The following is a letter sent to Men’s Wearhouse customer service regarding a ripped suit.
SUBJECT: A torn man
My name is Nick.
A few years ago I purchased a Jones New York suit from Men’s Wearhouse (which I’m just realizing now is “wearhouse” and not “warehouse” – very clever) and it quickly became my favorite suit. The suit is a dark charcoal color with distinct, but not overpowering pin stripes that (admittedly) created a slimming effect that I was fond of. This was the suit I put on when I had special occasions, when I wanted to impress those around me. This was the suit I wore when I was conducting serious business, like drinking or celebrating victories or both, not the suit I would wear to a funeral. The suit gave me confidence, it radiated power. It was my armor. My safety net. My laurel wreath, my Holy Grail, made from finest cloth in place of treasured gold. I liked the way I looked.
But then tragedy struck. The same night I was elected by my peers to serve as the Vice President of the University at Albany student government, the sleeve of my suit ripped! Caught in a nail when walking past a door frame.
The moment I felt the slight tug, and heard the soft but audible rip, I felt sorrow. Of course, I thought to myself. Just when things were looking up.
I shopped around town hoping to find a seamstress who would be able to fix this small tear with no luck. I accepted defeat and served my year-long term as Vice President in a lesser suit. Tonight, a year and a half since the incident, I looked in my closet and noticed it hanging there, and I felt that sorrow again. I pulled it out, took it off the hanger, and put it on over my t-shirt. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but for a moment, a passing moment, I felt its power once more. I could feel it, flickering ever so softly, that strength and power radiating once more. But as quickly as I felt it, it disappeared.
Now, I turn to you. In a last chance, Hail Mary attempt to repair that which was (and will always be) the best suit I’ve ever owned.