My Tale of Dry Cleaning Woe

I spotted the Ann Taylor cotton sateen skirt in white at Montgomery Mall in May. I tried it on and loved it—Dorkus gave it a thumbs up and told me to go for it. I almost did, but the $78 price tag made me hesitate: I would wait until the damn thing was on sale. If I love something enough, I’ll go for it full price, but this was a basic white pencil skirt—I loved the fabric, but not enough to shell out $78. So I held out, watching the Ann Taylor website like a hawk, waiting to swoop down on my beloved skirt once the price dropped significantly.

And lo, it did! On July 11 (so my order history tells me), I was finally able to place an order for the skirt, priced now at $39.99. I was giddy, I was delighted. I’d finally have a cute pencil skirt for the very nice orange blouse my sister had given me for my birthday in May.

I wore it for the first time shortly afterward, receiving a myriad of compliments. As is my wont, however, heading home on the Metro was anything but uneventful. A small Metro stain, nothing too serious, appeared on my skirt, and off to the cleaners it went. Remember: small Metro stain, no bigger than a quarter inch, I would say. Nothing else on the skirt.

While the skirt was at the cleaners, I was in Michigan. My mom, Dorkus and I went to Briarwood Mall one day, just browsing. I didn’t intend to buy anything, but I ducked into Ann Taylor because a) I’m rarely in a brick and mortar store these days and 2) I wanted to see if maybe, just maybe, the skirt’s suit jacket was there, on clearance. I checked the back of the store and lo! It was there! Reduced from $158 to $78. I went for it. How often do you get a decent quality suit from Ann Taylor for $120 total? With my skirt due back from the cleaners and my new navy blue J Crew suit hanging in my closet, I would be interview-ready if need be (knock on wood that it happens soon). I carefully packed the suit jacket into my luggage, hopeful that it wouldn’t need more than a steaming when I returned home from my Michigan visit.

A few days after our return, IP picked up our dry cleaning. I came home from work that day, went into the bedroom to change into my workout clothes. I noticed the clean clothes from the cleaners hanging in my closet. I then noticed some dingy white material hanging from the closet doorknob. What the hell?

Readers, I do not hesitate to tell you: I howled in protest and anger.

On my skirt were several red stains; one in particular was huge and square-shaped. I was stunned—how did this get here? Why did I have my skirt back and not $39.99 if this couldn’t be cleaned? I asked my husband what the deal was.

The deal was this: the cleaners claimed that the stains were on the skirt when we dropped off our dry cleaning bundle. They wanted us to know that they could attempt to clean it, but there was no guarantee that they could successfully remove the stains. I again howled in protest and anger.

Those stains were not there. Only the small Metro stain. I looked at the clock and realized I had 15 minutes before they closed. Ill-advised, but I marched over there. Not to give them a piece of my mind or to demand money, but to let them know that, no, these stains were not on there before, and to ask what process they would use should I choose to have them attempt to clean my skirt?

I know I can’t win against a dry cleaner. But I wasn’t going to be shy about this: they did it.

They protested. It was there! First, it was my makeup. I raised my eyebrows and informed them a) I don’t wear makeup and 2) why would facial makeup get on my skirt? Second, I must’ve sat on something. Then how did it bleed through to the front of skirt, bypassing the back of the skirt? Three, it was the oils on my skin! Then why didn’t the waistband have the same kind of stains? Why was the lining clean? Protest after protest even when I told them I was less concerned with that than wondering how they might go about cleaning the skirt. They insisted I bring along the suit jacket so they could match the colors on both pieces when they cleaned the skirt. That? Made me even more nervous. I’d just paid $78 for that suit jacket. No way was I going to give it over to them, and who knows how much the whole process was going to cost. The price of a new suit? We’ve had a good relationship with this place, and I’m willing to admit when a stain was there to begin with—it’s happened once before that they didn’t clean something because of a stain that I knew was there, so it was no biggie then. But those big red blotches all over my white pencil skirt? Not there.

I suspect they threw it into one of their usual bags, the skirt ended up at the bottom of the bad, and something bled through the bag onto my skirt. But they’re not going to own it, and I’m not going to try to make them own it. I just don’t know that I want them touching my white pencil skirt again. It’s futile, there is no solution, but my trust in the business has plummeted severely, and I don’t want to pay them for essentially ruining my suit.

Of course the skirt is sold out, so I can’t easily replace it. No listings on eBay, either, that would save me. So now I have a dingy white skirt I can’t wear and a brand new jacket that will sit unused unless I buy the cropped pants (not very interview-worthy, though), or until I give in and pair it with another bottom. My heart, it is broken. No longer do I have two interview suits, just one. Sure, this is assuming that I get any interviews, and any callbacks even, but I like being prepared. Now I have to watch for another suit to go on mega sale so I can snatch that up.

It will be brown or black.