This is a real-life, honest-to-God photo of me…

TL;DR – I’m pretty sure a well known suit chain is run by the mob.

I recently ordered a suit, and as usual I waited longer than I should have, in other words until the last minute. I’m not going to name the store for fear of retaliation (why this is possible should be come clear as you read), but let’s just call it “It’s-Not-Women’s Large-Building-Used-To-Store-Things.” I ordered the suit on a weekend and after I did I realized I wasn’t happy with the suit in that I really prefer pants with cuffs on the bottom. The truth is that my preferences in clothes tend to run a little “old fashioned” anyway. I like suspenders, pants with pleats and cuffs, and although I wore them long before they became trendy in computer circles, fedoras. I own and actually wear two-tone spectator shoes. But only between Memorial Day and Labor Day because I wasn’t born in a cave.
When it came to finding a suit, I had a hard time even finding one off the shelf that wasn’t built for man-bun wearing millennials with legs like toothpicks. With some regret I bought the loosest fitting straight leg suit they sold, but after thinking about it I decided to go back and see if they’d not yet cut the legs off and could cuff the bottoms. I drove over to the store on the Monday after I bought it at around noon and when I walked in there were two guys working, and no customers. I asked the thin, late middle-age dark haired gent that that happened to be closest to the front door if it was too late to change my order. Without saying yes or no, he asked me to follow him toward the back of the store and stopped in front of a large table and said, “This is Frank. He can help you.”

Frank, as I recall him looking…

Frank was wearing an expensive looking suit with no jacket, a dress shirt and vest, and was sitting with his hands folded at a table. Not on his phone. Not reading. Just sitting with his hands folded. He looked like the guy from the movie Casino that used a baseball bat on Joe Pesci and his brother at the end of the film.

I broke the awkward silence and said, “Hi, I ordered a suit on Saturday and I was hoping I could change the order and have cuffs put on them.”

Frank stood up and without acknowledging my question, took my hand and said with a Sicilian accent, “What’s your name?”

Taken off guard by his misdirection I answered, “Matt…”

“Matt, this just isn’t isn’t done,” he said.

I was slightly unnerved at his use of my name even though I’d just told him what it was, and just said, “Huh?”

Then he gestured down toward his shoes and said, “Matt, do you see my pants? They have pleats. The ones you bought don’t have pleats, so you can’t do cuffs.”

Then he looked at the other guy and said, “Isn’t that right, Tony?”

And Tony replied without missing a beat, “That’s right, Frank.”

I’m not positive but as his words hung in the air I faintly heard the Godfather theme over the music system. And a little pee might have came out of me.

So I asked, “So you can’t put cuffs on non-pleated pants?”

And Frank replied, “Well, if you want them, we could take care of that for you.”

Which I’m pretty sure meant if I pressed it, they’d have me whacked. And buried in that suit. But they’d probably remove the cuffs before the service.

So then I just looked at him and he’s just looking back at me blankly.

And I finally flinched and said, “Okay, I guess I don’t want the cuffs.”

And Frank said, “I think that’s best, Matt. It’s just not done.”

I quietly wished that he’d stop calling me by my name, and after a pause he continued saying, “If you’d like, we can build you a pair of pants with pleats and cuffs, but it’s not going to be cheap.”

By this time I was completely unraveled so I just said, “Okay, well, thank you,” resisting my impulse to add, “Godfather, can I go?”

As Frank watched me turn to go he added, “Of course. Thanks for stopping by.”

I put my head down and made a quick walk to the front door and didn’t look back because I was afraid they’d be looking out the window at my through slotted blinds, which they didn’t even have.

I finally went back and picked up the suit the following weekend, but as with that weekend I paid for it, the store was completely different, with a young staff working wearing skinny-leg suits and lots of customers shopping with their wives and girlfriends. I’m still not sure exactly what the deal was, but my working theory is that the suit store is a front for the mob.