A Pants Explosion

I've a had a little bit of bad luck with pants this semester.

Since I've become a substitute teacher, I've had to purchase some business/casual pants to ensure that my wardrobe complies with the schools' dress code. I came into contact with the St. John's Bay brand of clothing and found its Worry Free Pant to be everything I was looking for: comfortable, fashionable without being trendy, wrinkle resistant, and things of this nature. What this particular line of clothing might lack, however, is durability.

I have had two pairs of these pants rip on me in the last three months. The first time it happened during a day in Developmental Kindergarten, so it was no big deal. The situation I had yesterday was a much bigger problem.

On Tuesday, I was in charge of a room of first graders. I was wearing my black SJB slacks and a rather flattering sweater. The ensemble was getting me through the day just fine until about 11:30am. When I half-bent/half leaned forward to pick something up off of the floor, I thought I heard something like the soft purr of stiching giving way. "Was that my pants?" I wondered. So when it seemed no students were looking, I slipped a quick hand along the back side and inseam of my trousers. No tactile evidence of rippage presented itself so I assumed I was fine.

And I may very well have been at the time. But later, right after the students returned from lunch, I sat down in the teacher's chair and lifted my right leg so that I might cross it over my left. At that moment I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric being pulled asunder.

"Shit!" I thought the word so emphatically I think a few kids in the first row actually heard it themselves. I knew this one was for real because I could already feel the a cool flow of air upon the back of my thigh where the tear had occured. "What am I gonna do about this? If a room full of six year-olds see my boxers through my ripped pants, I'm in for some Grade A embarrassment."

The good news was that the kids were due to have art class in about 15 minutes, during which I would have a half hour break. I instantly hatched a scheme. I would walk the kids to art...praying the entire time that my wardrobe malfunction wouldn't be detected...drop them off and then immediately dart into the nearby restroom where I could do some repairs on my pants. Thankfully, it is common for teachers of the youngest students to walk backwards in hallways so that they can continually monitor how the kids behave in line. I could do this while simply trusting that the rip was small enough that those passing us in the halls wouldn't catch a glimpse of it either.

Right before leaving the room for art class, I grabbed a mini-clip from the regular teacher's desk...you know, the ones that you squeeze open like a clothespin and have the metal arms that you flip down once the clip has clamped. Amazingly, I got the kids to the other classroom without being called out and made it into the nearby bathroom as I had planned. I shut myself inside a stall for added privacy.

To do the job I had to remove my pants, and to do that, I had to first remove my shoes. So there I was, standing in a public elementary school restroom in my socks and boxer shorts, attempting to clip shut the new window to my uber-pale thigh. The second I saw the damage, I knew my first suspicion had been correct: I had two disinct tears in my pants. The first ran right alongside the inseam of my pants. It was still small enough and deep enough in the crotchal region that I could have gone all day without anyone seeing that my pants were damaged. The more recent rip was worse. It went about a fifth of the way across the back of my right leg. It was probably about 3 inches in length, and looked like someone had literally crotch chopped me between the legs with an ax. I used my meager clip to close the opening as best I could but the clip popped off as soon as I slip my pants back on. A Plan B immediately came to me: "Staples! I need me some staples."

The teacher I was subbing for keeps her stapler right by the front door. I was able to make it back to home room without running into anyone else in the halls. I walked through the doorway, put the stapler in my left pocket, pulled the hem of my sweater as far down as I could to cover up this new, sizeable bulge on my hip, and walked across the hallway to the nearest boys room. Very soon, I was once again in my socks and boxers with my pants hanging half inside out from the coat hook of a stall door. It took about five staples to seal the more noticable opening. Then I added about 3 extras for added support. (I wasn't about to go through this whole ordeal a third time.)

My bootlegged solution got me through the end of the day just fine. I didn't bend at the knees or sit down for almost three hours, but I considered that a small price to pay to avoid embarrassment. It turns out, I made a wise choice. When I sat into the driver's seat of my car to go home that afternoon, every single staple tore out and the total length of the aformentioned second rip increased a little bit more.

As soon as I reached home, I got on JC Penney. com and bought myself three new pairs of pants. (I'd yet to replace the previous pair that exploded nearly 10 weeks prior.) I hope to have a mint condition set of black slacks arrive in the mail sometime in the next week or so.