Greggo and What Not To Wear
Pairing: Snickers (Sara and Nick)
Greg brings his clothes to Stacy and Clinton to be scrutinized.
A/N: I apologize for taking my sweet time working on this chapter. My muse was hibernating or not cooperating with me for this story. I had writer's block. I also needed to watch as many 'What Not to Wear' episodes for research (and amusement). A billion apologies!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI. I don't even own What Not to Wear.
Day Two – Greg's POV
The day started out in typical fashion despite the fact that I was in New York. I surprised myself by waking up when the wake up call came. I had showered and gotten dressed. I had gone to a coffee shop the concierge recommended for breakfast. The food was very good, but slightly better than the diner near the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I returned to the hotel room and took the suitcase and a duffel bag containing my soon to be departed clothes.
As I rode in one of the famous New York City cabs, I was thinking about what would happen to my clothes. My mind was on total distraction that I didn't pay much attention to what the cab driver told me about the latest exhibit in the American Museum of Natural History that I should check out during my stay here. When we finally arrived by Stacy and Clinton's office, I paid the driver and gave him a tip. I took my stuff out the trunk and walked somberly towards the building.
"Greg, make yourself comfortable," Stacy smiled. "Clinton and I are going to chat with you for a few moments."
"Your friends and some of your colleagues had spent two weeks secretly filming you," Clinton added. "Now we are going to see the footage."
"I can't believe they did that," I was mortified and couldn't believe that I was being filmed under false pretenses.
The first video they played, I was wearing a t-shirt that was a souvenir from a rock concert I attended during my senior year in college and a pair of acid wash jeans. My hair was really spiky.
"Greg Sanders is a wonderful lab tech," Gil Grissom said in the video. "No doubt he will make an awesome CSI. However, I don't think those clothes he's wearing would take him all the way to being a CSI Level 3."
"Aw Grissom, that really hurts," I whined at the TV and saw what appeared to be me in some sort of outfit.
"What can I say about Greggo?" Warrick Brown was sitting in the break room drinking some coffee. "He became a CSI and no doubt he'll do a great job. However, his threads need a very serious upgrade. I remember a case back in 2004 in which a couple were murdered on their driveway in a gated community. Greg had just gotten off his shift and was called by a colleague to help with the case. I took one look at him and he looked as if he had just rolled out of bed wearing a t-shirt, pants and sneakers. I tried in vain to give him some advice on what to wear as well as some career advice. Stacy and Clinton, please help Greg to look like a professional."
"T-shirts from going to rock concerts," Catherine Willows appeared after the footage showed me wearing a Marilyn Manson t-shirt and aged pants. "Pants that should have been taken to a landfill and put out of their misery. Are these pieces of evidence from long past cases? No, they are a major part of Greg Sanders' wardrobe. It's getting very old and I am fed up with seeing him like this. He needs professional help and I don't mean the psychotherapeutic kind."
"Is everyone conspiring against my taste in clothes?" I asked.
"Yes, they are," Stacy answered. "They care about and want to make you look better and more mature."
"Ever since Greg Sanders passed his proficiency exams," Conrad Ecklie was in the locker room. "He's made the lab proud. Unfortunately, his wardrobe doesn't pass the test. Here is his spare outfit and it looks like it took a beating by one of our prisoners."
"How the hell Ecklie got into the footage?" I asked in disgust.
"That's not the point," Clinton protested. "Your boss is also concerned that you are bringing the lab down with that pathetic excuse for a wardrobe."
"Hodges, who told you you could borrow my camera?" Nick shouted in the background of the video.
"So that's why Sara wanted to come to my place?" I gasped when I saw the footage of my closet. "Her husband Nick came with her and shot the footage!"
"This is a nightmare in Las Vegas," Sara smirked an evil smirk. "Welcome to Greg Sanders' closet. I don't know which is worse the decomps that we sometimes deal with or what's inside Greg's closet. I know that he has clothes and shoes in there, but they are either for a teenage boy or souvenirs from all those rock concerts he has ever gone to. I think some of his clothes have stains that have been there longer than I had been in Vegas."
"I wear regular outfits, too," I barked back at the TV.
"Are you living in denial?" Stacy asked. "Your wardrobe needs to be investigated, processed and arrested for making you look immature and ridiculous!"
"Do you want me to look like old?" I asked.
"No, we still want you to look like a young man," Clinton was on the defensive. "However, it will be a polished and professional look."
"What about for my days off or to go to a concert?" I asked with a whine.
"We'll show you how to be casual without being clumsy," Stacy reassured me. "Now, we want you to face your wardrobe truth in our 360 degree mirror."
"Oh, that sounds creepy," I cringed.
"Just do it," Clinton hissed.
They showed me to a room where I could change into my Marilyn Manson t-shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans. I went inside the 360 degree mirror and had a critical look at myself. Meanwhile, the majority of my wardrobe was being hung in preparation for Stacy and Clinton's criticism and trashing.
"This is my favorite outfit to wear on my days off or just staying home," I said and the door opened.
"I can't believe you allow yourself to be seen in public looking like this," Stacy gasped.
"I bought this t-shirt at a Marilyn Manson concert," I defended myself. "These jeans were my first purchase after I started working for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. They are very comfortable!"
