Life in the City

By Christina Conklin '88

A few months ago I attempted to pick up an altered dress at my dry cleaners in Manhattan. When I walked in, the owner was hemming a pair of pants, and my dress was in the “to do” basket. This was the third time he’d missed a deadline, and I exploded like a fed-up spouse: “Why do you always do this to me!” I shouted, “If it wasn’t going to be done on Saturday, you should have called me! I have to wear that tonight!” Another customer in the tiny shop (Pants Man, presumably, waiting for his hem job) ignored me until the dry cleaner picked up the dress and asked me exactly what time I was going out. Pants Man tensed, about to object. I told the cleaner to forget it and stormed out.…

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