A couple of folks have written and asked me what I do for a living. They know it’s not as a humorist. Well, no, I’m a drycleaner. I’m a very, very good one. I also keep the pressers in a, as the Brits would say, “jolly mood”. Whenever you have a bunch of wom-people working together there are going to be tensions. I do a great job of keeping things light.

“Okay, either quit fighting or I’m going to start talking”, I say. Always works.

The owner think I’m a good cleaner and spotter but shouldn’t deal with the customers too much, or at all. This goes back to a customer who wanted to speak to me about a spot I missed. I listened to her tell me who she was, WHO she is, how much money she had and how much she spends on her clothes. At some point I lost track of the conversation by being distracted by a fire engine.

“Jeez, lady, I don’t care who you are or how much money you have. Talk to the owners. Maybe they have money but I don’t and don’t care about yours unless you’re planning to give it to me”.

Another customer said I got her clothes too big. I’ve have sometimes shrunk something but I don’t know how to add a size to them. Even when I shrink something I believe, with all my heart, that the person may, just may, have gained a few pounds.

I can lose color in a garment but I can’t turn red into blue; I can’t be the one who painted graffiti on the jeans; I didn’t put that glob of ink on the dress or the glob of glue. I didn't change the color and I didn't spill beer on it. If you must complain think about this:

I have one chemical spotter that I have to be careful with. If I get it on my skin it gives me an itchy rash. It’s harmless but a little irritating. Not that I would do this, but if I got little on the crotch of your pants- well, you explain that rash to your spouse.