little bitty girl

As everyone knows, I am pretty short so I always have to get my pants hemmed. I wish there was some sort of discount given since a large portion of my pants end up as scraps. When we first moved into the neighbourhood, I asked around for a good tailor. There were a bunch of dry cleaners around that offered hemming services but I had my heart set on an old school tailor. I was recommended Alexander Tailor just four blocks away from me.

"He's really grumpy, reminds me of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld, but very good,"claimed a friend who had gotten one of her grandmother's vintage coats perfectly tailored and updated by him.

So I started going to Alexander Tailor then and it's been an interesting relationship. It's one of those tiny places, where a tiny bell rings when you enter and your senses are suddenly taken over by the smell of old magazines and fabric. The tailor was usually in the back and when you called out "Hello?" he would grumpily mutter back,"In a minute!" and just kept doing what he was doing until he was done.

I am pretty sure his name was not Alexander because I asked once. He was about in his 70's and of Eastern European descent. The man never smiled when you walked in. It was always the same questions and answers, issued as curtly as possible in a deep accented voice.

"What you want done?"
"You want me to pin it or you pin already?"
"You can pay now, or you can pay later. Doesn't matter"
"You come Thursday! After 5! I am very busy!"

Why did I go to him then if he had such attitude? The man knew his work. He was beyond reasonable and he did his work beautifully. He was always on time and never took more than 3-4 days. Every time I got anything hemmed or tailored, it always ended up looking as if that piece of clothing was just made for me.

Plus, I saw it as my personal challenge to make him smile. I would tell him irreverent facts, make silly comments and always made sure I hoped he had a great day when I left. I am sure he just thought I was just the silly girl who came every four months or so with pants to hem. Eventually after five years or so, he started reciprocating (in his own way). He wasn't as snarly, sometimes he would even crack half a smile. Except when I started bringing Stef around. He would crack half a smile when he saw me and frown as soon as Stef walked in the door. It took everything in me not to burst out laughing at just how quickly he could change his expressions.

Stefan would always complain, saying,"Your tailor hates me! Stop making me go pick up your stuff!"

Except when Stef wasn't around, Mr. Tailor would make nice comments about him. "He's a big strong man! So tall! Does he exercise? Yes? Good! Must be healthy!" He would tell me how he woke up early every morning and walked briskly for an hour, no matter what the weather.

About three months ago, Stef went to drop off some of my tailoring but came back to say that there was a sign saying that the shop was closed temporarily and there was a number to call in case of an emergency. I was instantly worried. Was Mr. Tailor sick? I meant to call the number but then time lapsed and I didn't. In my head, I just thought he would be back in a couple of weeks. Now the shop windows are papered up and the sign is gone. Which meant that he was either very ill or that he died.

It makes me sad that I never found out his real name. That I didn't call when his shop closed, just so he or his family knew at least one of his many nameless clients thought and appreciated him. It's funny how people who are not part of your inner circle can still make an impression on one's life.