So I have a story to tell all of you (both of you), but what you’ll need to know right off the bat is that I’m a trained educator. I know, you'd never know it with all my grammatical errors and foul language, but it's true. I don’t have a permanent job as a teacher or anything, so I just fill in for schools whenever they’re short-staffed or need some extra help. I’m kind of like a mercenary, a mercenary that people refer to as a supply teacher. Anywho, you're up to speed now.
LET’S DO THIS THANG!
So, this morning, I am getting ready to go to a school, and I’m in a rush to get out of the house in time. I’m 99.9% ready, the only thing I need is my belt. Usually, I can’t find my belt in the mornings, but I was smart last night and left it in the pants I had on yesterday. BRILLIANT MANEUVER, says I to you.
So, I locate yesterday's pants and I start trying to slide the belt out of the loops. The problem is the belt is old and worn, and the breaks and creases in the leather get caught up on the belt loops. I’m cursing and freaking out at these pants that won’t let go of my belt and I think, Are you really going to be made a fool of by an old pair of jeans and a worn-out leather belt?
NO WAY!
So, I tells myself, I’m a MAN and I’m not messing around with this screwy belt no more!
I use my man-muscles to yank that mischievous belt right on out of those loops. When I do this, two unexpected things happen. First, one of the belt loops in my jeans rips (now I have four belt loops and one denim tassel on these jeans). The second thing that happens is that my belt snaps in two, leaving a much shorter belt which would only fit a much thinner man. As it is, I am beltless.
"Greeeat," I spit sarcastically, "No belt!"
"You’ve got your blue and white one" my girlfriend says groggily from beneath a pile of blankets on our bed.
The belt she’s referring to is a white leather belt with a bright-blue and black diamond pattern on it. I bought it as part of a clown costume a while back, and I had worn it once or twice with jeans just to show how hip I was when it came to ironic fashion. What is ironic now, however, is that my ironic belt is the only one I have, and I’m not nearly hip enough to wear it to work with black dress pants.
With no time to sit and think, I let out a sigh and decide that I’ll simply have to wear my old black dress pants; the ones that are tight enough around the waist to stay up on their own. I nab these pants and throw them on, they sag a little, but they’ll have to do. I charge out the door and head to school.
The morning goes reasonably well until I’m on my way inside from supervising the kids on recess. On my way into the school, I snag my pants pocket on the door handle and hear a tic-tic-tic sound as the button from my pants skitters down the hallway and into a sea of moving feet. I’m still moving forward, but I can feel my already sagging pants loosening and my zipper beginning to inch downward. It would be helpful to have a belt at this point. At this moment, I would pay $500 for a nice white leather belt with really loony blue and black diamond patterns on it.
I manage to zip into the staff washroom and slam the door closed just as my pants drop to my ankles. On the back of the bathroom door there’s a long mirror which forces me to look at myself in this position. I'm dressed professionally from the top of my head all the way down to my waist, and then shit gets weird. There's a surprise of colour provided by my Ghostbusters boxer shorts, then it's pale legs down to the black dress socks that are sticking up from out of the crumpled pile of my dropped pants. This is an unacceptable scene. No one else can be permitted to see this.
I look at the time on my cell phone. DAMMIT! I only have 4 minutes before I’m supposed to be supervising some Grade 2 kids for one of the teachers.
With nothing at my disposal, I get my pants up and zip the zipper as high and tight as I can. I do a quick knee-bend and the zipper rockets down. My pants are on the floor again. I try again, but this time I don't try to test the zipper with the knee-bend. It holds, for now. I look at my phone; I have 1 minute left. I'm going to have to risk it and just take things as easy as I can until I can find some time to fix this.
Fearfully, I exit the washroom. I take a deep breath and start walking. I walk slowly and smoothly, leaning backwards a bit and carefully placing each foot forward and then easing my weight onto it. I pass classrooms where some of students stare out at me in confusion as I pimp-walk my way to class with nothing but a prayer holding up my pants.
