Revenge-Ma-Tazz

A few weeks back, I regaled you all with the tale of how I accidentally Punk’d my local tuxedo rental shop by walking out with my measurements but zero formal wear leases to speak of. All in all, things seemed to go smoothly. I was able to deliver my specific measurements to the local tuxederias in Chapel Hill and Princeton, my credit card was charged, and I never once had to return a worn formal garment bag to the mall near where I work. Of course, Ray at After Hours Tyson’s Corner is likely still awaiting my call with the Event ID for Dave’s North Carolinian affair, but he’ll get over it. I hope.

Apparently Tuxedo Karma is a bastard.

Now while each tux rental shop is out for their own profit margin and bottom line, I did not anticipate some underground guild structure that links them all arm-in-arm, in the name of snappy dressing. Apparently, punking one store, regardless of location, affiliation, or chain status, can get you in some seriously hot water with the whole family tree. So what if I ganked some free measurements under misleading pretense? It’s not like I’m ever going to be held responsible for my actions.

Word to the wise: The Tuxedors. They’re connected.

24 hours prior to the marriage that would rename Julie Viehweg on this blog to “The Prodigal Roommate’s Wife” had me, as well as the NC Duo of Dave and Nordberg, standing in the hallowed halls of the Market Fair Mall tux shop, known as “Chazz-Ma-Tazz.” A unique moniker, I know. But because there’s nothing more uncomfortably than an awkward silence while another man fiddles with the clothes you are currently wearing, I decided to make small talk as to discern where such a unique store name might come from.

“So, where did you get the name for your store?”
“Well, my name is Chazz, and then I just added some Ma-Tazz.”
“Oh.”

Ok, so it wasn’t something cool like the name of a tuxedo shop in a classic movie or a line from a long-forgotten Sinatra single, but at least we know the truth. But I made an effort to be friendly, so if there was some sort of formalwear retribution in the works, maybe he’d forget about it and be a nice Chazzman.

Prior to that, he called us into separate dressing rooms based on the name on the garment bag, and needless to say, we were mildly baffled as to whom he was speaking. The dressing room assignments follow, as spoken by Mr. Chazz.

“Room 1, I need a Dave REEF.”
“Room 2, is for a Chris NORBERG.”
"And Room 3, that would be for you, Chris GORDON.”

Call me Flash, people.

So as Flash and his superhero friends got their James Bond on, we took turns stepping out in front of the Hall of Mirrors to allow the expert to admire his tuxedo-selecting work. Nordberg may have needed some different pants, I don’t know. As for me, everything fit just right. And to put the finishing touches on, Mr. Chazz affixed the piece-de-resistance to my trousers.

Suspenders.

Call me crazy, but I think suspenders are awesome. I specifically bought a pair to wear to a formal dance awhile back, and they add some class to your everyday suit. Curiously, our suspenders were added underneath the vest, so no one could actually see them, and they had a tendency to pull the pants up a little higher that say, standard level of comfort. But hey, Spud picked them so who was I to complain?

As we shuffled off to the rehearsal, the following exchange took place.

“Hey, what do you think of the tuxes?”
“I think they’re sweet. Nice touches with the pocked square and suspenders, no?”
“What suspenders?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have any suspenders."
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Then WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WITH SUSPENDERS?”

Tuxedor’s Revenge is served best cold with elastic.