Dry Cleaner

My Korean dry cleaner, Ms. Hung, has an unfiltered window into my dirty little world that no one else has. Every time I walk into her store Ms. Hung lets out an exasperated sigh and braces herself for a mess and a "story".

Ms. Hung's tiny store is in my office building, and she does everything from dry cleaning to shoe repair. She also sells candy, cigarettes, get-well cards, bobble-head dolls, and an assortment of strange looking Asian snacks that have suspiciously confusing nutritional labels. The store is so crammed with wares that your mind goes into sensory overload. When you walk in and your eyes dart around like you just snorted a rail of coke a mile long. It's a marketing nightmare.

I was a normal customer to Ms. Hung until I came in one Monday morning a few years ago and kindly asked her if a dark black/brown stain on the front of a white linen shirt could come out. "Ho my Rod, wha happen?" I said "Uh, I think something spilled, I'm not really sure, it should come out, I'll take this pack of gum too." and slipped a pack of Wrigley across the counter hoping it would change the topic. Ms. Hung smelled the stain and instantly recoiled from the stench "Wha ees dees, smells soooo bad?". I really didn't want to get into this with her, so I tried to dismiss it as wine and just have her write up the ticket, but she wasn't buying my story. Under my breath I said "I'm not sure, it may be alcohol, it'll come out, it has come out before, just clean it please." Ms. Hung was not satisfied with my generic alcohol description either and pressed further "Ralcohol, wha kind a ralcahol?" Now someone from my office was in the shop, so I leaned in close across the counter to her and quietly said "It's Jagermeister, please just clean it!". Apparently they don't have Jager in South Korea, because Ms. Hung now wanted to know what "Reiger-Reister" was, and why I poured it down my chest. The best explanation I could muster was that the first drink goes down your throat, and the rest ususally ends up on your chest. She nodded and wrote up my ticket.

One night my dog barfed on my brand new down comforter. I hosed it off in the yard, let it dry in the sun, then brought it in to Ms. Hung in a garbage bag. I explained what happened and she said "You tell many stories." Three days later I picked up the comforter and it was good as new.

It couldn't have been two days later that I met Salsa, who left a gigantic cum stain on the comforter. The next morning I was like "Fuck, I have to bring this in to Ms. Hung again, she's going to kill me!". I'm an adult, I shouldn't be ashamed of what I do in my bed, in my house, but I am. I hung the comforter over the railing of my deck to dry it out, but it still stunk the next day. Monday morning I was back at Ms. Hung's with a garbage bag. When I walked in she said "Another story?". I handed her the bag and said "My dog had another accident, I'll be back tomorrow to pick this up. Thank you." and walked out. I didn't even wait for my ticket because I didn't want to be there when she opened the bag.

When I showed up the following day to pick up the comforter Ms. Hung's husband, Mr. Hung, was there, which was a huge relief to me. I paid him and as he handed me the bag with the cleaned comforter he said "You no even rav dog, do you?" and smiled from ear to ear. I smiled and walked out. The Hungs are clearly discussing my extra curricular activities in their spare time.

Everything was fine for a while, then I went to South America last year. One night I wore this white shirt that had snaps down the front instead of buttons, and my buddies broke my balls about the snaps, they said it was a "tear away shirt". All night long they encouraged girls to rip open my shirt. They would rip it open, everyone would laugh, and then I would snap the shirt back together. Believe me, that game got old really fast. Two nights later I had on a shirt that looked very similar, except that it had buttons instead of the snaps. I think you can see where this store is heading. After a few cocktails a girl walked up to me and ripped open the shirt. This time, instead of hearing "click, click, click" there was a ripping noise, and buttons went flying in all directions. The girl was mortified and ran away, and my buddies fell on the floor laughing. Much to my friends' amusement I walked around this fancy club the rest of the night with my shirt wide open like some sort of ridiculous Guido idiot. Girls would as "Why is your shirt open?" and I would just say "Fuck off".

The shirt was very expensive, so when I got back from Argentina I reluctantly brought it into Ms. Hung and explained that "there was a slight accident and that a couple of buttons popped off my shirt." As Ms. Hung took the shirt from me she gave me a funny sideways look and spread it on the table. At first she looked for a stain on the front of the shirt, but I fold back the front a little and pointed to where the buttons used to be and said "Can you add more buttons?". She was incredulous. She shook her head and said "Hoooo, noooo, dees happen ova an ova again!". I said "No it won't, just once, I promise..." but she cut me off. "No!. Dees happen ova an ova an ova." Technically she was right. As I stood there I recalled that I once brought in a shirt that was missing a few buttons after I was in a little fracas one evening. I said "Well, maybe it will happen again, but probably not to this exact shirt." She pursed her lips, snatched the shirt off the counter and wrote up the ticket.

Yesterday I put on a dress shirt for work and there was a large stain on the breast pocket that looked like rust. I took the shirt off and put it in my dry cleaning bag. This morning I brought all my dry cleaning to Ms. Hung and pointed out that one of my shirts wasn't cleaned properly last time. I showed her the stain and she said "Yoo sure yoo dog no rav accident?" Man, that lady has a great memory.