Yesterday morning, I was running late, so I hopped a cab to a meeting I needed to make on time (and failed, despite the expense and effort). When I got out of the cab, the cabbie decided he was going to shoot across the street before I was totally out of his cab. It was a van cab, and I had one foot on the curb, the other was still in the cab, with the door open, before he decided to try and cut across Broadway to pick up a fare down the block. My foot hooked the door, and I was spun around like a paper mache dredel in a blender. I don't think he ever noticed.
My bag, which I had on one shoulder, caught on a streetsign before my face hit the sidewalk. The shoulder strap is the only thing that stopped me from totally wiping out into the middle of traffic. This makes twice in a year I almost died on Broadway.
I was in enough pain, and angry enough, that I didn't realize in the abrupt spinning crane kick I was thrown into had split the seam in the crotch of my pants. When I say I split the seam, I obliterated any rememberance of stitching from the base of my fly to halfway up my ass. I do not wear yoga/workout pants to work - these were dressy suit pants that were exposed to G forces and rapidity that they were never designed to withstand. I didn't hear the rip, but I am sure it was mighty.
Thanks to draft, I instantly realized (wearing white boxers, of course) that I was standing on a center island, on Broadway, essentially showing off my undies to all passers by (pedestrian and vehicular alike). This is a prelude to a recurrant nightmare for much of the population. All thoughts of rage and contemplations of charging across traffic to snag the cabbie and pull him out his window (he was stuck behind someone else who managed to snag the fare) evaporated.
I always carry a roll of gaffer tape on my bag. Aside from all the other impliments of destruction I keep handy in case of need, that tape has saved me in many a tight spot - yesterday was no different. I managed to fashion a fast double strip which I slapped over my crotch-area as serruptitiously as possible, so I could make my way across the street to the first restroom available. Thankfully, yesterday was a black-pants day. I hesitate to think what may have befallen me crossing Broadway, had it been a khaki day.
Once in the public restroom, I secured a booth, and managed to re-assemble the seam from the inside out, after creating a multi-strip reinforcement patch of gaffers tape on the _inside_ of my pants, where it was invisible. That patch held me until around 9 last night, when I managed to get out of the office. When I got home, I threw away the pants, but momentarily contemplated keeping the gaffer-tape undergarment they housed, in commemoration of the event. After about three seconds of contemplation, I tossed the tape in with the pants.
I usually pay cabs by card, and would, then, have a follow-up reciept, but, I was in a rush, and I paid cash, and had no reciept. I'm out a pair of pants, and a few minutes of dignity - but I managed to survive the day.
At least I still have my bag.