in antecovidian times people would pay others to make their "professional" things crisp and wrinkle-free, "drycleaners" they were called. gone the way of the buggy whip.
Now that shorts season is over, I'm actually wearing my work chinos, they're more comfortable for sitting around all day as it happens. I don't actually own any sweatpants, and I'm not about to start now.
Honesty compels me to note that I had a pair of sweatpants heisted from the "leftovers" pile of camp uniforms (my wife works at a summer camp in Vermont) and my older daughter promptly made off with them. Same instinct, I assume, that led my younger daughter to conclude that since I didn't have any hoodies to steal, she'd make off with my best flannel shirt.
I recently ditched all but three of my lengths of silk. One to tastefully show my respects to the dead, one to impress people who may pay me to do things for them on a computer, and, finally, one to display that while I'm dressed in the socially acceptable uniform, I still, in fact, have a unique personality.
The fact I can't wear my Clark Griswold/Cousin Eddie socks and my brontosauruses wearing Christmas sweaters socks to the office this holiday season is deeply upsetting.
I have a pair of socks that I only wear to work for days with lots of worthless meetings around the holidays. They are black and have the words "Yo Ho Ho" on them as well as Santa Claus dressed as a late 80s/early 90s rapper (microphone in hand, sunglasses, long red shorts with white trim, sneakers, posed mid-rhyme). The best part is that they have one of those plastic things in them that plays a short, high-pitched, 8-bit version of Jingle Bells. This is usually deployed during said worthless meetings. Being covered by pants and under a conference table it is barely audible to only a few people near me. The length of the song it plays is just long enough for someone to register it in their brains, ponder the impossibility of what they think they are hearing, and then ask, "Does anyone here music", only for it to stop playing as they finish asking the question. Everyone looks at the asker as if they are nuts and I am granted a slight reprieve from from the mind-numbing annui. Diabolical? Perhaps. But that is what you get for scheduling worthless meetings at a time of year when everyone is trying to kneel out the clock until their scheduled vacations.
I, for one, love to wake up to find a very personal attack in my inbox!
in antecovidian times people would pay others to make their "professional" things crisp and wrinkle-free, "drycleaners" they were called. gone the way of the buggy whip.
I'm cracking up at "antecovidian". Perfect.
“Shoes of wine” will be my metric henceforth.
<---Team WFH w/ pants and socks.
Jeans, maybe. But slacks? Never again.
Now that shorts season is over, I'm actually wearing my work chinos, they're more comfortable for sitting around all day as it happens. I don't actually own any sweatpants, and I'm not about to start now.
Honesty compels me to note that I had a pair of sweatpants heisted from the "leftovers" pile of camp uniforms (my wife works at a summer camp in Vermont) and my older daughter promptly made off with them. Same instinct, I assume, that led my younger daughter to conclude that since I didn't have any hoodies to steal, she'd make off with my best flannel shirt.
tbh, I've never used the word "slacks" before and I've definitely never worn them to work
Same here. We typically don’t share video on any of our calls so I usually don’t even have the need to look presentable from the chest up.
my first move is always "join call with phone..."
I’ve worn clothing with a zipper once since March. I donated all my heels in May. There’s no going back.
THEY CANT MAKE ME WEAR HEELS OR UNDERWIRE EVER AGAIN
Even when I do go into the office, I'm going in in jeans and sneakers. There's no one there. The khakis are dead to me.
I recently ditched all but three of my lengths of silk. One to tastefully show my respects to the dead, one to impress people who may pay me to do things for them on a computer, and, finally, one to display that while I'm dressed in the socially acceptable uniform, I still, in fact, have a unique personality.
The socks discovery hurt my pride a little bit.
So many mornings deciding between the corgis, the pizza slices, Darth Vader, LeBron James, the moonshine jugs, the Derby horses, the beer steins...
(these are all actual socks that I own)
The fact I can't wear my Clark Griswold/Cousin Eddie socks and my brontosauruses wearing Christmas sweaters socks to the office this holiday season is deeply upsetting.
I have a pair of socks that I only wear to work for days with lots of worthless meetings around the holidays. They are black and have the words "Yo Ho Ho" on them as well as Santa Claus dressed as a late 80s/early 90s rapper (microphone in hand, sunglasses, long red shorts with white trim, sneakers, posed mid-rhyme). The best part is that they have one of those plastic things in them that plays a short, high-pitched, 8-bit version of Jingle Bells. This is usually deployed during said worthless meetings. Being covered by pants and under a conference table it is barely audible to only a few people near me. The length of the song it plays is just long enough for someone to register it in their brains, ponder the impossibility of what they think they are hearing, and then ask, "Does anyone here music", only for it to stop playing as they finish asking the question. Everyone looks at the asker as if they are nuts and I am granted a slight reprieve from from the mind-numbing annui. Diabolical? Perhaps. But that is what you get for scheduling worthless meetings at a time of year when everyone is trying to kneel out the clock until their scheduled vacations.
This is devious and perfect.
It's rare that my boring taste in socks works to my advantage.