A Little Known Use For Duct Tape

Recent lesson learned: There are 2 kinds of girls out there: The ones who wish they had boobs, and the ones that manage to rip their shirt on a wall because their breasts are too large.
I know, I know....this is going to require a longer version of the story.

I was at work the other day and came upon a couple girls I work with engaged in a work-related activity that was blocking my way to the freight elevator. As the manager responsible for the receiving area, I really had no choice but to squeeze by. One of the girls was sitting in the doorway and leaned to the side to allow me the space to get by. I briefly hesitated with a Fight Club inspired consideration, "Now a question of etiquette - as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?" After a moment's pause, I elect to slide along the corner of the wall with my face to it.

As I, in all my stealth, attempt to sneak past, I hear the sound of ripping material. There is a look of confusion on my face as I ponder what I could possibly attribute that to. I straighten up and look down at myself to take an inventory of my appearance. There, in a moderate amount of its glory, was a significant amount of cleavage.

At this point a few different thoughts entered my mind:

1. What the fuck?! -- this is the thought I said out loud for all to hear
2. I really hope my shift is almost over.....oh wait, it's 3:30pm. CRAP!
3. Can this somehow turn into a sexual harassment complaint for the 2 people in the room with me and my partially exposed breasts considering the fact that I'm their boss?
4. I'm so glad that I wore a bra that's the same colour as my shirt....if only the fucking thing had ripped over an area where they would be covered, but noooooooooooooooo. It just HAAAAAD to rip right over the rest of it!
5. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction a few years back.

After dropping an f-bomb and starting to laugh, I inquired to my audience (while covering the hole in my shirt) how the hell that happened. The 3 of us studied the FLAT wall and realized that the small chipped bit of plaster must be to blame.

Now I ask you, does that seem a reasonable fate to befall me?! I don't think so. It's a wall, people - a WALL! At what point in time were we voluptuously-breasted women supposed to get the memo about walls being detrimental to the health of our clothing? We already know that running can be a challenge, and that the cute bras will never be comfortable, and that we'll never be able to wear a low-backed dress because we can't go bra-less, and that we can forget those cute strappy tank tops in the summer.....but now we have to fear the wrath of the flat walls we slide by?! This is the straw that broke the camel's already fragile back.

At this time, one of the girls chose to speak up in a voice of anger and demand that I appreciate that something so ridiculous could happen to me. Yes my dear friends, she was jealous! I have to say, with cleavage everywhere and having to come up with a suitable solution for the several hours of managerial work ahead, I wasn't catching her drift.

It would appear that women with modest cup sizes have a fundamental lack of sympathy for those of us who are well-endowed. From where I'm sitting, that's just as ridiculous as being jealous of someone who has nice feet, for tripping over flat bits of floor to the detriment of her shoes.

I, for one, refused to let this wall get the better of me. I raced up to the receiving area since all of the receivers should have been gone by now, to find an adequate solution to this problem. As the doors to the elevator open on the second floor, I am confronted by one of my male coworkers, who also reports to me. Wow, this just keeps getting better. Luckily, I had a book in my hand that I promptly held close in an attempt to save myself from additional lawsuits. He started talking to me and I just smiled and nodded while making my way over to the only thing I could see that might help me -- a price gun. While this guy's back was turned, I stickered myself enough that my flesh wasn't completely exposed. Apparently my cleavage was worth 5 easy payments of $27.99. Covering myself back up with the book, I decide staying here is too risky and haul ass back to the scene of the crime.

The girls look up expectantly upon my arrival, enthralled by what I might do next. I paused at the wall responsible for my downfall and gave it the kind of glare that I'm always astounded anything survives. Turning to the girls, I let them know about our pal upstairs getting in the way of me protecting future potential victims from suffering my fate. After much encouragement and a normal Mandy-sized rant, I was able to get the ladies laughing....something they were either too polite or too jealous to do in the first place.

Reluctantly, I build up the courage to sneak back to the Manager's office where I hope to find a suitable solution to my indecent exposure. The booksellers had suggested I button up the blazer I was wearing, but alas, the reason I don't button it up is precisely because I cannot (due to my breasts, once again) and even if I did, the rip would be right in the overflow section in the middle. Great if I'm posing in a men's magazine or standing on a street corner hoping to earn a few bucks, but not so great for portraying a professional image.

Out I dash to the office where I finally let down my book guard (thank you Pillars of the Earth) for my female co-manager's amusement. After a good laugh, I re-stick the price tags to the inside of my shirt to semi hold it together, sharpe the outside black to match my shirt and throw on one of the zip-up vests that the booksellers have to wear. Phew! I look 18 and will hold absolutely no authoritative power over our fru-fru-she-shee clientele, but at least I'm not giving them a show. Just as I'm thinking that I've gotten away with minimal emotional trauma, not one but TWO other managers walk in. AWESOME! And one is a man. Oh yay, more people with whom to share my tale of woe.

My resentment of the evil plaster not having simmered, I went on a hunt for something to stop this problem for good. That solution, my dear friends, was duct tape. Anyone going in or out of that room from now on will be rip-free!

Duct tape has saved my ass many times in life. I thought the low point was when I had to take some off my car to fix my purse....but alas, I managed to reach a new low. The other lesson learned? Never have a roll of duct tape further than an arm's distance away from you. You just never know when it'll come in handy.