I looked around desperately, searching for acknowledgment. How could people continue to function while this was going on? Everyone went about their business as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I however, did not. It stopped me in my tracks. I stared, cocking my head to the side like a dog trying to figure out the depth of an object. My eyes could have burned a hole in the back of that man’s pants, had there not already been a huge one there.

Oh glory day, it was the largest pants blowout I had ever seen. I could tell he was someone important because everyone had gathered around to take direction from him. At first I couldn’t see his face, just his back, which was fitted with a super tight black t-shirt. And then there were the jeans. The tear started right below the middle belt loop and continued dead center down the seat of the pants, finally coming to a stop at the inner left thigh. Exposed for the world to see were a pair of extremely well fitted, black lycra boxer briefs.

Just when I began to wonder if he knew his jeans had turned into a pair of assless chaps, he reached around and touched the gaping hole. I recognized it as a status touch. He was checking out the progression of tear. But by only being able to assess the situation by touch, he may not have known what existed behind him was truly grim. A full on pants nosedive. A MAYDAY needed to be called into the control tower. This man’s pants had exploded and there could be casualties.

He performed some exaggerated arm movements, waved a clipboard around a few times, did a semicircle turn, then trotted off barking orders at people. I’ve seen this kind of native ritual before. I grew up with up with the gays. I’m a honorary club affiliate. So, I knew immediately he was a card carrying, monthly dues paying, member of the association. I had been hired to bartend a charity event at the Virginia Science Museum. As it turned out, this man would be my boss for the evening.

I’m thirty-one years old. I’m college educated and a small business owner. I have a house, a car, and four dogs. I do alright for myself, but I never stop worrying which is why I haven’t been able to give up bartending. One or two nights a week I still find myself slinging drinks for drunks of every societal status. I usually work in a bar, dragging myself home at three in the morning. I immediately fall into bed feeling the effects of a body that is beginning to pass its prime. But on this Saturday, I was working an upscale special event and I had begun to suspect I was not mature enough to handle it.

I was assigned to the bar in the main banquet room. It was myself and three other guys. I had worked another event with one of the guys so I decided he would be the person I would make be my friend for the evening. I walked up to him excited. "Did you see it?" I asked without even saying hello. He looked at me puzzled. I immediately went into explanation. I talked breathlessly trying to relay how exciting the situation was.

"There’s a guy walking around with the butt ripped out of his jeans. I can see his entire underwear. They’re gay man underwear. And the rip is so big I can see where his underwear ends and his leg begins. I think he’s somebody important because I saw him giving orders to people, but you can tell he has a spray on tan. His teeth are really white, and big. And I know he knows the rip is there, I saw him touch it. It’s soooo good." I may have been doing a slight happy dance while I talked. Seriously, I couldn’t have been more excited even if a leprechaun had leaped onto my head and hid a piece of gold in my inner ear.

As I was explaining the greatness of the situation, I saw my friend for the evening look past my head, and I knew he was coming. I could feel it. I turned to look and there he was, feverishly walking towards us, followed by an entourage of peasant workers. He walked up to the makeshift bar and began barking orders at us. His eyes were wild and his movements frantic. Then as quickly as he came, he moved on to his next victims, exiting out the side door, showing us his fully exposed bum.

I turned to the three guys I was working with. "It’s fabulous isn’t it?" I asked. They stood there buttstruck, confused by the situation. If it had been anyone else, I may have had some empathy. But this man was intolerable and the fact that he still took himself seriously at that moment was inconceivable. He continued for hours, walking around yelling at anyone in his path, exiting each encounter by exposing himself.

An hour before the event began, everyone changed into their catering attire. I had on black pants, a black belt, tuxedo shirt, and a bow tie. The man in charged emerged wearing a full tuxedo. I turned to my friend in confusion. "You mean to tell me he had an extra pair of pants on his person the entire time and opted not to put them on until now?" I asked.

He must of felt me talking about him, because he homed in on me like a lighthouse beacon. I could see him from across the room coming straight for me, horn blaring. From fifteen feet away he yelled to me "Do you have another belt? You look like a biker chic."

Astonishment fell over the crowd. Everyone surrounding me turned and stared in my direction. I just shrugged my shoulders and simply said no. He shook his head in exasperation and stormed off. Everyone gathered around me sympathetically, but I wasn’t fazed. I had found the entire evening to be such an amusing event, I felt lucky to be a part of it. It was a story to tell my friends grandchildren. My buddy turned to me and said "At least you’re pants are intact."

A few minutes later the flood gates opened and hoards of party goers were released upon us. I began pouring glasses of wine and out of nowhere a big toothed, spray tanned head began yelling at the side of my face. "You’re pouring to much wine in the glasses." It said in a high, dog whistle voice. "You violated me by showing me your ass all afternoon long." I wanted to yell back.

It was an open bar. All the alcohol was free. When someone finished their drink they were welcome to as many free refills as they could hold. How I could pour to much wine into a glass was beyond me. About a half an hour into the event I turned around and the big gay in charge was crouched down, hiding behind me and the bar. He was swigging red wine out of the bottle. He would continue to do this throughout the night. A few times I almost fell over his fetal positioned, alcohol in-taking body. At the end of the night his teeth were purple and his tan was streaked with sweat, but at least his pants were intact.

 

 

Copyright Dawn Carter

 

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Dawn Carter lives in Virginia with her four dogs. She is the owner of Love Me Tender Pet Care. She spends her days walking dogs, picking up poop, and loving every minute of it. She is also a part-time barwinch, spending her nights gathering stories for her memoir I’m a Little Bit Country and You’re a Little Bit A-Hole.