A Tale of Two Assumptions
at Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Who doesn't love autumn? It's a time of transition for all and reflection for many. A magical time of the year when the leaves and temperatures are falling, incidences of warm soup belly begin to rise exponentially, and false assumptions are made about my effeminate nature and/or work masturbatory habits.
Perhaps I should elaborate on that last one a little. You see, I've been at my current place of employment for just under two years now, and in the first couple of weeks on the job I wrestled with a particularly bothersome wardrobe issue. Since the dress code for my department is standard business attire, I was forced to populate my closet with slacks, dress shirts, and ties that don't say "Fuck This Tie" on them. There was one pair of black slacks in particular that had intimacy issues from sitting on the triple clearance rack at Ross for so long. Sure they were cheap and comfy, but what I didn't know was that they came with an unforeseen cost to my sanity. You could have thrown them in with an entire box of dryer sheets, yet the instant I slipped them on they would cling to me like that girl I made a mix tape for in sixth grade. Chalk it up to the dry winter air and the overall furriness of my bulging calves.
The first couple of times I wore Tesla's pants I hosed them down with Downy wrinkle release, but the effects were sadly short lived. By mid-morning they were already charged up again, requiring several more applications throughout the day. Then -- and as always -- praise be to Google, I found a longer-lasting solution; rubbing a healthy amount of lotion on my legs kept the slacks from sticking all day. Not to mention the crucial groundwork this helped lay for one of the most fabulous beach seasons ever. The only real flaw with this method was how, without fail, I would forget to lotion up before leaving the house in the morning. Thankfully the men's bathroom at work is progressive enough to have a jumbo bottle of lotion sitting out for community use. Which created a completely different sort of problem really.
Allow me to paint you a picture -- I've got my pant legs pulled up above the knee, a foot up on the bathroom counter, and I'm vigorously working a handful of lotion into my exposed leg, when in walks some random suit. Which is sadly not the first time I've been caught in a similar act. But this was my workplace. That I had just started with a month ago. So for all I know, this guy could be a highly respected member of the organization I was possibly about to get fired from. All I could manage to say was "Winter, you know?" in reference to the increased static activity. To which he responded "Yeah... lots of people get scaly skin this time of year". NOT WHAT I MEANT.
I have to say that this incident taught me something about not doing obviously stupid things. Well at least not to lube up the man-stems in public view. With this groundbreaking knowledge in hand I did the only sensible thing, which was to perform the rubdown in the morning at home. Yeah OK, so the genius plan I actually came up with was to take the bottle of lotion with me into the stall at work. What could go wrong, right? Star wipe to several weeks later, I'm stepping out of the work bathroom stall, economy-sized lotion bottle in hand, the kind of smile on my face that can only come from satisfactorily ridding one's self of oppressive static cling. At this -- my finest moment -- in walks my old buddy Mr. random suit. Of course this is the first time I've seen him since our previous encounter. Our eyes met, his briefly flashed down to the lotion, then back to mine, and I pulled deep from within the only word capable of expressing our relationship:
"Shit".
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Perhaps I should elaborate on that last one a little. You see, I've been at my current place of employment for just under two years now, and in the first couple of weeks on the job I wrestled with a particularly bothersome wardrobe issue. Since the dress code for my department is standard business attire, I was forced to populate my closet with slacks, dress shirts, and ties that don't say "Fuck This Tie" on them. There was one pair of black slacks in particular that had intimacy issues from sitting on the triple clearance rack at Ross for so long. Sure they were cheap and comfy, but what I didn't know was that they came with an unforeseen cost to my sanity. You could have thrown them in with an entire box of dryer sheets, yet the instant I slipped them on they would cling to me like that girl I made a mix tape for in sixth grade. Chalk it up to the dry winter air and the overall furriness of my bulging calves.
The first couple of times I wore Tesla's pants I hosed them down with Downy wrinkle release, but the effects were sadly short lived. By mid-morning they were already charged up again, requiring several more applications throughout the day. Then -- and as always -- praise be to Google, I found a longer-lasting solution; rubbing a healthy amount of lotion on my legs kept the slacks from sticking all day. Not to mention the crucial groundwork this helped lay for one of the most fabulous beach seasons ever. The only real flaw with this method was how, without fail, I would forget to lotion up before leaving the house in the morning. Thankfully the men's bathroom at work is progressive enough to have a jumbo bottle of lotion sitting out for community use. Which created a completely different sort of problem really.
Allow me to paint you a picture -- I've got my pant legs pulled up above the knee, a foot up on the bathroom counter, and I'm vigorously working a handful of lotion into my exposed leg, when in walks some random suit. Which is sadly not the first time I've been caught in a similar act. But this was my workplace. That I had just started with a month ago. So for all I know, this guy could be a highly respected member of the organization I was possibly about to get fired from. All I could manage to say was "Winter, you know?" in reference to the increased static activity. To which he responded "Yeah... lots of people get scaly skin this time of year". NOT WHAT I MEANT.
I have to say that this incident taught me something about not doing obviously stupid things. Well at least not to lube up the man-stems in public view. With this groundbreaking knowledge in hand I did the only sensible thing, which was to perform the rubdown in the morning at home. Yeah OK, so the genius plan I actually came up with was to take the bottle of lotion with me into the stall at work. What could go wrong, right? Star wipe to several weeks later, I'm stepping out of the work bathroom stall, economy-sized lotion bottle in hand, the kind of smile on my face that can only come from satisfactorily ridding one's self of oppressive static cling. At this -- my finest moment -- in walks my old buddy Mr. random suit. Of course this is the first time I've seen him since our previous encounter. Our eyes met, his briefly flashed down to the lotion, then back to mine, and I pulled deep from within the only word capable of expressing our relationship:
"Shit".
