The Iggblog

Ok, so there I was with a set of scissors in my pants about to cut off my…. hmm, maybe some back-story.

Working the night shift we’re a lot less concerned about who or what is observing us, since it’s the same 4 guys every night. we wear torn jeans, slouch, burp, etc. It’s a very unassuming atmosphere. I decided my torn:untorn jeans ratio was becoming too large and something must be done about it. I bebop’d down to the local Old Navy, making a stop at the “Poor Financial Decision Institute” (commonly known as “Starbucks”). I found myself a pair of jeans with 4 to badass and 3 to sexy. good to go. Fast forward to today. I’m sitting down in the “men’s only” private office attending a conference call with nature, and I noticed there was some kind of security tag fastened to the inner seam of my zipper. I guess pin-on tags just don’t cut it anymore. It was fused in between 2 layers of seatbelt grade cloth and said warned me of the foul things that would befall me if I didn’t remove it prior to washing. After hanging up on the conefrence call and wiping off the speaker I headed into the breakroom to cut off the offending security tag. So there I was with a set of scissors in my pants about to cut off my tag, when I heard a very emphatic “What in the fuck?!” from behind me. Apparently one of my coworkers was confused as to why I was standing in the break room jabbing a set of scissors around into my opened fly. I hadn’t really checked to see who was around before unzipping my fly and whipping out my…. security tag. Hey at least my back was to the entrance of the room.

Moral of the story: look both ways before shoving scissors down your pants.