"Have you ever heard of buying a souvenir program or a keychain?" Clinton asked. "Just because you feel comfortable in an old pair of jeans, doesn't mean you should wear them."
I changed into something that I would wear to work and when I go on a casual get together. I returned to the dreaded mirror and assessed this look.
"I love wearing this to work," I smirked. "The lime green shirt gets me noticed at the lab and the streets."
"Everybody at work and the streets notices you all right," Stacy stated. "They think you look like an emergency light source if the power goes out. It's also sad that that your bosses allow you to get away with wearing those hideous pants."
"This is one of my favorites," I whined.
"You will have to buy new favorites," Clinton calmly countered.
I groaned as I put on a suit that I haven't worn since Nick and Sara got married last year. The previous time was when I was being interviewed for the job of DNA technician at another crime lab a few years back. It still fit me, but that was the least of my worries as I returned to the hated mirror.
"I wore this suit to my colleagues' wedding and at my first job interview," I smiled. "I look like I could go to a fancy restaurant or to a play/musical."
"That has to be one of the saddest suits we had ever seen in the history of 'What Not to Wear'," Clinton gasped. "It makes you look a little pudgy. I don't like the light grey color since it washes you out."
They told me that my time with that awful, creepy mirror was over, but a different torture was looming. All of my clothes and footwear was on display for the entire country or the world to see. I don't know what they'll do to them, but I didn't like it one bit.
"Okay Greg, this is when we trash your clothes," Stacy said. "If we say something goes, we mean it. You don't get to keep these no matter how much you whine or attempt to negotiate with us. Don't even think about wrestling with either Clinton or me for any article of this nightmarish wardrobe!"
I winced at what Stacy said, but I had to put on a brave smile when Clinton scorned at me.
"Before you begin, I would like to know what happens to the old clothes," I was curious.
"In most cases, we give them to charity," Clinton said. "Rarely, we had to throw clothes in the garbage."
At that moment, the emotional pain had begun. Stacy picked up a t-shirt that was given to me at a concert I attended as a celebration of my 21st birthday in 1996.
"This is a very special souvenir from a birthday celebration," I protested. "My buddies took me to a concert for my 21st and I got this a present."
"We don't care if you got it at a friend's son's bar mitzvah or a cousin's Sweet Sixteen," Stacy countered at she threw it down in the big metallic garbage can. "It's going bye-bye!"
"Does this look familiar to you, Stacy?" Clinton asked.
"That's the outfit that made Greg look like an overgrown radish from the setup video footage," Stacy sarcastically gasped. "Greg, you are not a vegetable! You are a young man who is turning 30 soon! Dress like one!"
The relentless trashing, commenting and my defense of my clothes went for what seemed like an eternity. On some occasions, I tried to save some of the clothing from a fate worse than the trash compactor. There was even a game of tug of war with a pair of jeans that was had tears in them. One time, there was a game of hoops with a shirt as a basketball: Greg vs. Stacy and Clinton. Even my footwear wasn't safe from their hands.
My loafers, boots, sneakers and a beat up pair of flip-flops met with the trash can.
After the last article of clothing was in the garbage can, I was lead to an area of the studio that had three headless male mannequins. Each of them was wearing something different. I would like to know what the point of this display was.
"Okay Greg, here are the rules for your new wardrobe," Stacy was blunt. "This is what can be worn to a rock concert or on your day off. This polo shirt can be navy, black or any neutral color. The jeans are straight leg and either dark blue or black. Here is the real beauty of these jeans, you can get away with wearing them to work."
"I like how it looks," I smiled. "Can I get at least one polo?"
"You can get two," Clinton answered. "Now, this is an idea of what you could wear to work or a semi-casual date or get together. This is a pinstripe button down shirt paired with a solid dress slacks. You can add a sweater to make it classy or to keep warm during the Vegas winters."
"That is cool look," I said. "However, I don't care much for the sweater."
"What don't you like about it?" Stacy asked.
"I don't like the color," I told them. "I would look like a pumpkin."
"This is to give you an idea of what to buy," Clinton said. "If you want to do it in another color that is suitable, that's okay. Just keep in mind not to look like a radish."
"Finally, you need a better suit," Stacy added as we walked toward the third and final mannequin. "This has a structured jacket and straight leg slacks. Pair this with a white or pale blue shirt and a forest green, royal blue or burgundy tie and you'll have a suit."
"This is the best outfit you have shown me," I grinned.
"We forgot to mention that we don't want to see pleated pants," Clinton added. "Also, we encourage you to buy black or brown shoes with no tassels."
Stacy took pictures of the mannequins for me to use as references to their rules. I looked at them and put them in my bag.
"Good luck with shopping," Stacy and Clinton smiled.
After I left the studio, I took a cab back to my hotel and relaxed in my room for about an hour. I went to a local Indian restaurant for dinner and walked around the area of the hotel for a little bit. I returned to my room and filmed myself for a video diary.
"This is a shock for me," I said. "I never thought that my wardrobe needed a major overhaul. Wow, the thought of shopping scares me a bit. I know that I will do my very best and looking forward to those two days. I hope this turns out excellent or I will be mad at Nick and Sara."
I turned off the camera and prepared myself for bed. Tomorrow's going to be a big day for me and I needed to sleep now. Once I was in bed, I let sleep overtake me.
TBC