A LINEN OF ANY OTHER COLOR

The linens available from the banquet hall we booked for the reception were white. The white of pure innocence, of Ross Geller’s dayglow teeth (Friends reference, anyone?), and of very reasonable (included) cost.

“White is tacky. It doesn’t match our colors. We need ivory,” Christa stated.

“We can dim the lights and give it the appearance of ivory. No one will notice,” I offered.

“I’ll notice.”

Somewhere between two shades of white, discernable only by close inspection in good lighting, the impression of elegance goes from a regal event of the highest taste to the lunch buffet at Bob Evans.

“OK. We’ll investigate,” I said.

We went to the largest rental store Bloomington had to offer. We pulled into the parking lot and parked next to a quick and nimble Bobcat earthmover. It was not the smallest or largest piece of machinery available. The front of the operation was covered in stickers and advertisements for chainsaw makers and Toro lawn equipment. We opened the door and were greeted by the smell of metal and either industrial lubricant or solvent. I apologize for my uncertainty in this area. Growing up, the scratch-and-sniff stickers I got on homework assignments never had a smells of industry theme. It was all fruit and candy. Should the education system be reformed? In light of this evidence, how could you say no? Now that I think about it, the scent wasn’t that far off from the smell you encounter when exiting your car in the service bay at Jiffy Lube. In any case, it didn’t smell like wedding.

We briefly observed the merchandise, decided against adding a saw blade element to our centerpieces, and headed up to the counter to see whether we were in the right place.

“Do you rent table linens?  Your website said you did.” I asked.

“We rent just about everything, even tablecloths,” he said gruffly through oil-stained teeth. He chuckled a bit, probably wondering what kind of man utters the phrase “table linens.” The twinkle in his eye implied, “She’s got you on a tight chain, don’t she?”

I got the basics from him. They had about every color and usually needed only a couple weeks advance notice. Their prices were decent but, sadly, not free. We asked if we could see some they had on hand. He thought he had some and led us through a door into the back. I took note of the hazardous chemical spill information posted prominently on the wall. I could feel the love oozing out of this place, which was not the only thing with the potential for oozing, apparently. In a random corner, he pulled out a large garbage bag full of cloth-like material, cut it open with a utility knife, and said that it was all pretty standard stuff. In Christa’s expression, I could see the horror of a reception with even a hint of Eau de Pennzoil, the dance floor replaced by a go-kart track, and pork loin replaced by processed-pork byproduct, with a little corn breading fried to perfection. Why does no one get it? It is in the presentation. We need a path of rose petals, not locking washers, to guide us to the perfect table adornments.

We politely exited, after learning that their other location actually had an events room, where the nonindustrial rentals were showcased. We said that we might stop over there to look at things, and we would be in touch as the date approached. No financial commitments were made.

Once in the car, I looked at her and said, “I guess that is going to be a no.”

“Yeah.”

“I will have to explore our other options. That was the one super rental store in Bloomington.”

This was one way Bloomington worked against me. I, being the more entrenched resident, was supposed to be the informed one concerning such wedding-related options. If you are wondering how many times I have previously gone in search of rental table linens, you can count the number on an amputee’s hand.

A period of time had passed, maybe a couple of weeks. It was time for rental contracts to be finalized, according to our Knot checklist. It was probably past time; therefore, it was time. We learned of a rental company, geared more towards nonindustrial events, run by the owners of a floral shop.

Heading in, I knew how many tables and what kinds of tables we planned to have. I was on the phone with the owner of the rental business, discussing our needs. We had set our reception design, and I was relaying the details. I asked about the prices for each item, and then I started to cringe a bit. Of all the things we bought and rented and the services we contracted, this—the renting of table linens—got to me. I don’t know why exactly, but I began doing the fiscal substitution calculations. For the same amount, we could have gone to a matinee together every week for a year. It might have been the fact that they were just tablecloths. We could have gotten all our everyday plates and flatware from the registry. Why must they be so much? I could have been on the six-pack of the week program for almost two years. Would the impression created by an infinitesimal change in the table linens’ shade be worth that?

As we know, the best way to view these things is by saying, “Do you want a lifetime of happiness, or do you want to ruin hers and, therefore, both of your lives? Isn’t it worth it?” She will let you choose the table linens, if you can prove, via scrapbooking, that it has been your dream shade of table linen since childhood, and you, in fact, documented it as “Table Linen Color: Solar White.”
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival