A while back, I helped the Mild Girlfriend move. Luckily, we had plenty of time to do so, so we were able to move all of her stuff with just our two cars. We also made more than one trip, spread out over a couple of weekends. All in all, it wasn't the worst move I've seen. It took time, but that's just how that goes.
During the last weekend, we had to make one last push to get everything done. She had to be out of the apartment by about 11AM, and we'd parked the cars in a zone that ended up becoming commercial parking around 8AM. Since we wanted to be on the road by about that time anyway, that wasn't much of a problem. However, it did mean that we got up pretty early to pack the last of the stuff into our cars. Like I said, it wasn't horrible, but it just meant a lot more movement than most people are used to at that hour.
We did get out of there when we expected to, but the process had a very unexpected consequence: I tore my pants. Even now, I have no idea how it happened. It's not like I could point to a specific instance where something caught on the fabric or when I was moving particularly strenuously. No, I just know that at some point during that morning, my pants tore. Worse yet, it was in about the worst possible spot for a guy to tear his pants: it was near the seam to the crotch. Again, I had no idea how the heck this happened, so all I could do was shake my head and chuckle.
We were headed to the Mild Girlfriend's parents' house, so there was absolutely no way I could walk into the house like that. I did have a change of clothes tucked away somewhere in the depths of my trunk, but I wasn't about to risk someone noticing and giving me a dirty look. It just wasn't worth it. So, that's how I found myself in a random Kohl's looking for jeans on a random Sunday afternoon. I was reminded a little bit of the last time I went jeans shopping; there are a lot of skinny jean styles out there. I immediately bypassed all of those, and luckily this store stocked enough "regular" and "loose fit" styles that actually were those things.
Remember, though, I still had a tear in my pants. Even the act of buying the replacement was fraught with danger. I had to keep my current pants covered while I shopped, so that no one noticed and gave me a hard time. Secondly, even once I had successfully navigated the clothing racks, dressing room, and the line to buy stuff, I still had to put said pants on.
I couldn't very well change in the parking lot, so I had to find a bathroom in the store. By this point, I had paid for the new jeans and they were legally mine. Still, it's hard to distinguish that from a shoplifter having a pair of jeans in a bag he shouldn't. So, I was half worried that someone was going to barge in or give me a hard time about walking in wearing one item of clothing and walking out wearing another item of clothing. I knew I could prove everything was above-board, but I really didn't want to have to explain it all. I changed as quickly as I could, all the while worried that I might be mistaken for a criminal. Luckily for me, nothing happened, and I walked out wearing my brand new, no-hole-having jeans.
Be careful when you're moving, folks. You might end up feeling like a shoplifter.
During the last weekend, we had to make one last push to get everything done. She had to be out of the apartment by about 11AM, and we'd parked the cars in a zone that ended up becoming commercial parking around 8AM. Since we wanted to be on the road by about that time anyway, that wasn't much of a problem. However, it did mean that we got up pretty early to pack the last of the stuff into our cars. Like I said, it wasn't horrible, but it just meant a lot more movement than most people are used to at that hour.
We did get out of there when we expected to, but the process had a very unexpected consequence: I tore my pants. Even now, I have no idea how it happened. It's not like I could point to a specific instance where something caught on the fabric or when I was moving particularly strenuously. No, I just know that at some point during that morning, my pants tore. Worse yet, it was in about the worst possible spot for a guy to tear his pants: it was near the seam to the crotch. Again, I had no idea how the heck this happened, so all I could do was shake my head and chuckle.
We were headed to the Mild Girlfriend's parents' house, so there was absolutely no way I could walk into the house like that. I did have a change of clothes tucked away somewhere in the depths of my trunk, but I wasn't about to risk someone noticing and giving me a dirty look. It just wasn't worth it. So, that's how I found myself in a random Kohl's looking for jeans on a random Sunday afternoon. I was reminded a little bit of the last time I went jeans shopping; there are a lot of skinny jean styles out there. I immediately bypassed all of those, and luckily this store stocked enough "regular" and "loose fit" styles that actually were those things.
Remember, though, I still had a tear in my pants. Even the act of buying the replacement was fraught with danger. I had to keep my current pants covered while I shopped, so that no one noticed and gave me a hard time. Secondly, even once I had successfully navigated the clothing racks, dressing room, and the line to buy stuff, I still had to put said pants on.
I couldn't very well change in the parking lot, so I had to find a bathroom in the store. By this point, I had paid for the new jeans and they were legally mine. Still, it's hard to distinguish that from a shoplifter having a pair of jeans in a bag he shouldn't. So, I was half worried that someone was going to barge in or give me a hard time about walking in wearing one item of clothing and walking out wearing another item of clothing. I knew I could prove everything was above-board, but I really didn't want to have to explain it all. I changed as quickly as I could, all the while worried that I might be mistaken for a criminal. Luckily for me, nothing happened, and I walked out wearing my brand new, no-hole-having jeans.
Be careful when you're moving, folks. You might end up feeling like a shoplifter.
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