Alterations by Peaches

My brother is getting married next weekend. My mom and I ordered dresses from a website that makes the dress in whatever color you need - perfect for weddings. We got the dresses and needed some alterations, namely a bust insert gave me what God had apparently forgotten and I looked ridiculous. My mom did some research and found a place that could do the job. I went in this morning.
I arrived just after opening (I have a job after all!) and was followed in by a woman with bleach blonde hair in her fifties, who I'd heard roughly talking to her husband outside in a voice like a smoke and an accent that told me she was not a Utah girl. Inside a slight woman said hello as I walked it. I wasn't sure if she worked there or was just friendly. She apologized for the stink (so she worked there). She'd been vacuuming and something had gone amiss. That's when the blonde woman, in a rather harsh tone, said "You blew out the motor!" The slight woman asked how she could help me so I explained the issue. She listened and then said, "Oh, that's for Peaches to do." (And why have I been explaining it to you?) Peaches was the harsh blonde. I explained things to Peaches.
She said, "Was your mother in here the other day?"
Yes.
"I was thinking about you."
I smiled.
"I was hoping you wouldn't come in."
And drop smile.
While I tried on the dress to show her the issue a man came in and again diagnosed the vacuum motor problem, justifying the problem because it was from "Costcos." (Yes, that "s" is intentional. Apparently Costco is either a plural or it possesses something, perhaps the store?) And he kept saying it.
While I tried on the dress and took it off for some adjustment and tried it on again, the slight woman was apparently having a rough day. As I stood with them all, the silent witness to what I felt was a personal conversation, Peaches suggested to the woman, "You're really emotional. Why don't you just go home today?" She didn't seem particularly emotional to me. The man added, "Yeah, why don't you go home?"
We got the alterations planned and Peaches told me to come back on Monday for another fitting.
Should I come in the morning or after work?
"I'll call you when I want you."
The man gave his two bits. "Yeah, we'll call when we want to see you."
I was told to fill out a ticket with spaces for my name, address, number. The man said, "Fill this out with your name, number, address."
Like it says? (but I said that silently) And why did they need my address?
The man said, "We like to get paid up front."
Ok.
"Should I run it debit or credit?"
Credit.
Peaches squawked, "Credit! I don't run debit!'
Then she pointed out a stain. "You have a make up stain. If I touch it, it'll smudge all over. You have to take it to the dry cleaners. Ask for Paul."
The man had something to say about that too. "Yeah, go in there and they can get it out. If Paul's there say Peaches sent you. If they need to keep it we can get it for you. Actually, just asked for Paul. Those girls in the front don't know anything. Ask for Paul. And don't park on the street. People'll run you over. There's a parking lot."
Seriously? The make up stain was smaller than a dime and on the back of the dress near the neck line. I'm thinking, if it's smudge-able then why don't we just get a washcloth and do this old school? But I went to Paul.
I entered the establishment.
"Can I help you?"
Peaches told me to ask for Paul, I said.
What am I doing? I sound like I making a drug deal. Or I'm getting a tip on a racehorse. Or someone is selling me a kidney.
Paul was a big guy, cut from the same fabric (pun intended) as Peaches and her man. He was gruff and annoyed.
Peaches said you could get this out.
"It's really big."
Are you serious? (also silently)
"How long has it been in there?" It was like he'd was wondering how long the bullet had been festering or how long Beth had been running a fever before the girls called Marmie home.
Minutes.
He took it back and was gone for a rather long time. He returned dejected, but I couldn't see anything wrong.
"When I applied the cleaning it expanded and it left a ring. I'll have to send it through the machine to get it out."
A ring? You mean the barely perceptible hint of slightly darker material in kind of a ring-like formation? No problem. Peaches won't know you gave me another option. And Peaches didn't.
I had to run to the post office as well and, wouldn't you know it, her man came walking in a few minutes after me.
"I should have had you do this," he quipped loudly from across the room.
I gave a courtesy laugh.
"I'm the gopher," he yelled. "I'm retired. I don't even get paid but she's my wife so.... But I still make more money than she does!"
This is not my life. Where did these people come from? And how did I end up near them?
I guess I see Peaches Monday. Or whenever Peaches wants to see me.

Addendum: Here is probably the best photo of the dress so now you have a visual.

*Peaches is not her real name. But her name gives off the same odd vibe as Peaches. It's just such a unique name that I didn't feel I could write it. But I really did go to Paul.