Nurse the Hate: The White Suit

A number of years ago I spent the morning of November 1^st walking back to my house in a three-piece white polyester suit which I had drenched completely in a bottle of English Leather cologne.  This was not because of a disastrous fashion choice.  I had been at a Halloween party where I had gone completely into character as sort of a Disco Stu thing.  At one point I had leaped up on a table to dance to KC and the Sunshine Band’s immortal hit “That’s The Way I Like It”.  This was a real crowd pleaser, even more so when the table toppled over and I fell into another table of patrons and their pitcher of beer.  It was a bit of a scene.  There was a definite hitch to my walk as the bruise had settled in on my thigh.

This was a period in my life in which I had no real connections with anyone.  There is a certain carefree quality to life when you have relationships that are barely beyond surface deep.  I was blissfully unaware and taking whatever came my way.  It is only when the lightning bolt of making a real connection with someone hits you that the burden of its absence becomes a weight to carry.  Before you realize that there are 2-3 people on the planet total that you are actually on the exact same wavelength, life is really easy.  After that, you’re hoping to stay in tune or just killing time hoping you get lucky and find them again.  On this particular day I had none of that.  I was a happy dipshit.  I was just a guy in a cheap cologne drenched suit that had one realistic goal, to get out of that suit and into a shower.

Something I learned that morning was that no matter how much Irish Spring soap that is used, English Leather cologne is impervious to it.  For the next week I should have just embraced it by buying an Italian Horn necklace and spending most of my time at dance clubs that spelled the word “Crazy” with a “K”.  I didn’t though and instead tried to position myself downwind in all social situations.  That plan was largely ineffective as I learned at work the next day when someone said “Who the fuck is wearing the cheap ass cologne?”.  I looked around the room with a dazed yet inquisitive expression that said “You know, now I notice it too…  I wonder where that’s coming from?”.  The key is too look as concerned as the others, but not more as that would give you away.  I would like to formally apologize to Corey, a happy-go-lucky guy I worked with that bore the implied guilt of this social faux pas when I didn’t correct the speculation that arose fingering him as the culprit.  Corey, it was my silence that doomed you to be known as “Cologne Corey” amongst the ladies of the workplace behind your back.  I’m sorry.

The suit smelled so strongly I had to put it on a hanger and leave it outside to air out.  I also learned that not everything “airs out” by leaving it on a hanger on a porch.  It hung on the hanger like a hunk of spoiled meat.  It repelled all potential visitors the same way a human head on a pike might.  I was sort of like a disco version of Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now.  I can see myself now hunched over in my living room palming a small cup of water when criticized regarding my dry cleaning technique.  “You don’t approve of my methods?”  Greg, I don’t see any method at all…

The suit was stolen that weekend from the porch.  Had I launched a criminal investigation I would have just been able to sniff out the English Leather fairly easily and found The Perp.  It would have been great to show up with a police baton and a bloodhound on someone’s porch ready to deliver swift justice.  I just didn’t have the energy.  To be honest it was a bit of a relief to be rid of the thing as I know that even now that suit is in the back of someone’s closet slowly making everything they own smell like English Leather, sweat, and mildew.  I hope they had a good time in it though.  That suit was really something.