the Best Man goes to the tailor

zach recently emailed his groomsmen asking them to get measured for their suits. here is the best man's epic journey:

"I finally made it to the tailors here in Berkeley yesterday. I had stopped by in the morning and the old Chinese guy with the Giants cap who runs the place said the tailor would not be in until noon and suggested that I come back later. So on my way home from campus I stopped by and seated by the window there was a fat old Russian lady missing half her teeth and with her hair dyed that bizarre scarlet color that they only seem capable of producing in Eastern Europe. I'm sure you remember that color from Greenpoint. The old Chinese guy took out a little pad and the Russian seamstress got her measuring tape and smiled her crooked smile at me as she looked into my eyes as if measuring my character with a penetrating gaze and then asked, "Vedding?" In a dazed reflex I muttered, "Yes... a wedding" and she extended her hand to shake mine as she smiled her approval and whispered, "Congratulations..." I tried to explain that I was already married and that it was in fact my best friend who was getting married but she had already left the formalities far behind and with furrowed brow was deeply immersed in taking the measurements. She would wrap the tape measure around one or another part of my body and then yell out the numbers with a shrill decisive exclamation that registered somewhere between a chirp and a bark: Tirty-vun! Vorty-tree! Vorty-vun! Each exclamation leading the old Chinese guy to repeat some strangely distorted questioning echo: Sirty-fun? Fotty-tee? Fotty-fun? They frequently stopped as well to argue about what the proper English term was for the measurement corresponding to the number being yelled out. The old Chinese guy asking me: "What you call that sir? Ahhhhhm-hole? Ahhhhhm-lound? For sreeeeve, you know. You know?" Images of walking down the aisle at your perfect wedding in some kind of insane person's ill-fitting asymmetrical suit started to flood my brain and as the measurements ended the Russian must have sensed my doubts and fears. She grasped my hand and fixed her penetrating gaze on my eyes again and said, "Don't vorry... I tailor vorty year" while laughing with menacing glee at the worried expression on my face. In the end, I paid them five dollars and stumbled out into the street clutching a piece of paper bearing a rather cryptic scrawl of letters and numbers. I sincerely hope that these will somehow translate into a suit that will fit me. Let me know if the Nashville tailors say that these don't make any sense and I will try to find another tailor."

Chest: 41"
Chest over arms: 49"
Waist: 39"
Hips: 43"
Thigh: 27"
Jacket Length: 27"
Arm hole: 17"
Sleeve length: 34"
Shoulder: 6.5"
Neck: 17"
Pant length: 41"
Inseam: 31"