I have a mysterious problem with my pants that makes very little sense to me or anyone I question. Other people’s pants seem to degrade in various ways. Holes in the knee, frayed ends, a broken zipper—these are the usual symptoms that takes people’s pants out of commission. During my question of people I discovered most are generally uncomfortable answering the question, “What takes your pants out of commission?”
I for one, am most uncomfortable sharing what takes my pants out of commission, since it is always the same, always a hole, and always on the right ass cheek of the pants.
My sailor chill pants that a pirate would wear that I bought at the Banana Republic on sale for $7 in Portland, Oregon July, 13th 2010?
Yep, holes in the right ass:
The white old Navy beach pants with the soft, white linen liner that makes me feel like I am wearing clouds? Holes right in the right ass. . .
It has happened with jeans, corduroy, shorts, and even my plaid chill pants fell victim to these mysterious ass holes.
I look forward to going to my Guatemalan tailor with the anticipation of a kangaroo entering a gymnastics academy not so much because I am into clothes, but into the limitless possibilities of a kindergartener in a candy store on at Christmas—which is what I feel in the humble shop of my Guatemalan sastre (tailor), Carlo Gálvez. I first discovered the advantages of having a tailor in 2009, which among other things “gives a man his manliness.”
When for the price of Walmart pants you can design your own pants to suit your every whim and pants possibility, then you go for it, you decide what your dream pants look like and you make it happen.
Take for instance these pants that Carlos made me:
A typical conversation between Carlos and I goes like this:
Me: Do you think that maybe, we could put, more secret pockets in these pants?
Carlos: Lucas, es mucho, es demasiado, ya tienes como cinco bolsillos secretos en estos pantalones.
Me: Please Carlos, one more secret pocket, near the knee, this is all I ask of you.
Carlo: Bueno, yo creo que uno mas podemos hacer. . . pero este es el ultimo.
Carlos is the best at putting secret pockets on pants. He also makes a mean suit. In anticipation in what has now become an annual visit to Carlos, I brought three pants with the holes blown in the asses to Guatemala, knowing that Carlos could not only fix them, but sew secret pockets into them.
The conclusion that I am perpetually carrying contraband with me and this is why I need the secret pockets, is not correct. But I do often find myself in parts of the world where muggers are heard of. In such areas, I tend to take a decoy phone out with me and a few loose bills in the front pocket of my pants, while things like my iPhone and credit cards are tucked safely away in Carlos’ secret pockets. Some may find this a bit over the top, but it is doubtful that Indiana Jones would be amongst those numbers.
And Lo, A Trip To My Guatemalan Tailor
Tailor day started with rainy season sunshine and a cloud dotted sky. I purchased a coconut for $.60 from the coconut vender down the street from my house, and patted the friendly street dog (Coco Loco) who hangs out by his stand. A car drove by and Coco Loco took off in hot pursuit behind it.
The dog came out of his battle with el carro with barely his life.
“This dog is crazy,” The coconut man said, “He is going to kill himself.”
I’m not sure where street dogs learn it, but from Chile, to Guatemala, to Africa, I have seen them chase vehicles with a vengeance.
Sipping on my coconut, I boarded a Chicken bus for Jocotenango and exited at the Puma petrol station where Carlo’s tailor shop has been ever since I met him in 2010.
“Lucas!” he said as I walked into the door, “Tanto tiempo.“
We both calculated the last time he had seen me and he asked me where I had been. He also asked about my friend Ryan, whom he had made a suit for. I told him the last time I saw him was a few months ago during a “noche grande” in Nueve York.
Then we got to work. I showed him my mangled pants, and he scrutinized them carefully, pondering the same conundrum I’ve spent much time wondering about, “What could be the cause of all these ass holes?” Then he laughed in a way that only a tailor inspecting inexplicably mangled garments can chuckle.
He told me the repairs would be no problem. Then I asked him if we could put secret pockets on the inside the three pairs of pants, one satchel, and a cabbie hat and he nodded, “Si, se puede.”
Then we got to work designing something new and a little bit crazy. I took a cabbie hat out of my bag and asked him if he could make one like it. Then it was to the fabric bag!
Realistically, the hat he is designing may just turn out to be the cabbie hat to end all hats. A hat to write home about. In the very least, it will mean something to me. Like the pants and suit Carlos has made me, it will be more than something picked off a mass produced rack made in a Chinese factory with dubious human rights standards. Carlos is my tailor, and he does good work at prices comparable to mass produced whatevers. This, at the end of the day, is the thrill of working with a real person who renders a real and necessary service.
Who makes our clothes gets taken for granted and lost in the shuffle of busy everyday life, and it’s meaningful when you’re able to reverse the busy tides of modern life and step into the commercial world as it was before faceless corporate companies, mass produced products and their impinging marketing waddled over.
Carlos fixes ass holes and allows me to put on pants which otherwise would have made their way to the rag pile.
