On the shelf in my closet, there is a pair of jeans. If you picked it up, as I sometimes do when I forget why it's there, you will notice a 10-12" gash in the rear that does not follow a seam. I keep this pair of pants because it has a story. This is it's story.
One night, about seven years ago, when I was on the way home from something, I stopped by the Home Depot to get some screws. The fence at home needed repairs or I was still working on it or something, so I wandered the aisles until I found a contractor's box. As I pulled it from the shelf, a woman approached me from about the 4-o'clock vector, walking purposefully towards me. I wasn't really interested in anything she had to say, so I turned to my left to vacate the store as quickly as possible.
Not to be daunted, she pressed forward and caught me on the shoulder. I remember she was cute, which made what came out of her mouth all the more mortifying. "Did you know your pants are ripped?" she asked me. I looked down, and my pants were ripped from about halfway down one of the pockets to about mid-thigh. Basically, I had been walking around for some time with my underwear exposed through the frayed edges of the tear. I had no idea how long my pants had been ripped, because nobody told me until then that anything was wrong.
Naturally, I was mortified. I wrote to the manufacturer and told them of my embarassment and how their guarantee of workmanship had somehow failed, without warning or provocation. They sent me a replacement, free of charge, with a letter that they only do that one time. I still have no idea how my pants were damaged so badly without me noticing.
For some reason, I decided to keep the pants, which I have carted around ever since.
One night, about seven years ago, when I was on the way home from something, I stopped by the Home Depot to get some screws. The fence at home needed repairs or I was still working on it or something, so I wandered the aisles until I found a contractor's box. As I pulled it from the shelf, a woman approached me from about the 4-o'clock vector, walking purposefully towards me. I wasn't really interested in anything she had to say, so I turned to my left to vacate the store as quickly as possible.
Not to be daunted, she pressed forward and caught me on the shoulder. I remember she was cute, which made what came out of her mouth all the more mortifying. "Did you know your pants are ripped?" she asked me. I looked down, and my pants were ripped from about halfway down one of the pockets to about mid-thigh. Basically, I had been walking around for some time with my underwear exposed through the frayed edges of the tear. I had no idea how long my pants had been ripped, because nobody told me until then that anything was wrong.
Naturally, I was mortified. I wrote to the manufacturer and told them of my embarassment and how their guarantee of workmanship had somehow failed, without warning or provocation. They sent me a replacement, free of charge, with a letter that they only do that one time. I still have no idea how my pants were damaged so badly without me noticing.
For some reason, I decided to keep the pants, which I have carted around ever since.
2 comments:
Kind of cracking up here, envisioning you at Home Depot.
And I think that lady was pretty brave to stop you and tell you -- not sure I would have been that brave with a stranger!!
Envisioning me at Home Depot at all or in this particular instance? I actually go to Home Depot at least every other week, since there's nobody else in my household to send. My beagle doesn't have a wallet or a license...
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