When Bel Air equals Ballet

Writing about this fitting reminded me about this other fitting I did, over a year ago, back before I had my secret powerz.
So, the fitting was in Bel Air, and the deal was I would drive over there, fit a suit on a dude, drive back, set up the alterations, pass the suit off to a stitcher, stitcher would get it all did up, and then the dude’s assistant would pick up the suit and pack it and dude would take the red-eye to NYC and wear the suit the next day at some kinda event.
High Stakes Costuming OMG!!!!
So anyway, I get the fitting kit and drive to Bel Air,
Luckily no one told me to dress Bel Air appropriate this time or I’d've had no choice but to show up in sideways baseball cap with tank top and jams a lá the Fresh Prince.
Just driving into the gated community and being buzzed into the driveway of this mansion is pretty hilarious. Where should I park my unwashed, beat-up, chronicly smog-test-failing car? Right in the front, duh!
So I ring the doorbell and meet the suit dude and he is very nice and offers me water and doesn’t ask me to move my ridiculous car, and we go up to his massive wardrobe room and he goes into another room to change while I look at family photos of his wife, who happens to be an actress, and it’s kinda neat to see how she looks about the same in family snap-shots as she does on the teevee, and then he comes back and I pin a sleeve length and take in the side-backs and we talk about how much break he wants in his pants hem and all that, and then he changes back out and I put the suit in a garment bag and he walks me back down the grand staircase to the front door and says thank you and hands me a tip.
A Tip.
A tip, Gentle Reader.
I have never received a tip after doing a fitting.
Almost didn’t know what to do. Except that this was right around the time when Mr. Adult Beginner and I had moved into our house, so I was becoming very used to giving tips. To the guy who drops off the stove. To the guys who install the washer. To the guys who replace the broken windows.
And I always feel Super Awkward giving tips, so when Suit Dude hands me this tip, I try to do him a courtesy by making it as non-awkward as possible.
I accept it, I don’t look at it, I say thank you and goodbye and take the garment bag and my fitting kit and walk out the door.
It’s not until I’m exiting Bel Air that I get a chance to look at the tip.
I mean, how much does one tip for a house-call fitting?
Who knows?
I stop at a light and take a look.
It’s two twenty-dollar bills.
Holy crap.
My first thought is, “Omg. The guys at work are never going to believe this.”
My second thought is, “Omg, I am so not going to tell them.”
My third thought is, “This exactly covers my ballet classes for the week! Hell Yes!”

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