One weekday, I was at the 57th and 7th station of the N & R subway line heading downtown.  I was at the top of the stairs to the subway platform when I noticed a train had just pulled in.  I ran down the steps as fast as I could, and got into the train just as the doors closed.

Since it was midday, there was no problem finding a seat.  As I sat down, I heard a very audible “rip”.  I looked around, and a women near me said, “Sounds like you ripped something.”  I asked her if I were to stand up if she could see if I ripped my pants (jeans).  She said sure.  I stood up, and she told me that my pants were fine.  I checked my shirt, jacket, etc. but could not find the rip.  Then she suggested it might be my underwear.  Here I am in the middle of the New York City Subway, and I have to figure out if my underwear is ripped.  So, I nonchalantly sit down and put my hand down the back of my pants, and, sure enough, my boxers were very ripped.

Now, on a normal day, I wouldn’t care, but that day was not a normal day.  I had a doctors appointment that afternoon, and there was a very slight chance that he could ask me to remove my pants during the examination.  Luckily, there is a Gap store about two blocks from my office.

I ran over there after getting out of the subway, found a pair of boxers and went to the cash register.  The cashier took my boxers and asked if that was all.  I said, “Yes”, and then realized that when a man buys only one pair of boxers in the Gap, it could look like he had an “accident”.  So I sort of related the whole story of ripping my current pair in the subway.  She just looked at me through the whole story like I was crazy.  Then she said, “I don’t think your girlfriend’s gonna buy that story”.  To which I explained that the story is all true.  I even offered to take my pants off right there to prove it.

She declined.