Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Gee, You Mean I Gotta Get Dressed Up?

This story will give you some insight ... into what, I don't really know, but there are several lessons somewhere in here -- somewhere in this long soliliquy.

I've been waiting for a hearing before the Sixth Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals for over a year on a case. It was set for June 11th, last Friday, the day of the Ronnie Reagan state funeral brought to you by 20-mule team Borax and the folks at Halliburton. All federal buildings were closed. I called to see if the hearing would be going forward in federal court; and, sure enough, we were going forward, state funeral and executive orders by the President be damned.

Thursday afternoon, I packed according to the packing list e-mailed to me by my betrothed, since I invited her to go to Cincinnati with me (not that she would attend the hearing ... she has been sufficiently traumatized by her one appearance in the gallery to prevent her from being a spectator at a hearing in which I am involved ever again). I packed everything on the list. Jackson made sure that I remembered to bring my shoes ... like I forgot to wear shoes to court before (give me a fucking break for being a lot smarter than that).

I snagged Stacey from her office at quarter to five, a little late, I admit, and headed down I-71 to the Queen City, arriving at 8 or so ... the "or so" because I asked for directions ... yes, that's right, all you skeptics, I, the man, asked for directions to Starbucks to get my lovely wife a venti 3-pump mocha. We did get a nice hotel ... we didn't stay at a Days Inn (formerly the 8 Days Inn because back in 1974, the rooms were $8 a day), like we were forced to do in Terre Haute a couple weeks ago (ugh!).

When we got to our hotel room, I hung up my nice, clean-and-pressed-directly-from-DryClean-USA, white, button-down collar shirt from Old Navy and my charcoal gray suit that I bought well before the turn of the century. I have this nice paisley tie, very conservative power tie, red with blue and gray little bitty paisleys on it, for a court appearance just like this. Of course, the lawyer on the other side wouldn't be intimidated -- he's blind -- but I wanted to be respectful of the esteemed judges on the court. You know how it is, I'm sure.

So, where the fuck is he going with this story, you ask? Well, here's where. I got the wake-up call at like 6:30 on Friday morning. I needed to be at the court to check in at 8:30 ... this is the court that tells you what kind and size of typeface to put on court papers or sends them back to you with nasty notes about reading the court rules; so, there's no being late ... or disrespectful ... and heaven forbid, you should take notes in Braille.

[punch, punch, punch, punch ... "Counselor, stop that! It's very disturbing! What are you doing there?" "I'm taking notes, your Honor" (See, capital "H" ... respectful, he was.). "Well, stop that right now. It's disruptive, that noise you're making." "But you're Honor, I'm taking notes in Braille. I'm quite blind." The three judges put their heads together, conferring in this case in which, ironically, the issue is whether the blind guy's clients can bring suit under the Americans with Disabilities Act. "I'm sorry, counselor. Go right ahead. Carry on." I'll leave out the jokes and stuff after that so you think that being in federal court is like all serious and subdued.]

So, I do the things I do after waking up in the morning and take a shower, waking Stacey up and seeing if she really wants to drive to downtown Cincinnati and get a mocha at Starbucks and breakfast, maybe. And she did, I think mainly because I woke her up.

So, I'm getting dressed. I decided on my Joe Boxer red boxer shorts with the small paisley pattern which do, in fact, fashionably match the power tie I planned to wear. Strange city ... car accident ... emergency room ... Nurse, after cutting off the pants, says to the E.R. guy starting to stick a breathing tube down my throat, "Doctor Horrorwits, look, his panties match his tie," and the E.R. doctor starts laughing and jams the tube right through my esophagus. Hahaha ... just another fucking lawyer!

Where was I? Oh yeah, the getting dressed thing.

Without getting into specifics, I put my medium-starched shirt on, buttoned it, and then my pants ... Stacey was in the shower, so I didn't have to fake it and put them on just one leg at a time. Then I went to get my tie, which should have been on the fancy-ass hangar with the suit.

But the tie wasn't there. So, I went over to the bag we brought along. It's amazing how you keep looking in the different places in the bag, outside pocket, inside pocket, left side, right side, but every place you look in starts looking the same ... and the tie isn't in the bag. I checked in my stylish, yellow, Patagonia Critical Mass courier bag that I use as a brief case and computer bag and tie bag, but didn't find my tie. I found no ties. Someone stole my tie ... or ... I ... forgot ... my ... tie.

There was a time when I would have screamed, "Goddammit, I forgot my fucking tie!!!!" and thrown something that was in easy reach; but I'm older and wiser and do not swear like a sailor anymore or scream and carry on, so I calmly yelled to Stacey, who was getting out of the shower, "Goddammit, I forgot my fucking tie!!"

How could I forget my fucking tie? That was the question Stacey asked, since it was on the e-mailed list of stuff I should pack and bring ... to which I had no good answer. Just one of those things, I guess. I did bring shoes to wear, however, I pointed out to her. Wise-ass, she called me.

I called the front desk. No, they did not have any ties ... or any of those t-shirts with the tuxedos on them, either. It was about 7:15 in the morning. I needed an open-24-hours Wal-Mart or something ... or a dry cleaner. And the kid ... I saw he was a kid on the way out ... said he could give me directions to a dry cleaner north on I-71 ... I didn't want to go backwards. So, I packed up the stuff for the hearing, and Stacey got dressed, and we headed towards downtown Cincy, looking for something that might stock ties that was open.

