A Certain Article of Clothing In a Wad (Or… My Dirty Little Secret)

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.

Scene of the discovery

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…

They're in there. See that little bulge? Toward the crotch? It's okay to look.

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?”

Yeesh.

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.

Please, stay in there...

 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.

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6 thoughts on “A Certain Article of Clothing In a Wad (Or… My Dirty Little Secret)

  1. Maybe “dirty old security man” enjoyed the fact that you were seemingly taking pictures of yourself.. never mind the panties!

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