The Cryin', the Twitchin' and Wardrobe Malfunction

I thought today I'd reminisce about a few instances of outright hilarity or frustration I've come to find funny from my work life over the past one score and eight years ago. These things are long hidden and have risen to the surface for reasons I cannot explain. I think it has to do with the holidays, perhaps, and getting together with my crazy family.

At my first real job, I was only nineteen, a very innocent, untraveled kid and completely unaware of my pretty good looks. I worked with only one older woman in the office of a large machine shop. That is to say, an all-male environment, before the No-Sexual-Harassment-You-F--king-Bunch-of-Apes Guidelines were made law. I was prime pickings for these pre-neanderthals.

The guy just outside the reception room door, Hacky Damon, had a huge beer gut and his nickname was "Hackys Crack." Can you guess why? C'mon, guess!! Part of my job included collecting reports from the Engineering Department. So I'd leave reception, walking out into the shop area, where Hacky worked at his machine to my left and facing me. "Hey Hacky, how're ya", I'd say, then I'd turn a sharp right, into the engineering offices and collect my reports. This was the uneventful part of my journey. It was the return trip that all the other machinists waited for with great delight because then and only then could I see the glory that was Hackys Crack. This man's pants would be suspended by the grace of God somewhere on his thighs and his entire ass-crack would be exposed for me to see along with his hairy, pimpled old man buttocks. All of the men would be standing stock still, grinning and staring, silent as lambs until I got back into my office. Then they'd burst into hysterical laughter, screaming Hacky's name, hooting and hollering. I'd like to say it was more humiliating for Hacky, but I don't think it was. It may well have been the highlight of his day.

Now to the reason why I no longer wear half-slips. They fall down. The goddamned things fall down while you're standing beside your boss getting instructions on a project. With a rush of horror, you feel a gossamer poof around your feet. You know what I said about peripheral vision being a blessing and a curse? Well, this applies here as well. The trick, men, is to get as close as possible, blurring the edges of the peripheral vision, thus limiting it, without touching the other person. Much to my great dismay, this happened in the presence of Sir Twitchy, J.D. ("Junk Diddler") my voodoo victim, and I really didn't want to get closer for fear he'd get the wrong impression and get "ideas." But I just had no choice. I felt my son-of-a-bitchin slip whoosh down my legs, and Thank Goog, I had a long skirt on that day. Horrified, I leaned in, stepped out of it, and balled it up in my right hand. Now this couldn't have happened at a better time. Sir Twitchy was such a self-absorbed crotch-whopper that he probably thought I was coming onto him, so he was riding that wave to shore while I was taking care of my little issue. Now, it's a full slip or nothing. On a clear day, you can see forever, and through my skirt.

One of my sisters said she was crossing the post office parking lot after lunch, and felt her half slip fall down around her ankles. Thinking fast, she kicked it under a nearby car and kept on walking like nothing ever happened. I would love to have seen that.

The comedian, Sinbad has a skit about a man falling down versus a woman falling down. Men trip and fall, and the whole world hears about it. He stands back up, arms flailing, getting all the attention he can for it. A woman falls down with her groceries scattered in a fifteen foot radius. You ask her if she's alright, and she has no idea what you're talking about. It wasn't her and no, those aren't her groceries. I once worked with a woman who while crossing the street was hit by a slow moving car. She rolled over the hood, landed on her high heels and kept on walking. She said the guy jumped out of his car to ask if she was okay and she said she just yelled over her shoulder "Uh huh" and kept on going. I'm laughing as I'm writing, remembering her telling about it. She was completely indifferent to admitting it even happened, just as I never admitted to anyone that my slip fell down. Until now.

Ah, memories!