Thermostat in Men’s Warehouse set at unforgiving 105 degrees Fahrenheit

The Men’s Warehouse in Chicago has officially upped the ante in the disposable suit game and it could land them squarely ahead of blood rival Jos. A. Bank. Thus ending a feud that has claimed hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. The best way to set yourself apart from the other store that is doing a 10 for 10 BOGO deal on suits that will disintegrate after you wear them? Turn up the HEAT…heat…heat…h-h-h-h-h-h….heat.

Going to a Men’s Warehouse or Jos. A. Bank store has always held the perfect recipe for a full on, all consuming panic attack. Unwearable red ties that would require a quadruple Windsor knots to be passable, fedoras that make you question whether god exists or not, hundreds of mannequins daunting inexplicable combinations of clothing, other miserable dregs skid marking the suit pants you’ll be forced to try on next and the old man, ripe with Drakkar Noir, that has been trapped there helping men buy ill-fitting suits for the past five decades. A purgatory as I would imagine it, in the truest sense of the term.

Suits so boxy and oblong that they transcend style itself, as they never draw near enough to any trends to ever be in or out of style. They are garments made exclusively for first communions that can double as sleeping quarters. Now the store has unveiled what they are deeming the “Jos. A. Killer.” A thermostat that will never budge from an excruciating 105 degrees Fahrenheit.

I wrestled with the bear first hand and believe me, the physical duress underwent caused me to hastily buy a suit by JNCO and a pair of cumbersome looking square toed shoes in no time at all. As the old man’s trembling fingers attempted to lift the measuring tape, a noticeable glaze formed on my forehead and my lower back turned into my palms during KC & JOJO’s “All My Life” at the annual 8th grade Sadie Hawkins dance. The the sweat poured down and I considered the prospect of passing away inside a Men’s Warehouse…the brutal thought of someone suggesting “He died doing what he loved.” I shuddered, visibly. The pit in my stomach grew and the heat was causing tunnel vision. I abruptly screamed that the suit fit flawlessly even though I could easily fit my waist through one of the pant legs and the suit jacket would tear if I even thought about moving my arms.

As I left the store, the fresh cold air of the city had never felt so good. The enormous pant legs flapped in the wind. Men’s Warehouse: 1 Humanity: 0

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