New York City is just a small Yenta of a town

So, last night I dragged my 8,000 pounds of laundry in a bubby cart to my favorite neighborhood dry cleaners. I like them. They are strategically located under my former (dorm) residence, and I've had some lovely, business-like exchanges with the young Russian yid that owns the place. I don't know if their prices are fair, since I very uncharacteristically have not priced them against other nearby cleaners. But I'm helping out a fellow Jew and also making a name for myself at this establishment, and according to my thinking, therein lie the perks.

Well, sort of. After the endless weighing of my stinky, vacation-smelling clothes, I had another nice little chat with the proprieter and discovered that he lives in my home borough and goes to the same ice cream parlor I used to go to (makes sense - my friend, who is a Russian Jew from that neighborhood, took me there). That was fine. But suddenly, as I carelessly waved goodbye, he popped out with, "I told ____ (name left out to protect the innocent) that you think he is gay!"

Well, golly gee. I couldn't believe it. Aside from the lack of professionalism, I had done no such thing. In fact, I know for a fact that _____ is as red-blooded as they come! I quickly realized that it was a case of mistaken identity. Another resident of my former dorm uses the same dry cleaner, and they have mistaken her for me on a number of occasions (we have the same hair and eye color, but I think we look nothing alike). Apparently the Mystery Man (or M2, as Humpy Ted Casablanca of E! would say), who also lives in said dorm, uses the same cleaner too. He and the maidel who supposedly looks me used to date and now have a jokey relationship that includes collegial taxi rides (Jewgrrl, that was for you!), but I don't have the same level of closeness and warmth in my relationship with him. I do think he looks like a Yiddish Will Ferrel, but that's a story for another time.

Anyway: horrors! M2 would think it was 'funny' (I guess) if he got the message from the maidel, but I don't think he would appreciate hearing it from me (and would be perplexed, in any case). I quickly set the dry cleaner straight, but left shaking my head - is there nowhere you can go to escape the YENTAS that dwell on the Upper West Side? How incestuous can you get? I mean, I know this is summer camp and all, but I didn't know that the store owners were getting into it as well. I guess you just have to laugh...or cry, as I will be doing when I get a potch from M2.

On another, slightly related note, today I accomplished the random feat of finding a doctor in the same building where I work! Now, this is where I like to see connections - I won't have to take off time for the visit.

Moral of the story: Despite the blood-chilling possibility that the store owner providing your service might spread untrue rumors about you, it does pay to be loyal. I got a $15 dry cleaning coupon out of the deal, and in truth, am quite pleased about the whole shebang.