Your Barn Door is Open

A funny thing happened to me while at work today that caused me to, eventually, leave for home early with a red face.
My usual day at the office incorporates many bottles of water, which, in turns, incorporates many trips to the restroom. The first visit, today, proved some difficulty in pulling the zipper back up on my pants. The second resulted in a peculiar sound that made me cringe, a sort of ripping sound. The third visit revealed my speculation of a possible defective zipper by creating a stopping point toward the top and resistance to proceed. This occurred just before a meeting in which I was made the center of attention from my dilemma.
After the 1 hour plus meeting, and after the consumption of two bottles of water before the meeting, I had to go to the restroom again. This next visit I knew would be the end of my zipper, but I had no choice. Sure enough, on its way down this time the inevitable happened, no more reverse, no more zipper. I untucked my shirt, exited the bathroom and prepared my things for my trip home.
However, my departure, with my laptop bag hiding the opening of my pants, was not without incident. As I was entering my car in front of the building, I began to smell smoke. I looked on the other side of my car and noticed the smoke at the edge of the parking lot about two cars over; at about the same time I noticed a female exiting the building to satisfy her nicotine fix in the smoking area just a few paces from where the smoke was wafting. Daringly, I decided to check out the smoke, noticing, as I approached, there was, indeed, a small fire. I then performed my good deed for the day and began stomping out the fire, keeping my body bent forward so that my untucked shirt would cover the “love cave”, hoping the “fire-breathing lady” would not notice the opening. She did, however, notice my mash potato dance and, I guess, she figured she wanted to dance also. As she walked over, I leaned over some more acting as if I was looking for the source of the fire. She must have heard the words “Simon Says” because she proceeded to look also. We didn’t find anything and, to my amazement, she turned away to walk back to her “smoke den” mumbling something about irresponsible people and their cigarettes. I walked back to my car, the whole time looking like Quasimodo, and drove away.
It’s scenarios like this that led to me wonder what I would do if I lived in a major metropolitan area, like New York City, where I would have to rely on mass transportation and not the luxury of my own personal car that I can hide away in. Hopefully, if I ever make there, I will never find out.

[iTunes was playing “Creating “Governing Dynamics”” by James Horner from A Beautiful Mind soundtrack while I was writing this.]

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