Stem To Stern

Okay today is a BIG one. Story Circa 2004

I’m working for a computer consulting company. Going around from business to business taking care of customers networking needs. For the most part is was a pretty easy job. There were always exceptions, but not many. I enjoyed working for lots of different people and going to a variety of places. I was required to wear slacks and dress shirts for this job. I owned a few fairly expensive pair of dress pants, and they all fit me comfortably.

So I’m at our best customers office. I spend around eight to ten hours with them every week. I’m up in the accounting office. This is an office of only women. The room is a square and the square is comprised of solid cubes, with all the openings facing in. Picture twenty women in a square crunching numbers, cracking jokes, gossiping and rocking out to easy listening. Think of it like a hen house and you would be pretty close

In the center of the hen house was a printer. I was swapping it out with a new one. I bent down to pick up the printer and we had a nanosecond conversation.

“Printer” I started, “You need to come with me”
“I’m staying here”
“There is no way of stopping this”

I hear this deafening tear. It rang in my ears like a shot. All I could think was “This couldn’t be happening.” Then came the corroboration. A giggle began traveling around the circle of hens. What started off small was shortly out of control. I had ripped my pants from my neatly press cuff all the way to my double stitched designer waist. It was like a sail billowing in the soft wave of raucous merriment at my expense. I stood dumbfounded, smiling sheepishly and trying to comprehend what had just happened. I put the printer down and grabbed my coat. It covered the important portions, though the damage was already done.

As I was fleeing the office I ran into the manager, and she asked why I was leaving. I relayed the story to her. She looked at my pants, and started to laugh uncontrollably. As I descended the stairs, leading away from the office, I heard her in fits of laughter and few “I’m sorry Peter” like phrases thrown in for good measure.

As I got in my car and tried to comprehend what just happened I knew I would have to go back and finish the job. The idea was almost unbearable.