Standing on line I analyzed the customers in front of me. At the first counter was a woman who had so much dry cleaning to drop off that she had to use a garbage bag to haul it all in. And not just a normal garbage bag, one of those extra tall, "Lawn & Leaf" bags. It was out of control and the clerk's eyes were just rolling as he kept turning around to find more stuff set on the counter.
The second lady, I'm guessing she was a librarian, maybe a teacher. Extremely organized. She had all of her clothes perfectly folded like she just bought them from the Talbot's shelf. She stacked them neatly on the counter at a right angle. Her purse was crossed over her shoulder from left to right for efficiency, and what she couldn't hold in her purse would cleverly fit inside one of the utility pockets on her cargo pants. She was neat to a T. She perfectly deposited her cash and coins into her wallet in the time it took for the clerk to hand her the receipt. In and out, just like she planned.
The third lady was a new Mom, you could just tell. Her dry cleaning was transported in a Whole Foods brown paper bag. She precariously balanced her baby on the front ledge while she balanced her purse on the opposite knee fiddling for cash. "You don't take credit cards?" she asked. "No" replied the clerk and pointed to one of the many signs around the store which clearly stated, CASH ONLY. Her shoeless baby clung on to the clothing pole while she bent down to get another bag. I watched with anticipation of diving to the floor in case the tike decided to make a jump for it. He looked like he knew what he was doing though and that he had done this routine before.
Alas, it was my turn. Only picking up no dropping off or I would be carrying my pink dry cleaning bag. The bag was a gift from my friend Laurin and it holds photos in the front. I have a picture of her dog, Annie in it. My bag is far more superior than any of these dry cleaning bags. It's pink so it has to be cool, right?
Mw: Hola
Jose: Hola (he gives me a wink)
Mw: (Handing ticket) Como estas
Jose: Muy Bien, E tu?
Mw: Multo Ben, Gracias!
*that's all the Spanish I know btw*
Jose: (leaves to get my threads)
He returns with the plastic covered hangers, scans them and I pick them up from the pole. Something is not right. I look down and see that one hanger is outside the plastic bags. I place my hand on the article and feel something hard and lumpy. (So not how your dry cleaning should feel.) I turn the hanger over and I stood there speechless. My grey shirt with the beads on the front was wadded up in a ball and one arm was through the hanger. It looked, (and felt), like someone blew their nose on it and then hung it up to dry.
Mw: What happened?
Jose: Que?
Mw: *No time for Spanish at this point, I could tell the people in back of me were in no mood to hear my dialogue* What happened to my shirt?
Jose: Uno Momento
Mw: What mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! *He says grabbing my shirt*
Mw: Un mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! UNO MOMENTO! *He says shouting*
Mw: Oh, un momento. *Mea Culpa Mea Culpa, I wanted to shout back*
Gone are the winks and flirtatious Spanish banter. Jose was heated that I was questioning the authority of Zips, pronounced, "Zeeps".
He comes back with his boss.
Boss Man: Ma'am this shirt says Do Not Dry Clean, see the tag inside?
He holds the shirt 5 inches from my face and I see the tag, "DO NOT DRY CLEAN". Mother F*cker I wanted to yell, but I resisted.
Mw: Well, why didn't you guys do that before you cleaned it then if that was so easy?
Boss Man: Ma'am it's not our responsibility to check to see if your clothes are dry cleanable, you have to do that yourself.
Mw: What do you mean I have to do that myself? You just read the tag to me that says you can't dry clean it. I made an honest mistake and threw this in the bag by accident.
Boss Man: We don't read tags. See our policy. He points to the sign.
The first line stating, "Zips assumes all clothing dropped off is dry cleanable."
Damn, they got me there.
Mw: So you guys have no QC process? *I'm desperate to find justice*
Boss Man: QC?
Mw: QC.
Boss Man: What's that?
Mw: Quality Control. You have no one back there that reads the tags before they are dry cleaned so they don't get ruined like my shirt?
Boss Man: Ma'am, you've got to read your own tags. We deal with a lot of clothes here, we can't read every tag.
Mw: Ok, ok. Mea Culpa!
Mw: Well do you have any other solutions b/c I'm not a satisfied customer.
Boss Man: I can offer to throw some chemicals on your shirt in hopes of undoing this knot that melted all of the fabric together, do you want me to do that?
Mw: Chemicals? Throwing? That process sounds dangerous and besides what is the end product going to look like?
Boss Man: Oh, I have no idea. It will most likely melt the rest of these beads and dis-color the fabric. But at least it won't be in a knot.
Mw: But the shirt will look like I was a victim of a violent attack and someone threw chemicals on me. That doesn't sound very pretty.
Boss Man: I'm not sure if it will be pretty or not, but it won't have the melted metal on the front. Do you want me to try to peel them off?
Mw: How about this, you just give me a refund for the cleaning b/c I notice that this was not taken off my bill. I sure as hell don't plan on paying for this "melted metal look". *It looked like a bedazzled project gone wrong*
Boss Man: No problem Ma'am. Again sorry about your shirt. Just try to read the tags from now on. Let me know if you change your mind and want me to get rid of that metal knot on the front, too.
And with that I walked out of Zeeps with my $2.10 in hand. I wadded up the grey shirt and stuck it in my back jean pocket Bruce Springsteen style. The Boss and The Boss Man would have been impressed.
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