I couldn’t decide on a title.
I work weekends. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is right now. In order to balance out the injustice of having spent 14 years (I started halfway through college) in a career that has rewarded me with the brilliant opportunity to return to the point where I was 13 years ago and work on the days and hours during which I should be doing fun things, I tend not to dress up on weekends. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t have an attitude problem. I just do that for the writing (though I am rather pissed about being relegated back to this particular schedule). But I am not a representative of anything or anyone in my position, and I never leave the building. We don’t even have windows. So to hell with the dressy clothes on Saturdays and Sundays.
It is because of this that I was walking around at work in jeans, with some serious holes ripped in the knees and a little one starting at the top of my right leg. They came by their condition honestly; I didn’t buy them like this or anything. They’re really soft and I’ve got them broken in just right, and I sort of like that they’re damaged.
None of this matters, except the part about the holes in the knees. I just felt like I had to explain.
I was walking around work shortly after I arrived when I suddenly felt a strange wad at the back of my right knee. What the…? Naturally, I stopped in the middle of the hallway and reached into the gaping tear in the knee to investigate.
It’s a pair of unmentionables.
Lord, that was almost a nightmare.
I thought of the scene from an episode of “The West Wing,” wherein Josh questions Donna about whether she had worn the same pants two days in a row, because she managed to drop her panties at an event while talking to a high-profile mover/shaker type. There were no movers or shakers in the building at the time that I made my discovery, thank God. And I had not worn these the day before. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have sucked to have traipsed a pair of little pink things right out the leg of my jeans.
How did I not feel them there while I was driving in? Or before I left home? While walking down the steps from my place to the car? While walking from my car into the building? Down the steps there? Was I wandering about the world with a bulge in the back of my leg that I didn’t feel, but others could see?
OMG. I could have left them lying in the parking lot, next to my car. Or right outside the door to the building, for all to see.
As I pulled the bit of fabric out of the hole in my jeans, I suddenly became aware that I was on surveillance camera. Awesome. Hi, dirty old security man. Any chance you might think I’m spontaneously performing a magic trick? How high-def is that camera?
Now… what does one do when one finds a pair of teensy underthings in the wrong area of one’s pants at work? I looked around.
Why did I look around now, instead of before I pulled them out the hole in my knee?
Why did I think someone or something nearby would advise me on what to do at this point?
Deciding there was no other possible solution, I bunched them up in my hand and shoved them into the hip pocket of my jeans. Casual-like. La-la-la… nothing to see here…
And that’s where they remained for the rest of my shift.
Once, while talking to a co-worker in the break room, I put my hand in my pocket just because. Finding them there, I jerked my hand out. They got caught on a finger and I nearly upset them from their hiding place. “Oh, hey Dave, how are you? How are the twins? Good, good. Say, would you like a pair of panties?”
For the rest of the shift, I was keenly aware of what I was hiding, and all the ways I could wind up, I don’t know, accidentally throwing them across the room. Thank God they weren’t in my right pocket, or I could have revealed them while shaking the hand of an esteemed and well-connected guest. (Alright, so sometimes I sort of represent the place, but only once these people get in the door.) “Hi, thanks so much for coming in. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda? Something from Victoria’s Secret?” I worried that they would wiggle up and peek out at the world while I went about my work, walking around and bending over desks and chairs and such.
Right about now, you might be wondering how I got away with taking pictures of my jeans pockets while I was at work. I’ll be honest. A lot of weird stuff goes down at work. Nobody even looked at me funny. Fortunately, I work with a lot of pretty off-color folks with great senses of humor. If the undies had worked their way out of my jeans in front of most of the women I work with, it would have been hilarious.
Wait, no. That’s a lie. It still would have been mortifying.
Of course, if it had happened in front of one of the guys, I would either have completely embarrassed us both or become the most popular woman in the place.