My Tuesday morning phone call, paraphrased for your pleasure.
Voice On Other Line: Hello. ***** Cleaners.
Me: Yeah, I was wondering how all my shirts ended up being being laundered when I specifically asked them to be dry-cleaned.
What seems to be the problem, sir?
Well, I'm a 17 1/2 neck. I can't buy a size up, because then I'm searching for mutant sizes they don't carry at Marshall's.
I'm an eighteen and a half myself. I know what that's like.
Yeah, well, that's why I make sure my shirts are never just washed and dried. Even once is enough to shrink them too much. I can't buttton them up comfortably and am, in layman terms, fucked for work.
Sir, what are your shirts made of? Cotton or polyester?
They're either all polyester or a polly/cotton blend, actually.
Well, you can bring them in if you like, but I have to tell you, if they are even partly polyester, there's no way they could have shrunk that much.
Listen buddy. If I were to start strangling you, and you were gurgling, begging for me to stop, and I just said, "Oh, nonsense, this is how I hold my friend's baby daughter," are you going to believe me or your own fucking throat?!?
...
Okay. That last part I only thought. Still, I think he would have gotten the point.
I guess I held back when I found out he was a kindered spirit, a member of the Order of The Big Fucking Neck.
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