When "Cleaner" Is An Oxymoron

I have begun to hate my dry cleaner. Now, this isn't an easy thing to have happen, especially since one's encounters with a dry cleaner are pretty sporadic, say once a week. However, I'm increasingly finding that while he has a sign that denotes he is a "cleaner", and there are racks of clothes that he has allegedly "cleaned" in his shop, he actually cleans very little.

I know this because whenever I bring in a shirt or some article of clothing that has actual, visible dirt or stains on it, he can't clean it. Like David Blaine or perhaps Kreskin, I can predict with certainty what he will say and do when I bring in such an item: he'll grunt, shake his head, and tell me how that spot can't be cleaned.

What the hell is he there for? Is he a dry "almost" cleaner? An anti-cleaner? A poser-cleaner? If I can't bring him dirty clothes - well, clothes with more dirt than ring around the collar or underarm crop circles - then all bets are off.

I brought him a shirt, tie, and pants today that I had clumsily sprayed with barbecue sauce at lunch. I awaited the typical reaction, but today received a grunt and a sort of "tsk, tsk", which I took as his way of saying what a clumsy oaf I was to have done that. He didn't refuse the job, though, which I suppose is good news.