The great jean adventure continues.
I went to the exact same store today with a plan of buying the exact same jeans as I bought two days ago, only without the permanent urine looking darkening around the crotch area when a great conspiracy raised it’s dirty little head.
And no, that is not a penis euphemism, and just for thinking that I am taking you on a quick detour that I was planning on doing regardless of your filthy minds. I couldn’t return my jeans because I had already ‘altered’ them before discovering their flaw. In this case I had put a couple of small holes in them, which may or may not have been the end of that. I like making my own changes to my clothes so I am unique. That’s basically the end of this detour. It wasn’t the scenic route, but we avoided all the construction work noise. Are you ready to hear about the conspiracy now?
Here is the thing, I was looking for my size when a staff member came and asked ‘what size am I looking for’ which is a question I hate, because they then take over the job of looking for your size, starting again from the top of the pile, re-checking the fifty items you’ve already established ARE NOT MY FUCKING SIZE!!!!! Sorry. But here is the thing, today the girl looked through the rack and said these words
‘Oh those jeans don’t come in the 31-32, but you can try the 30-32, the way our sizes work that’s essentially the same’.
‘Um, I am pretty sure you do make that size’ I replied ‘I am currently wearing jeans I bought at your store that ARE that size’.
She then looked down at my jeans, noticed they were a different color and said ‘oh we do make that size, just not in this wash’.
Now what I should have said was ‘I know you do, I bought some two days ago from this very store in that very size, of this very wash, from this very pile’. What I did instead was think ‘did I mess up my own size the other day, and if so what size did I buy, and how did I mess that up, because I was very adamant that this was my size, especially seeing as I needed to buy them specifically because the one size up of jeans in this store became too big, so there is no way I would have bought that size, and apart from the fly always feeling open, and the crotch looking like it is always being soaked in urine, they fit perfectly, fuck I am a tool, how can I get such simple things right, I can’t even buy a pair of jeans without drama, hassle, and looking like an idiot, maybe later today if I write a blog I will take a really uninteresting detour just to see what happens, that’s if I have any pants to wear, what size could I possibly of accidently bought?’
The sales lady obviously saw the quizzical look on my face and rather than reading it accurately as going down dark paths of teenage regression ‘this is just like high school you idiot, where you built up the horror of buying new school pants to suck extremities that you never got any and ended up wearing pants so tight that you now literally have nerve damage in your hips, that results in your left upper thigh being permanently numb, which was actually the result of your backpack from your backpacking trip, and why are you talking to yourself in this second person thing, or whatever person this is, your supposed to be a writer, you should know these things you idiot, just get some pants for Christ sake’.
‘I could have someone check for you’ she said, interrupting my lovely train of thought. Then she talked into her walky-talky and explained the wash of jean I was looking for and asked if they came in a 31-32. I am not sure who is on the other end of that walky-talky, I assume either god, someone at a computer somewhere who can look up stuff, or most likely no one at all.
A few minutes passed while I checked the stack of jeans one more time before the answer came back ‘no they don’t make that wash in that size’.
I was now convinced. I am such a loser that when I tried to specifically buy a very specific size of jeans I failed to get those two simple numbers correct, and I had no idea how, or in what direction. Feeling stupid and like an annoying customer who made this poor sales lady look shit up for me and talk to god, only for my ‘knowledge’ to turn out to be mere myth, I did what I had to do. I tried on the one size up and the one size down.
Low and behold the one size down fit, so I bought them, and slinked away into the night. Then I got home. I think you know where this is going.
Yes. The sales lady was there waiting for me. ‘Sorry, I looked up your address on the computer, I’m sorry for the hassle today, I just really wanted to get into your pants, and this was the only way I could figure out how to do so’ she said. And we made sweet, pantless love.
No wait, I mean I checked the pants I bought two days ago – 31-32 DAMN IT! They DO exist. Man at computer/ no one/ god LIED TO ME. I doubted myself for nothing. The most perplexing thing of course is - why lie? This is a conspiracy of the dirtiest kind, and I can only think of seven possibly explanations:
1. God thinks I need to be even skinnier
2. They really don’t like it when you cut holes in their jeans
3. All computers have now broken in a way that randomly throws out minor, yet significant, mistakes and will continue to do so until all hell breaks loose
4. Some sales clerks are idiots
5. Sometimes I buy trail mix instead of nuts, and then end up not eating the raisins because I don’t like them, and wish I had simply bought nuts
6. This clothes chain monitors all internet conversation about jeans, pants and getting into those pants, and having read my post from yesterday sent out a memo to all employees to make sure I suffer for saying that this store that I never named, and never will, sometimes sells jeans that feel like the fly is always open and have a unique colorization that makes it look like the wearer has always just peed his pants
7. American Eagle Outfitter just wanted to sell me more jeans, and rightfully thought this lie would help
I can’t figure out which one it might be, all seven seem equally as likely, so I don’t know how to get my comeuppance. One thing I do know for sure is this – now that I again have new jeans the next time I go out of the house with my groin looking like I have just urinated in my pants I will have ACTUALLY just urinated in my pants! Yay, New Jeans!
Life is short. Or perhaps it lasts for a really, really long time. No one is really sure. Which sucks. If they can't figure that out definitively then what else don't we really know? The perfect size for a jar? What a fuckin' miserable thought. Fuck that. Instead here are the silly, weird, unhinged, absurd, silly, stupid, completely unrelated to hinges (moslty), poorly edited, outpourings and thought vomits of a silly idiotic teddy-bear of a dickhead. Staring David 'Pinky-Von-Sox' Tieck
Thursday, March 15, 2012
I want to get into those pants 2: Even Pantier
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