That Never Used to Happen

“Hello Stranger! Here for your annual visit? ” Ji-ho grinned as he pressed a button  to rotate the racks. After a soft whir and swish of plastic sheeting, shirts, dresses, and slacks came to rest, and Ji-ho plucked off the hangers bearing Dave’s clothes.

“How’re things?" I asked. 

“Surviving,” he said with a sigh as he handed me a slip and said, “Sign here.”

In the past, I would’ve taken his response as being as reflexive as my habitual question but not now, not given current events.

“Surviving? That doesn’t sound good. What’s up?” 

“Since Covid, I’ve lost over half my business. He pressed the button to spin the racks and gestured at an empty stretch. “That never used to happen. The racks were always full.” Together we gazed in discouragement at the span of bare hooks. He continued, “People work from home or go to the office twice a week. They don’t have to dress up anymore, and sweatshirts don’t need dry cleaning.” He smiled ruefully. “And then, there’s people like you. Good customers, but people retire.”

He was right. When Dave and I were working, we’d drop clothes at the dry cleaner every two weeks or so. Ji-ho knew our names, numbers, and addresses; he never had to ask.  We’d walk in for a pick-up, he’d see us, smile, and spin the racks to our order. It was nice to have that familiarity.   

“So much has happened... since Covid, since Trump. The country’s upended," I said. “My sister called last week, and she’s a mess, furious and nervous, because ICE has leased a facility less than two miles from her house. That’s a whole other horrible situation.”

Ji-ho nodded. “Yeah. Things have changed. People look at me differently. I never got looks like these before.” 

“What do you mean ‘looks’?” 

“Recently I was at the deli counter at Stop & Shop to get some ham. At first, the person working there pretended not to see me. When I finally forced his attention and asked for Boar’s Head ham, he said, “What? I can’t understand you.”

“So, I repeated myself, but still he snapped that he had no idea what I was saying. That happened a couple more times.”

Ji-ho is Korean, an American citizen, and has owned his business for 26 years. His accent is barely discernible.  

He continued. “So. I typed ‘Boar’s Head ham’ on my phone and held it up for the guy to see. He shook his head and said, ‘we don’t have any.’ And of course, they did. I could see it in the case. But I just walked away. Didn’t want to deal with him.”

“Oh Ji-ho. I hate hearing this.”

“Yeah. That never used to happen. Now, my wife and I know we have to be careful.”

We looked at each other sadly. “Can I give you a hug?” I asked.

He hung his head, shuffled around the side of the counter, and I hugged him.   

Things have changed. But we can do something about it.