The Ballad of Rick’s Blazer
Sometimes a Jacket Comes with a Story
When you’re in the middle of a weight-loss journey, your wardrobe becomes a revolving door—too big, too short, too baggy, and occasionally, just right. That’s how I ended up at the Goodwill store on Hillsborough Avenue in Tampa, where I found a blazer that fit me like it was tailored for this moment. It wasn’t until I got it home that I discovered it came with a little bonus: two concert tickets tucked neatly inside the inner pocket. Michael Bublé, Amalie Arena, February 13, 2019. Section 202, Seats 5 and 6.
And just like that, I had a mystery… and a man named Rick to thank for it.
I wasn’t expecting romance in a second-hand blazer’s inside pocket. But there it was: two folded-up printed concert tickets from Ticketmaster, tucked so neatly into the inside breast pocket they might have been planted by a thrift store Cupid. And the name on the ticket? Rick. I don’t know Rick, but I had to create this story because I’m just made that way. Early 40s…a bit short, and not too trim. (I know this about him because the jacket fits me perfectly.)
He’d met her three weeks earlier, walking on Bayshore Blvd. or during trivia night at the Beef ‘O Brady’s on South MacDill Ave. Her name was something like Kara or Tiffany, and she said, offhandedly, that she loved Michael Bublé. That was all Rick needed. He nodded coolly in the moment, “Oh yeah, Bublé’s great,” but internally he was Googling “Bublé tour Tampa.” The man had a plan.
The blazer is a single-breasted, lightly structured jacket with a small houndstooth-style check pattern in muted brown and black tones. It looks like a soft gray or taupe from a distance, but you can see the detailed weave up close. The lining is plain gray, and the outer pockets were still stitched shut as if the jacket had barely been worn. It’s the kind of jacket you’d pick for a nice dinner or concert—dressy but not flashy.
February 13 arrived. Rick was a bit nervous and anxious about making a good impression. He’d ironed his shirt. A bread trim, a splash of cologne (something called “Confident Night”). He’d timed the drive to the arena from the restaurant. But he forgot to cut open the outer pockets in the rush of getting ready. And once he slipped the tickets into the inside pocket, that was that. The jacket did its duty. They went. Maybe it was magical. Maybe she ghosted him the following week. But I like to think she rested her head on his shoulder during “Home.”
After that, the blazer probably hung in the back of Rick’s closet. The pockets stayed sewn shut, the tickets stayed hidden, and time did what time does. Maybe Rick moved. Maybe Kara (or was it Tiffany?) moved on. Maybe he gained a little weight and gave up on Bublé and Macy’s both.
And so, it landed at Goodwill on Hillsborough Ave, waiting for its next chapter.
That’s where I came in. I tried it on, and the sleeves were surprisingly perfect. It was as if Rick and I were part of the same oddly proportioned tribe. I brought it home. And there, tucked in the pocket, were Rick’s tickets—his tiny time capsule of romance, ready for someone else to stumble across and wonder.
I’ll keep the blazer. Maybe it still has some love left in it.
