Martin

Given my habit of procrastination when it comes to clothing (as stated in my previous post), it won't come as a surprise that I've had a too-big pair of pants for several years. I probably shouldn't admit this, but during the time when I also didn't own a belt, I used to make it through the day by tying a piece of yarn through the belt loops around my waist. Deborah, my colleague, was rightfully shocked and teased me to no end, but I continued to live with what I thought was a perfectly functional solution.

About 8 months ago, an idea popped into my head--a tailor! I should take my pants to a tailor! But I had no idea how to go about doing that, and when I started asking around I kept hearing horror stories. I found a few viable options on Yelp and set the pants aside so I could take them in. Then the week would get busy, I would run out of things to wear, I'd pull out the same too-big pants (with a belt that I bought along the way), and then put them back aside at the end of the day so I could take them to the tailor. This has gone on for 8 months now.

Today, however, was a new day. Today I packed the pants in a bag and set off in search of Sew Special. I hoped the tailor would have pity on a girl with no tailoring experience. I expected to be greeted by either an Asian couple or a petite man with a lisp and an attitude when I pulled open the door, so I was surprised to find Bob Marley drifting out the door as I walked in. There at the sewing machine sat my new tailor--a loose, knitted cap in black and green sat on top of his dreadlocks, a salt and pepper beard, a black-yellow-green sweatshirt. "Hello there, how are you? What can I do for you?" he asked in a strong accent.

I showed him my pants. "I need these taken in."

"Yeah, mon. Why don't you just go put them on for me."

He was Jamaican. Very Jamaican. And while I went behind the curtain to change into my pants. He and his friend lilted away in the patois of which I could understand only every third or fourth word. While he measured my pants I told him about the two weeks I had spent in Jamaica while in college learning about the culture. I proudly told him the two words/phrases that I had learned in Jamaica: pickney: child; and nyam de food: eat the food, and he nearly split his side he was laughing so hard.

"I never thought I would meet an American who could speak Jamaican!"

I quickly reminded him that those were the only two words that knew. But never the less, he asked me what my name was (in Jamaican patois), to which I replied, "Twenty-one?" And then he proceeded to tell me about how he is also a DJ at a Jamaican club down the street, and I should come by sometime!

We sang a folk song together (Mango Time), and he sent me on my way with homework. I have to buy a yard and a half of some "funky" fabric so he can make another pair of my pants into a skirt for me. (When I saw a photo someone had taken recently I realized that these pants were actually not very flattering at all.) Good thing I have Martin in my life now!