The BP station at the end of the hotel driveway didn't stock ties ... and the lone guy pumping gas started laughing when I asked him if he had a tie I could borrow.

So, it was south on I-71 with ten miles to the last exit before Kentucky. There was a Starbucks at the next exit ... and a mall. Maybe ... just maybe, there was a store open. We drove around the mall and down a main road a ways, but nothing was open ... where the hell was Wal-Mart when you needed one? Wal-Marts are multiplying like bacteria in a 37-degree centigrade petri dish ... but no, not in Cincinnati ...

Stacey needed a mocha; so, I went into Starbucks and asked for our mochas ... and a necktie ... What? A necktie. I forgot my tie ... do you have one? The manager went into the back and came out several minutes later empty-handed, dejected that she could not have a great story to tell at the Starbucks convention ... and win some kind of award for that one. She quizzed the partners ... they are not mere employees at Starbucks ... and nobody had a tie. Damn! But I had the mochas ... and I didn't have to worry about spilling any on my tie.

I spied Staples ... office supplies ... people wear ties in offices ... maybe they had ties ... maybe if they didn't have ties, the associates ... they are not mere employees at Staples ... maybe they wear ties, and I could offer like five bucks for it. So, I walked in, not uncomfortable in the least, knowing how stupid I seemed ... or am ... whatever ... so, there's this blond kid, no ties on the associates, I guess, and I say I need a necktie right now and ask if Staples carries neckties ... and he looks at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. I mean, I am still in Ohio and although I don't have that hick hillbilly distinctive country accent he has, he's got to understand me. You know, I said, a necktie, pulling the open button at my neck together with my right thumb and index finger. Oh, a necktie, he said. Like what the hell did he think I meant, garbage bag ties. ... And then he told me that he didn't have any in the store. Damn!

Another customer stood across the counter from me ... at another register. He wore a tie, which was ... how do I put it politely ... Medusan; but I said to him, "Sir, sir ..." Apparently, nobody ever addressed him in that manner before because he didn't look up ... he was the engineer type, I'd say, short sleeve shirt, probably 70/30-rayon/cotton blend, blue, but not a color on Martha Stewart's paint chart, if you know what I mean, and the tie was some ki9nd of blue not found in nature ... diagonal stripes with like silvery and other unnamed blue stripes ... I winced. "Sir, hey you, over there at the register, sir, can I ..." What if he said "Yes?" I couldn't do it ... I couldn't ... "you don't happen to have an extra tie in your car I could ... ummm, buy." No reply. He just looked at me ... yes, like I was insane. I have seen the look before. I looked over at the kid ... he had a dumb look on his puss, then he confirmed the level of his intelligence, "The mall opens at 9. Maybe you could find one over there." I left.

Two exits closer to downtown Cincy, some kind of shopping center loomed across the highway ... and there was a Meijer's (how this is pronounced is your guess as good as mine) that advertised it was open 24 hours. We had to get off I-71 and get over to that place. There was a Sam's Club, too, which could have been open ... for business members, like me. But there was no exit. We passed right by the place -- my salvation, receding from view. Stacey said to get off and turn around to go north on I-71 back toward nirvana, then get off at the next exit. It was just before 8. Plenty of time. And it wasn't hard to find, either. Just keep the big shopping center sign in sight. And we made it there, due in large part in toto to the navigator, not the driver.

I need to explain something about ties. I have some distinctive ties from a place called Dancing Silk Tie Co., then I have a couple conservative ties, like paisley, that I wear when I don't know how the judge or jury will feel about pink flamingos, tropical fish, or other designs. So, I don't like shopping for standard-issue lawyer ties.

I ran into the open-24-hours Meijer's and located the men's department, where I was confronted by a bunch of, what I call, Dr. Phil ties. Dr. Phil wears matching shirts and ties -- the monochromatic look, and the ties are kind of shiny, unless that's just our TV. And every time he's wearing one of those outfits, I want to tell him, and I risk serious bodily harm for disclosing this, "Dude, I hate those ties." Among the ties on the two small racks were also the ties engineers in short sleeves wear -- this must be where my silent, blue friend at Staples shops for clothes.

The selection of hook-on ties was impressively huge. I wondered if that was a fashion trend in Cincinnati, which I guessed was the case. After all, this is the place where the director of the art museum was prosecuted for pandering obscenity. Hook-on ties seem like just the thing -- all the same, no variation, uniform, conforming, kind of like paint-by-number.

I found a black tie with some kind of small scattered diamond shapes. It was a tie similar to what I had seen on other lawyers. I headed for the check-out, paid, and got directions back to I-71 south to the city. So, while walking to the car, I started to tie the thing ... and one of the damn collar buttons popped off.

So, there I am in the federal court of appeals with three judges listening to me and asking me a few questions, all the time scrutinizing me. Not really looking at me, but looking at my tie ... and the one over there on my left, Judge Cole, he was fingering his collar ... and smiling ...

Posted by Bill at June 16, 2004 07:44 PM