Chapter 11
Levi
Tux Rental
“Your shoulders are bigger than the measurements you sent us,” the tuxedo shop owner grumbles as he tugs on the seams of the tight-fitting jacket, trying to give me a little more room. “We’re going to have to go up a size.” He marches over to the rack of tuxes and pulls another one out. “Try this jacket.”
I do as he requests, easily slipping into the larger size.
“That’s better. Try the pants on for length. I didn’t know you were such a big fellow.”
With all the weightlifting I’ve been doing, it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve outgrown my old suit size which were the measurements I sent him. Taking the pants from him, I put them on in the back dressing room. They are a little tight in the thighs and waist but seem ok to me.
As I emerge from the dressing room, the shop owner shakes his head and makes a tsk, tsk sound in his grumpy voice. “We’re going to have to lengthen the legs a half inch or more. Let me get my pins so I can adjust the length.” His voice makes me want to apologize for being tall. Man, this tailor is really picky. It’s ridiculous.
I stand patiently while he carefully rips out the old seam and pins the material to the new length. Why don’t they use Velcro so the hem can be adjusted without all this effort?
After the hem is pinned to his satisfaction, the shop owner directs me to a waiting area with a Keurig coffeemaker and a plate of what looks like day old donuts. “Feel free to enjoy a snack while you wait,” he says, then disappears to work on the alterations.
Deciding to forego the unappealing food, I try to pass time on my phone, but there’s no signal. Rummaging through the magazines on the table, I find a three-year-old Sports Illustrated that features the NHL draft candidates. Even though this is old news, I thumb through the magazine anyway. My eyes widen when I see a photo of my recently hired agent staring back at me from one of the pages. Everyone advised me to get an agent despite the fact that this year’s draft is still months away. The story is interesting and backs up what others told me about Sonny Richardson, that he’s honest, hard-working, and gives back to his community. This positive, glowing article reinforces that I made a great decision to hire him. Other college players have been burned by their choice of agent, but I was careful and did my research before hiring Sonny. I’m looking forward to Sonny guiding me through the upcoming draft process.
An hour later, the grumpy shop owner hands me a garment bag containing the altered black tuxedo and matching black dress shoes, a white shirt in the same style as the groom’s, plus a mint green bow tie and coordinating cummerbund. I pay the fifty-dollar alteration fee along with the two-hundred-dollar rental fee, reeling from sticker shock as to how expensive it is to be part of a wedding. I hope that Bailey’s aunt is able to alter that maid of honor dress because I can’t imagine how pricy a replacement dress would be.
“You need to return the tux by 8AM on Monday or there will be a fifty-dollar late fee,” the man reminds me as he hands me a receipt.
I suppress my frown as I leave the shop. Wonder what the next expense is going to be? Being a poor college student, I don’t really have the budget for these extra expenditures. Hopefully, my current financial situation is a short-term problem and Sonny will score a sweet deal for me on the upcoming NHL draft day.
~*~
The day of the wedding dawns with blue skies and sunshine. Even though the wedding is being held inside a church, I’m sure that the bride and groom are thankful for the beautiful weather. Here in New England, it could just as well be spitting snow this time of year.
“Are you ready for your expensive penguin suit debut?” Joey teases as I stroll into the kitchen.
I complained to my housemate about all the tux fitting and expenses from yesterday. “I was crabby last night because I didn’t expect to spend so much. Please don’t tell Josh.”
Joey makes a motion of zipping his lips.
Wondering what I can eat for breakfast, I scour the pantry. Those tux pants are a little tight, so a breakfast of eggs and bacon is out. Maybe a couple of slices of toast will do? I can chow down on the dinner after the ceremony.
“A fine day for a wedding,” Otto says, carrying his usual Starbucks takeout cup. When does he have the time and funds to go to that pricy coffee shop every morning?
“The ceremony is indoors,” I say.
“I’m sure they’ll want to take photos outside,” Otto replies.
Groaning internally, I remember how long it took to take photos at my cousin’s wedding a few years ago. The dinner was delayed because of all the picture taking.
I better eat a big breakfast.
“What time do you have to be at the church?” Joey asks.
“No later than 1PM,” I say.
“What? There’s no makeup or hair session?” Otto jokes.
“For the men, no. But Bailey has to be there at eleven.”
Both guys roll their eyes. “Glad I’m not a chick,” Joey says.
Me, too. What are they doing that takes three hours?