Monday, June 20, 2011

Pants on the ground

Last Friday afternoon, Michael and I had to spend a few hours at the Secretary of State’s office in Lansing.  Seems his wallet had been misplaced while he was in Atlanta, and while he was very upset that some cash and gift cards were gone, he was bereft that his didn’t have his driver’s license.  And I couldn’t stand the thought of Michael looking at the Camaro in the garage all weekend without having a license to drive it, so as soon as I picked him up from the airport, we went straight to the SOS office. 

We arrived an hour before closing time and found a packed waiting room with a line snaking to the door.  I had no idea how in the world they were going to get all of us through by 5, but I figured we were there – we had to give it a try.  We got to the first window and told the young lady what we needed. She gave Michael a form to fill out and a number. “Sit over there until your number is called.” We looked at our number: 66. Current number: 22.

Oh my goodness.  It was 4:40. How in the world were they going to get us all through by 5 pm? They didn’t give us any indication we wouldn’t be helped, so we took a seat and waited. 

When 5 pm rolled around an announcement was made that everyone with a number would be served, but the doors were being locked and if you left, you forfeited your number and would have to return another day. We were thrilled we would be able to get his license, but knew we still had some time to wait. At 5, they were on #35.

I’d finished my magazine by that time and as I looked up, I saw this:


Seriously, this man’s boxers were so far out of his pants that when he moved I could see skin between the boxers and his jeans.  He’d occasionally pull the pants up, but he never tightened his belt, so they kept falling back down. When he finally waddled off, I truly feared he’d trip on the waistband, which, by that time, was at his knees.

Before I knew it, Bad Pants #2 was standing right in front of me:



The rip in his pants was so large that again, his skin showed through.

Seriously, don’t either of these men have wives? Or mothers? Or friends? 

I posted these pictures on my Facebook page as I sat in the SOS office and was relieved to find my friends thought the pants in questions were as crazy I did. My friend Tanya mentioned what I was thinking: wonder what would happen if you just gave that first pair of pants a little tug. He was standing so close to me that I could have stuck my leg out and touched him; I was dying to step on the cuff of his jeans and see what happened. Of course, as Tanya said, there might be an assault charge involved so I'm glad maturity prevailed.

Thankfully, #66 was called, Michael got his picture taken and we were off.  But I couldn’t help thinking about those men, who also walked out with driver’s licenses.  If they didn’t have the sense to wear pants that fit and kept themselves covered, should they really be driving?

I can only hope the fad of the droopy drawers passes quickly. And I hope the guy with the split in his shorts sews them up or throws them out. Or gets longer boxers.

Of course, I couldn’t help thinking about this:


And kudos to the staff at the SOS for staying pleasant long after the 5:00 closing time.