What’s the final chore prior to attending any wedding reception? For me, it’s always a prayer that two month old-beer stains can be removed and then a trip to the dry cleaner. Why am I still worried about beer stains from mid July? Because, like all highly-employable people, my suit has never –in five years of ownership– been worn outside of a wedding reception. Suits are designed to command professionalism and class, but mine is always worn inside of some gym with a cash bar and buffet table. My suit has never encountered a computer, office cabinet or even sunlight- yet it’s heard Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll” and a drunk cousin yelling, “time for cake!” each time it’s worn.

I recently attended a wedding in Ohio which was particularly hard on my suit as the reception offered no hard liquor. Most people would expect a reception to become less wild or disorderly when booze is removed, but this assumption breaks down when you invite people like me to your wedding. I don’t, for instance, stop doing shots simply because there is no hard liquor- I just start to shoot other things, even creating new names for the drink. Want to frighten the staff at some wedding after they’ve announced no booze is available: ask for a “Gilded Mocha”, which is when you use a coffee mug to shoot White Zinfandel. They will panic like you just asked for forty pounds of cocaine and keys to the pool. Worse yet, your clothes will be ruined. An outfit never smells good after drinking, but there’s a huge gap between a few bottles of Miller Light and using a cup received during dessert to pound red wine (the “chalice of malice” as I call it).

What’s more embarrassing then a middle aged man who devours shots of wine at a reception- some one who devours shots of wine, with his boss. I started working for Tyson –my best friend– in late July as a software engineer. Tyson has always considered me a talented developer but worried that I lacked the professionalism to help buoy a small company. That fear was certainly strengthened when he reached the bar while I was ordering “all the champagne you can fit into a salad bowel”. Moreover, I was now, after seeing Tyson reach the bar, calling each shot of wine a “team building exercise” and insisting that he join me. Tyson, who was initially confused, soon followed me and we began drinking wine like each one came with a free stock option. Most companies have “team building exercises” in Aspen, with mountain hikes and cocktail hours. Tyson and I meet in south Cleveland and guzzle liquor like teenagers who expect their parents to return in twenty minutes.

Upon returning to Chicago, I entered “Lucky Cleaners” to have my suit prepared for the next wedding, but immediately sensed problems. The cashier, when I put my suit on the counter, stared at me like I just told him Dillinger died in the outfit. There’s nothing worse then hearing a craftsman, doctor or any one else respond with, “what do you want me to do with this?“, after you’ve revealed something. You don’t, at that point, have a modest position- you have one that’s so flawed and inferior, the person can’t even recognize why you’ve contacted him. So, realizing this man barely considered my suit to even be a piece of wardrobe at this point, I quietly collected my stuff and offered the only possible reply: “oh, I’m sorry- I’m at the wrong place”.

So, needing a cheap suit in under a week, I went to “The Men’s Warehouse”, where an extremely aggressive salesman admitted defeat and finally, after countless efforts to pitch me on imported designs, sold me an inexpensive, gray suit. The man’s initial push was hilarious:

“Hi, I just need a cheap suit”
“Well, I’m sorry- you’re in the wrong place. We don’t sell ’suits’. We sell looks“

Wow- does that line actually work? Do people really feel unworldly enough to have this guy choose their entire wardrobe after that boast? I’ll admit to often feeling unhip, but not inside a place who’s last name is “warehouse“. No matter how steep the prices, never tolerate condecsion from any place that was previously occupied by a Rallies. Moreover, what ‘look’ could I purchase? No suit, even in a warehouse-size inventory, has a tag proclaiming “equally adept in the conference room or when balancing an uncle on your shoulders“. I probably could have saved us a huge amount of time by answering his pitch honestly:

“Oh, you just sell looks- OK. Well, here’s the ‘look’ I normally go for at a wedding: I have about fifteen gin and tonics, call the bride by the wrong name, vomit on my driver’s hood and then passout on a pizza with three toppings. What ‘ya got for that look? ‘Ya’ll got a Journey tee shirt and old high tops to sell me?”

14/01/2007
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