I had a Tom Hanks-style exasperation moment inside Tribeca Cleaners this morning. I gave the guy some items (jeans, light green chinos, 2 T-shirts, pair of socks), adding that I need them by 5 or 6 pm tomorrow. He held up the socks and asked if I wanted them dry-cleaned.
Me: “Socks? No, I don’t want them dry-cleaned. In fact, I don’t want anything dry-cleaned. Don’t you guys offer laundry service?” Guy: “Yes, but most people want dry cleaning.” Me: “These are washables. Who wants jeans and T-shirts dry-cleaned?” Guy: “Most people. They want their jeans smooth.” Me: “Why? They’re just jeans.” Guy: “They don’t want any wrinkles.” Me: “Jeans don’t wrinkle. You wash them and you put them on. That’s what jeans are about…you know, the rugged authenticity thing.”
This tells you what kind of people are living in Tribeca these days. Phonies. Pod people. 21st Century Marie Antoinettes. People who would’ve run screaming from Tribeca if they’d come down here in the ’70s or ’80s.
A guy around the corner from Tribeca Cleaners offered to re-sole my lace-ups, but said it would take an hour. No problem. I spotted a coffee place across Church Street, and walked there in my socks. I wasn’t the least bit bothered by this. The phonies who want their jeans dry-cleaned would have called an Uber to drive them across the street, or would have asked to be carried.