basically since I started working at my current company which was about seven years ago. He is a character to say the least and often finds himself in some situations that most people would consider highly irregular and suspicious. He on the other hand would term these as everyday occurrences. Case in point… yesterday’s lunch.

After we finished eating our food we both had some errands to run. I wanted to return a couple books to the library and he wanted to pick up his dry cleaning. My work spouse, I will call him WS for simplicity sake, takes his dry cleaning to a little Asian lady who operates out of an 8 x 10 space. She sends the dry cleaning out but also does alterations in house. (Sidenote: Another great friend of ours took a really nice dress to this lady to be altered for a wedding. When my friend went to pick up her dress all the sequins had been removed and the dress was way too tight… she has not been back since.) On the way over to the dry cleaner to pick up his clothes, WS mentions to me that he is in a wedding in California and needs to fax his measurements to the tux shop. He asked me if I thought the dry cleaning lady could take his measurements. I assured him that of course she could! She was a seamstress afterall and I was sure she did measurements all the time.

When we arrived at the dry cleaner we witnessed a peculiar exchange of money happening between an unkempt one toothed lady and the regular dry cleaning lady. Upon sight of my WS the cleaner’s face lit up and she exclaimed his name, like he was Norm entering the bar. He greeted her back in a tone that tried to match her enthusiasm but no doubt fell a little short. He told her that he was there to pick up his dry cleaning but was also wondering if she did measurements. At this point, One Tooth must have deducted that this was going to be something interesting and decided to stay. She put one hand up on the metal pole used to hang dry cleaning and sort of leaned into it while her other hand rested on her hip in anticipation.

Dry Cleaner said as she shook her head - “Ohhh last time I do measurements people blame me.”

WS - “Blame you? Noo… I just need some help with filling in some of these blanks.” (He took the sheet out of his pocket and put it in the sewing table which is also used as a register desk.)

WS – “Now do you know what this measurement is?” (He pointed to a line.)

One Tooth – “Oh yeah.. that is from here to there.” (She traced her finger from WS’ middle back to the end of his sleeve.)

With this information Dry Cleaner looked at WS and said – “YOU STAND UP! I MEASURE!”

**At this point I was literally standing in the doorway of the shop, since it was too small for all four of us to stand inside, thinking to myself.. what the fuck is happening here? Old one tooth and the Asian dictator are tag teaming WS in an attempt to fill out a faxed measurement sheet? Who does this happen to? **

Dry Cleaner shouted the measurement at WS and yelled at him to write it on his sheet. WS did of course what he was told and again inquired to another line on the sheet. Once again One Tooth ‘showed’ him where this measurement spanned on his body. By this point Dry Cleaner had made it back around to the other side of the sewing table. She seemed a little put off but once again she rounded the table and shouted at WS, “YOU STAND UP! I MEASURE!”

Again this command was followed by the proclamation of the measurement number and the order to write it on his sheet.
Finally, WS came to his waist measurement. He asked if he could just write down his pant size since all his pants were 32s.

Dry Cleaner with a low chuckle – “Ohhhh you no 32. STAND UP! I MEASURE!”

Dry Cleaner and One Tooth somehow measured this together and pondered whether WS was either a 36 or 37. After a couple seconds of deliberation Dry Cleaner exclaimed with a play in her voice, “I told you (chuckle) nooo 32… you 36 or 37!”
WS – “WHAT??? 36 or 37? That can’t be right!”

An agreeing glance and chuckle was exchanged between One Tooth and Dry Cleaner. With this WS picked up his paper told the ladies that he thought he had gathered all the measurements he needed and requested his clothes. Figuring that the drama had passed One Tooth slid past me and disappeared into the people on the street without even a farewell to Dry Cleaner.

Upon receiving his clothes WS asked Dry Cleaner where his bag was. Dry Cleaner told him he never gave it to her when he last dropped off his clothes. He said he thought he had but he would look for it at home if she would look for it in the shop, which again without taking a blink you can see the whole shop and everything in it. Dry Cleaner agreed and WS paid for his clothes. As we were walking out WS pointed towards the back wall and questioned, “Isn’t that my bag?”

Dry Cleaner – “Ahh no. Not your bag, someone else’s bag. I look for your bag.”

WS under his breath– “Umm alright but that looks exactly like my bag.”.. and with that we walked out of the dry cleaner. WS then proceeded to tell me that was for sure his bag hanging along the back wall and he was convinced she was trying to steal it. He had not been as much of a regular as he once was and as a result she yelled at him everytime he came in and wanted to know where he had been. He figured she had stolen his bag to give it to someone else who was a more regular customer these days. No sooner had he said this than a high pitch squawk resonated behind us. The squawking not only continued in a rapid call but also sounded louder as if it was getting closer. We turned around only to see Dry Cleaner, who can be no more than 5’0’’, bounding towards us frantically waiving the yellow dry cleaning bag in the air. Upon seeing his bag WS runs out into traffic towards Dry Cleaner yelling, “Myyy bagg!!”in a Jerry Seinfeld tone. If it wouldn’t have been WS and Dry Cleaner I would have thought it looked like a scene right out a romantic movie with the two stars running at each other except WS had 10 pieces of dry cleaned clothes flapping out to his side and Dry Cleaner continued to scream his name while waving the bright yellow bag over her head. I just stood there in utter shock and amazement as the scene played out before me.

WS retrieved his bag and rejoined me at our original spot. We made it back to work and went our separate ways. About half an hour later my screen started to blink notifying me that I had a new instant message. I clicked on the message and read the following:

Faxed that sheet over to the tuxedo place in San Jose… they already called and said one of my numbers would only work if I was a gorilla and my arms were down to my shins. WTF.. those ladies screwed me.

Lesson learned… never get your measurements taken by a one toothed lady and a seamstress who says the last time she took someone’s measurements she got blamed.