Shorts Shrift

After two months at Ho(t)me(n) Depot, I have had a Not Good day at work.

It was bananas. So much to do, and I was basically the only one on the floor in my department from the time I got there until I got some help at 2 p.m. And I had all this downstocking to do and these picks to get and... and...

Oh. And there was only smokin hot man the whole day! (Okay. Well three. But two I couldn't get a good look at.)

I was running and running all day long.

But here was the thing that really made it Not Good.

I wore shorts.

You see every month, there's an All Store Meeting. At 7 freakin o'clock on a Sunday morning! If'n you're schedule to work, then you're there anyway and you get paid for it. If you're not scheduled, then you're "invited" to come in anyway to take part in the festivities.

Uh huh.

Gosh, whaddyaknow, I did not drag my sorry butt out of bed at 5:30 a.m. this past Sunday to make the All Store Meeting.

Apparently, there was this total Proletarian Uprising.

Involving shorts.

Our Store Manager had an announcement. It seems that according to our dress code, we're only permitted to wear shorts from May 1st to October 1st.

And there was a question on that point.

Along the lines of, "Uh... It's eighty-five degrees outside. Could that maybe be relaxed?"

And a lively discussion ensued.

Al Gore may have been mentioned.

Now then. All of this was unbeknownst to me. Who got up this morning and decided that my dark olive drab hiking shorts would look pretty snappy this morning.

I had barely clocked in when a co-worker approached me and said, "So... You're wearing shorts."

And then explained what went down at the All Store Meeting.

Silly me, I failed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

Assistant Manager after Assistant Manager approached, voicing concern about my bare calves. I tried to make a joke about it ("I know I know I know! I didn't make the All Store Meeting! I'm sorry!"), but this didn't cut it. They were still Concerned.

And sure enough, I ran into our Store Manager, who barked, "You're wearing shorts."

I explained. I apologized. He was placated. And I finally got it.

My fashion statement was perceived as being a political statement.

On the way home, I recounted the Unfortunate Episode of the Mid-October Shorts to the Baron, who got it immediately.

"You see," he explained, "what happened in 1792 in France was that the bourgeoisie snatched the baton of power from the nobility, and rather than considering what right they had to have it or how best to use it, they simply committed themselves to hold on to it in whatever way they could. And the best way to do exercise that illigitimate power is to tell the rest of us when and how high to jump and what tune to dance to. Although that only works if they're completely arbitrary and only serve to reinforce that they have the power and you don't."

Well since you put it that way.

And I responded by pointing out that this turned my entire day into a french existentiallist theater piece, in that I am, if nothing else, a man who prides himself on being an expert Jumper and impressive Dancer-On-Command.Had I but known about the whole No Shorts From October Through The End Of April Deal I would have work a burka before I'd wear shorts.

One of my co-workers compared my plight to that of Woody Allen's character in the movie Bananas where he mistakenly spurs a revolution in a southamerican republic.

So no more shorts.

But tomorrow, I'm gonna wear my tight low-rider black jeans.

The Dress Code didn't say anything about showing my ass crack.

They'll need a re-write before I'm through.