What's holed is nude again

     This entry will kick off with a little thing I call the change meter.  For those who have not been with my blogging since the early days, the change meter was one of the first features I ever attempted on the blog, and it remains so it is probably the longest running feature on the blog as well.  What the change meter actually is is a running total of all of the money that I find, usually it is money that is on the ground in the various places I go.  So, if you were wondering who it is that goes around and picks up pennies that you sometimes see on the floor of stores and what not, that would be me. 
      The old total from the changer meter (pre Blogger days) was $336.65.  Now ,mind you, that total is over the course of probably 7 years, I didn't find all of that in one sitting, but it would seem that eventually even the pennies do add up.  But for our first new total here we are going to add another $1.23 to the kitty, so the first ever change meter total on Blogger is, drum roll please, $337.88.
    Okay, with that out of the way, I guess I should talk about my job a little bit, or at least my most recent day at my job.  Again for those not in the know, I am employed at Smithfield News, one of three news stand/convenience stores in Pittsburgh owned by Weiss Enterprises.  I like to refer to myself as the purchasing manager, even though no such official title has been ever granted.  But chances are that if an item appears on the shelves of either of our two downtown Pittsburgh locations (Smithfield News, Universal News), there is probably a 75-80% chance that I had a hand in that process at some point.  Maybe it was placing the actual order or walking a rep through the order, maybe it was breaking down the subsequent invoice that crosses my desk, where better than $1 million dollars passes on a yearly basis, or I had at least a say with upper management in what we should and should be getting.  But somewhere along the line chances are very good that my fingerprints were on it.
      While I am the self dubbed purchasing manager, I am not what you would consider upper management, because I still have to do all of the tasks that people below that station have to do, whether that be stocking coolers or shelves, putting trash out, running register or fixing things that have broken.  So in my world "Manual Labor" is not the President of Mexico.
     It was during one of the manual tasks that the most noteworthy part of my day occurred.  I was sent to Universal News (our two downtown locations are about 4 blocks apart) to go check on the air conditioning units, and to show someone down there how to replace the filters (a job that would otherwise fall under the vast array of responsibilities I have).  So I make my way down to the store and nead upstairs to their stockroom, which is where the units are located.  I stoop beside one of the units so I can pull out the filter to check it and to see what size filter I will need to replace the one in thetre if it is too dirty.  That was when it happened, the dreaded ripping sound.  No, I am not talking about gas or farting, not to diminish how part that can be, especially if it is odorous, but the ripping sound of clothing. 
      This is when you in my mind I start to make deals with whatever type of creator there actually is, the first deal of course is hoping that the ripping sound was just a zipper flying open, because a simple zip up and that problem is solved.  But this wasn't that type of ripping sound, this was definitely a fabric ripping sound.   So knowing my first prayer isn't answered, the best I can hope for is for the tear to be as minimal as possible.  It wasn't.  The last thing I could hope for, and the thought that was racing through my mind was 'Don't be the ass, don't be the ass!!!!"   On that count I guess you could say I lucked out, because the tear was in fact on the front of my shorts (yes, I do wear shorts at work, I do way too much manual labor to be trapped in dress clothes), but the tear was a large one, covering nearly my entire upper thigh, enough that my red boxer briefs were clearly visible for anyone who was paying the slightest attention.
       The thing was, after I checked the air conditioning units, I still had to go back downstairs and place a grocery order for that store (another thing that falls under my array of responsibilities), before making my way the four blocks back down the street to Smithfield News to place a grocery order at that location as well, and afterward to meet with our ice cream vendor to go over some issues with our pricing.  So here I am, walking around Universal, scanning items into my handheld unit, while also tugging down on my t shirt, trying to cover as much of this gaping hole as I possibly can, while also getting my order done.  Then it was out into the public, where I got to walk down the street with my undies showing, because no matter how hard I tried, there was no way I was going to be able to cover this entire hole.
      I make it back to Smithfield News, and do the only thing I can think of when it comes to fixing this problem, bring on the duct tape.  So there I am, now placing an order at Smithfield, walking around the store with my shorts taped shut.  And it wasn't any better when the ice cream vendor arrived for his meeting and I am there, he is all dressed nice: Ed, my boss, is at least dressed okay, and I am sitting there trying to keep my clothing together with tape.  I am not sure people take you all that seriously when your shorts are taped shut.
    Not that that was the end of it, I still needed to make my way home, and since I rely on public transportation to get to and fro, that meant I acquired a second layer of tape to make sure things didn't go flying out on the bus ride on the way home.  Maybe it is just me, but I  think that people can get thrown off of  buses when their junk goes swinging out into pubic view.   And the only thing worse than taking the bus in that condition would be walking home with my stuff hanging out. 
     Thankfully I made it home with little incident, either people didn't notice or they kept their giggling to themselves.  Whatever the case, I made it home in one piece, not sure the same can be said for my shorts though.