I ease around the classroom, trying as best I can not to make any sudden movements. One kid drops a bookbag full of stuff all over the floor and I watch coldly as they pick it up. Sorry, Junior, you're not going to be getting any assistance from me, I've got my own problems here. The class goes by without a hitch, and by the time the regular teacher comes back, I've relaxed a little bit. We're chatting away with one another when I feel the zipper slip down a bit. Immediately, I lose all interest in our conversation. While she's talking, my face goes slack and my eyes get hazy and distant. I'm not really talking now, I’m just nodding and saying "Mmm Hmm", and "Oh yeah?" every few seconds. In my head, I'm pleading with whatever deities might be out there: Please, please, PLEEEEASE don't let my pants blow wide open while I'm talking to this woman.
I tell myself that if the worst happens, if these badboys drop, and this woman and a whole classroom of 7-year olds sees me in my Ghostbuster underwear, I'm just going to do a Van Halen-style jump kick, yell "WHO YA GONNA CALL?!" while in the air, then walk out....possibly into oncoming traffic.
The pants hold, and my conversation with the teacher comes to an end. Finally, I have a few minutes to fix this problem. Actually, I have exactly 10 minutes. I pimp-walk my way back to the staff washroom, but make a stop at the office to grab some supplies on the way. Not knowing exactly what I'm going to do, I decide I better take anything that might be useful: rubber bands, paperclips, clamps, scissors, and a stapler. The secretary looks at me like I might be crazy, and I look back at her like she might be right. Then it's into the bathroom.
At first I try one of those black clamps with the little metal levers. It's a no-go, so I get more extreme. I hold my pants closed and try to staple them shut. This sounds like a better idea than it is, and it doesn’t even really sound like that good of an idea. The waist of my pants is too thick to staple together and when I try to drive an open staple into the pants to act as a "hook", all I manage to do is drive a staple into my bikini-zone. Scrapping the stapler plan, I move on to rubber bands. Surely this will work. I use the scissors to cut a hole where the button used to be and try to loop the rubber bands through with the hopes of tying them. Both of the bands snap in half.
I check the time. I have 2 minutes. Enough fucking around.
I pull out two heavy-duty paperclips and call upon my man-muscles for the second time today to straighten the clips out. I feed them through the two holes in my pants, cross the ends, and start to twist. I twist them up until the remaining ends snap off. Where the button used to be, I now have a sharp little knot of twisted metal that pokes into me whenever I lean forward. I haul on the pants and shake them and test my work.
It's perfect! I'm not even sure how I'm going to get these pants off later. It's then that I realize I probably should have taken that piss I've been holding in for the past hour before I tied my pants shut with twisted steel.
I spend the rest of the day holding in my piss and being scared that somehow the paperclip knot digging into my body is going to let go. I have the junior high kids in the afternoon, and I reeeeally don’t want to lose my pants in front of them. With the little kids, I might have been able to laugh it off. I mean, come on, they do embarrassing shit all the time, but the older kids, that would be awful. They would tease me ruthlessly and I would probably die of embarrassment. If I did, there'd be no one to explain what had actually happened. All anyone would know is that I dropped my pants in front of a bunch of kids. I'd be that known as that sick bastard who wore underwear with cartoons on them and drove staples into his own groin for kicks. No, I can't have that happen to me, so I just take it reeeaaally easy for the rest of the day, playing it safe by pimp-walking everywhere even though I probably don't have to.
I manage to hold my piss in until the end of the day. I'm thankful for this because the only thing worse than dropping your pants in front of colleagues and students is pissing your pants in front of them and then not being able to get the pissy pants off your body. There’s no way I could have undone those pants at the school. When I got home that afternoon, I had to use a pair of wirecutters to get out of them while I did the potty-dance. I managed to pinch myself twice with the cutters.
Anyway, that was my day. My groin took a beating what with all the staples, pokey metal knots, and the wire-cutter pinches, but you know what, that's the life of a supply teacher.
And that's that. I'm going to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment