6 STAPLES FROM SCANDAL!

It could happen to anyone.

You see, today was a big day! I was finally cleaning up/out and re-organizing some of the space at the office! I’ve been wanting to do this for sometime! So, I arrived to work very early, dressed in B’s oldest jeans and ready to roll! I was prepared and ready for the dirt and labor!

I should have known to ‘re-think’ my plan when B busted a new bottle of wine all over our kitchen floor this morning at about 5:30am. But, no. I pushed forward! I figured, “Well, anyone could drop a bottle of wine at 5:30 in the morning!” B wanted to stop and clean it up, but I said no — and we tossed a roll of paper towels (recycled) on top of the broken glass and cheap wine. I was on a mission to clean the office!!!!

And, for over 5 hours I forged through dust, old boxes and carted large loads via two of our office “dollies” (or ‘trucks’ for those of you who are more manly than I!) — and, I was essentially finished at about 11:45am. Not too damn bad!

However, I am not one to do things half way! No! Sure. I had accomplished what I had planned on doing, but I had finished 3 hours sooner than I had expected. So, I decided to do a bit of re-organizing of our storage cages. This was where I had brought much of the stuff from the office space.

As I attempted to lift a monitor I heard a noise. One of those, “Oh no!” sort of noises. You know the type I mean — the noises that always signal that something bad is about to happen.

Apparently the monitor was holding up a wall of heavy items. I held on to the monitor as I backed out of the way of falling cans, boxes and odd pieces of electronics. I escaped tragedy but somehow managed to get the backside of B’s jeans caught on a sort of pole-like-thing.

“Is that a tripod or a fishing pole?” I remember thinking.

It sort of felt like I was stuck. I decided to turn around to see why I couldn’t move away. Mistake.

I heard a rip and felt a rush of cold air. …on my butt.

Yes, my jeans were ripped open.

I was exposed.

Of course, the challenge was to figure out how to get myself back to my desk without mooning the staff and other innocents in the office.

Luckily I was wearing a long shirt and B’s jeans were fairly loose. I pulled the shirt down and hoisted up the jeans and started to make my way back. As I stepped down a set of steps I heard another rip.

No way! Was this really happening?

Yes. It was.

The jeans were starting to rip from the back up to the front.

I walked slowly to the front desk and asked my co-worker if she could hand me the stapler. Navigating my way down that hall, to the men’s room and firmly latching myself into the physically-challenged stall (as I do appear to be physically-challenged!) — I began the process of stapling my jeans together.

I was too cheap to call a cab. I decided I could make home it if I walked carefully. I knew I couldn’t do the bus as I would not be able to stand up, hold the rail and my jeans — and I knew the staples were likely to pop if I sat down. I walked slowly.

I was back in the Castro in about 30 minutes. I was walking cautiously and pretending not to notice the tourists who were giving me odd looks — when my friend, “S”, grabbed me from behind to surprise me. Oy! I felt another slight rip!

I explained my “issue”

He gave me one of ‘his looks’ and said, “Well, you’re in the Castro. Let ’em fall, baby!”

But you see, at this point my concern was not about exposing myself — as it was about the places where those staples were likely to stab if they broke free. I sort of rolled myself up Castro Street. By the time I reached our stoop the jeans were starting to fall off.

But, it could happen to anyone. …I think.

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