The Man Who Measures Suits

The overhead lights warm the room and the tall balding man stands wiping the sweat off his forehead, with his white initialed handkerchief, holding the measuring tape around his neck, waiting patiently to alter the gentleman’s suit. The gentleman’s wife huffs, as he takes his time, whistling in tune with the instrumental music playing on the store radio.

Several minutes later the gentleman opens the door of the dressing room, in his suit, with the sleeve jacket hanging past his wrists and the pants too long.

“Okay, sir, let’s get started,” says the man removing the measuring tape from around his neck.

The man measures each arm sleeve and the pants. He nearly stumbles into the wall when the gentleman’s wife yells.

“Wait, you idiot, you bought the wrong color! It’s supposed to be a black suit, not navy blue! I knew I should’ve left work early and be here when you bought it. Now we have to start all over!”

The gentleman looks away and the man puts the measuring tape around his neck again and walks toward the door.

“I’ll let you two have some privacy,” says the man. When he walks out, he hears the wife yelling at the husband and couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“I love my job,” he says.

“You’re supposed to be helping a gentleman in the back,” says the man’s manager, thumbing through receipts.

“They’re having a private chat, so I’m taking a coffee break.”

The man walks into the back room and makes himself a cup of coffee still chortling to himself.