I’m going to take a break from my typical routine of posting about comedians and television shows to share with you a story that happened to me on January 30. This story is, sadly, 100% true.
Thursday mornings are a little bit hectic for me. I record the morning sports update for Red River Radio (shameless plug, tune in if you can!), so I’m typically in a bit of a zone as I mentally prepare myself and look over the stories and scores I plan to talk about.
On this particular day, I had slept in a bit. I got up, showered and got dressed before heading out to catch the 16 bus downtown to school. I walked up my street, and as I got close to Osbourne, I could see the 16 coming up the street. I began to run. As I got to Osbourne, I slipped on the icy sidewalk and fell, but immediately sprung back up to my feet, brushed snow off my pant legs and made my way across the street to the bus stop just in time to hop on to the crowded Winnipeg Transit bus.
I wasn’t able to see an open seat on the bus, so I stood near the front with my earphones in and ESPN on my iPhone screen. I began to block out the worldlooked over last nights sports scores and headlines like I would on any typical Thursday morning.
As the bus reached the Legislature, I looked up from my phone and made eye contact with this rather beautiful woman standing right next to me. I was surprised to find already looking right at me, as we made eye contact immediately. It was an interesting moment. It really seemed like she was trying to tell me something with her eyes.
“Clearly, I’m looking pretty good today,” I thought, as I took her prolonged stare as a silent, early morning flirting attempt. I smiled back at her, and she promptly left the bus at the next stop.
By this point, the crowded bus had started to thin out, so I walked down the aisle towards the back of the bus. A few people gave me a good look up and down, which only bolstered my confidence. Today was going to be a good day. As I slumped into my seat, I again pulled out my phone and hunched over to continue reading stuff for my radio spot.
As I looked down, I noticed something was really wrong. Apparently, when I had tripped running for the bus, I had unknowingly ripped my jeans WIDE OPEN, from the top of the zipper down to my inner thigh, effectively exposing my bits to the world.
I suddenly realized so many things:
I realized what the woman was trying to tell me with her eyes, and why me smiling back at her with a gaping hole in the crotch of my pants.
I realized that there was no time to turn back and get a new pair of pants. It was already 8:20, and I needed to both record my sports update AND get to class on time.
I realized that apparently it wasn’t cold enough outside for me to feel the winter wind’s gentle caress of my exposed upper thigh. Was this a dream? Wasn’t it -26 outside? Oh God, how long had I been standing at the front of the bus with my underwear peaking out the front of my pants?
I ultimately realized the gravity of my situation; I was officially downtown with a rip in my pants the size of the Grand Canyon and a full day of classes to go. What was I going to do? Think, Marc. Think.
I quickly called Chelsee, my roommate and fellow CreCommer (check out her blog HERE). Maybe if she was still at home, she could grab me a new pair of pants and I could sneak onto campus, get to my recording booth and have her drop off replacement pants for me.
“CHELSEE ARE YOU STILL HOME?” I said when she answered, trying not to sound too panicked.
“No, I’m already at school… why?” She replied.
I held the phone away from my ear for a moment and quietly swore to myself. That was my best and only idea. In this moment, I actually considered just rocking my ripped jeans and playing it off like It was some new fashion trend I was following.
“No guys, I totally saw Drake rocking the ripped crotch look on Kimmel last week. Don’t be rude just because you’re not as fashion-forward as me.”
That would never work.
“God…” I said putting the phone back up to my ear. “Okay, well I’m having a bit of a nightmare morning.”
Chelsee seemed genuinely concerned that something horrible had happened (something had).
“I had… a wardrobe malfunction… my jeans are… I need pants….”
Things you never imagine having to say over the phone.
Despite already being at school, calling Chelsee actually did end up saving me from a day of embarrassment wearing ripped pants. She reminded me that the book store on campus sold sweatpants that I could wear.
SWEATPANTS. That could work! I’d look like a total scrub, but its only one day. I will survive.
I thanked her profusely for her help and began to game plan how I was going to infiltrate the campus without people noticing my issue.
Its at this point I should mention the other fashion issue I was dealing with on this morning. A pocket on my peacoat had ripped, and so I had pulled out my back up winter jacket to wear that day. What I didn’t know was that the zipper was busted on it, so I could only keep it closed with the velcro bits.
So here’s my situation. I was going to run across Main Street holding my jacket together with two hands like a flasher on the prowl, in an effort to both hide my shame and to keep from getting frostbite. I would get to the bookstore, buy whatever they had, and just deal with the weird looks all day.
As I stepped off the bus, I mused that if God existed, he really must have had it out for me today. Thanks, bud.
So apparently, knowing that there’s a huge hole in your jeans is the only way you notice how freaking cold it is to walk around with a huge hole in your jeans. Coldest walk of my life.
I get to the bookstore, and start looking at the sweatpants. Price tag, $50.
FIFTY DOLLARS? FIFTY DOLLARS! FIFTY DOLLARS!?! How the hell is that justified. FIFTY DOLLARS for sweatpants.
I shuffled towards the register with my purchase in hand. The person at the counter commented on my odd timing to buy sweatpants. It was then that I just decided to own the absurdity of the situation and explained how I desperately needed to replace my jeans due to an ill-timed and ill-placed rip. We all had a brief laugh, I paid FIFTY DOLLARS for my new pants, and stealthily made my way to the men’s bathroom.
It was there that I realized how awful these sweatpants truly were. No pockets. NO POCKETS? FIFTY DOLLARS for a pair of pant with NO POCKETS. Luckily, there was nothing screen printed on the back. Not that I don’t like or support college athletics, but the idea of wearing sweatpants with “REBEL” emblazoned on my ass. (EDITORS NOTE: If the College decides to use this idea, I would appreciate creative credit).
So the difficult part was over. I went up to my radio editing suite and put together a pretty stellar (in my mind) sports update and got to class on time. Immediately, I started getting comments from my classmates on my… interesting fashion choices that day. I had assumed that Chelsee had understood and told people what had happened.
I WOULD LATER FIND OUT, Chelsee actually had no idea what had happened. I set the record straight by posting the following photo on Facebook:
The moral of this story:
Always bring a spare pair of pants wherever you go, because you never know what might happen.
Also, know that the Red River College book store has a fantastic return policy on sweatpants.
Hello, I'm Marc Lagace! 