An Apology to the Woman at Dapper Dan Dry Because I'm an Idiot

Some moments in life call for a public apology. This is one of them.

Let me give you a piece of advice: if you're ever totally convinced you're 100% correct, think harder.

For the past several weeks, I've been driving to Dapper Dan's dry cleaners in the Hannaford Plaza on Kellogg Road in New Hartford to pick up dry cleaning I dropped off...a while ago. I always manage to get there when they're closed. But not yesterday.

I stroll in and give the very nice woman behind the counter my name. She goes to find my ticket. It's not there.

Nice Lady: "Could it be under any other name?"

Me: "No."

Nice Lady: "Wow. I really don't see it. Could you have dropped it off at our other location?"

Me (laughing on the inside, because DUH): "Uh, no. It was definitely here."

Nice lady (I think her name is Molly, but my sense of mortification has already started to block out all memory of the event) then proceeds to physically run through every single piece of dry cleaning in the store in the hope that'll I'll recognize my clothes. No luck.

Now, I'm starting to get concerned. I can't replace at least one of the items.

Me: "Well, if you accidentally gave my clothes to someone else, what do I do?"

Nice Lady: "We can try and retrace what happened, but I'll need your ticket."

Me: "I don't have it on me, but I can go home and find it." I leave after about 25 minutes of having the woman behind the counter search in vain for my clothes.

We go home, and I search for the ticket for 20 minutes, getting more upset as the minutes tick by. SPOILER ALERT: I can't find the ticket.

Ever find yourself in the middle of an argument when it dawns on you that you might be wrong? Or a moment where you realize the explanation you're pursuing is way more unlikely than the reality?

For example: what's more likely? A reputable dry cleaner completely lost my dry cleaning with zero record or recollection or that I am an idiot?

At this point, I realize I should pursue the latter. We drove over to Dan Cook's Dry Cleaning in the New Hartford Shopping Center. I walk in.

Nice Lady at Cook's: "Name?"

Me: "Coombs?"

(Nice lady #2 types into the computer.)

Nice Lady #2: "Beth? Hold on."

And that's when I realized I had actually dropped my dry cleaning off at Cook's, and not Dapper Dan's. And the Nice Lady at Dapper Dan's had my name and phone number, so there was no pretending this never happened.

So, Nice Lady at Dapper Dan's whose name might be Molly: I am so sorry. You are a saint, thank you so much for spending so much time trying to find the dry cleaning that wasn't at your store. I'm an idiot.

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