I once had a wonderful neck tie: yellow silk, covered in Chinese dragons. It was a Christmas gift from a Chinese colleague. Any gift you receive in China, a country that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, is special. I loved said tie, both its attractiveness and the sentiment behind it. When I had a suit tailored last year I was convinced the suit would look “killer” when worn with the yellow dragon tie.
On the first afternoon of my school’s Parents’ Days I donned my new charcoal-gray suit. I looked good – It had been $125 USD well spent. A hanger in the wardrobe held my small collection of seldom worn neck ties. I searched the mythical silk covered in yellow dragons. It was nowhere to be found.
I started to panic. Where could it be? The laundry hamper? Nay. Under the bed? Nay? In the pocket of my overcoat? Nay.
It was gone: Almost as if I had made the dragons angry and they had fled back to dragon mountain to pout. In the dim recesses of my mind I had a recollection of wearing the tie during a drunken trip to a seedy bar. As I imagined the bartender of the establishment wearing my purloined garment and I shook my head with disgust. My own stupidity had been the cause of the loss. No good comes from drinking.
I wore a different tie during the Parents’ Days. I didn’t look nearly as sharp or as spiffy as I would have with yellow, dragons-emblazoned silk hanging down the front of my shirt.
Fast forward: Two days ago.
I took my wrinkled and seldom-worn suit to the dry cleaners. A trip to Beijing required some smart duds. As the shop owner wrote up the chit I scanned the racks of clothes. On a hanger, near the front of the store, was a collection of truly ugly ties, save one. The dragons, my yellow dragons, winked at me from the silk.
My mouth agape, I looked at the wonderful garment. How did it get here? Had I misremember my drunken loss of the tie? I cleared my throat, ready to claim my prize, but stopped. My knowledge of Mandarin would allow me to voice my claim but explain little else. I needed someone smarter, someone that spoke both English and Chinese. I retired that night with dreams of dragons and silky yellow clouds.
The next afternoon as I walked to work I spotted said needed smart person: A colleague returning to campus after lunch. She accompanied me to the dry cleaners. After a half-assed explanation about why the shop had my tie it was folded neatly and placed in my bag.
When I hit Beijing on Thursday, my body covered in handsome, tailored garments, the lost tie will be the jewel in my fashion crown. Serendipity? Perhaps. Dumb luck? More likely. I have resolved to no longer drink while wearing said tie.
Here endeth the case.
