We’ve made a name for ourselves in this industry by being direct.
That being said, we will no longer be renting our tuxedos to you.
We can look beyond the bloodstains. Hell, we can even look beyond the bullet holes. What we cannot look beyond, however, is the semen. There is simply too much of it.
Listen, we’re not naive. We always expect our tuxedos to be returned with a little bit of semen on them. It’s an occupational hazard. Unfortunately – for the both of us – there’s a lot of semen on yours. In fact, it has now gotten to the point where it’s more like you are returning your semen with a little bit of our tuxedo on it.
What’s perhaps most concerning about all of this is your complete and utter lack of remorse.
Your behavior with our front-desk clerk is not just disrespectful – it borders on downright sadistic. Don’t think for a second that your deliberate use of the word “load” is lost upon us. You’re not nearly as subtle as you may believe yourself to be, Mr. Bond.
“I had a load of fun wearing this tux.”
“Get a load of this mess I made.”
“Gander upon the big honkin’ load I left on this tuxedo, Load Boy.”
Your loads – while undeniably both big and honkin’ – have tarnished our elegant rental tuxedos for the last time. Your load-dropping days are over, Mr. Bond. Do you hear me? They are over.
Also, “Load Boy” has a name, for your information. It’s, well, it’s Load Boy. That was a good guess. We’ll give you that one. That said, he didn’t appreciate the inflection in your voice when you addressed him as such.
I may be speaking out of turn here, but I seriously think you should consider seeking out a medical professional. Every adjective I have heard our employees use to describe your loads should never, under any circumstances whatsoever, be used to describe loads. These are words reserved almost exclusively for describing haunted shipwrecks and high-profile suburban kidnappings.
The young man who is in charge of our laundry room swears he heard one of them speak. He claims the load began to taunt him, telling him things that, up until that very moment, he was certain only he knew. Secrets he swore would kill him… if he didn’t kill them first.
Now, whether these were auditory hallucinations induced by the psychological trauma of having to consistently handle your loads, or one of the aforementioned loads did, in fact, gain sentience and threaten this young man with his own checkered past, one thing is for certain: you ain’t bustin’ on our tuxedos no more.
Regretfully,
Men’s Wearhouse
P.S. I don’t know how many times I have had to tell you this, but we do not expect our customers to return the socks. Never have. We do not want the socks. The socks are yours to keep. Last time, we made a conscious decision not to include socks in your package, but you still managed to return a pair. We had a whole boardroom meeting about it and everything.