Pockets: the revenge of the forgotten

One of my earlier posts was about pockets and the weird stuff parents can expect to find in their pockets. If you haven’t read it, check it out here.

Today I’d like to tell you a story of how my pockets almost got me arrested. It was a typical Tuesday morning in that I was running late and was in no mood for any crap. I had dropped Abby of at the daycare and was standing in line at my local Tim Horton’s. It was a little cold outside and I had on my winter jacket. You know the one. It has eight pockets on the outside and another four inside. I get to the front of the line and order my large double double and begin rummaging through my pockets for change. Right away I knew what was about to happen. I was about to be that guy we all hate. The loser that can’t find a buck sixty five and holds up the rest of the line.

I look sheepishly at the coffemaid, or customer service rep, or whatever it is we are suppose to call the cashier at Tim Horton’s. “Sorry” I mumble, “I had some change here a second ago.” She looks at me with her head cocked to one side and says something supportive and understanding like “mmm-hmm”.

I figured the only way I’m gonna get through this quickly is to start dumping out my pockets. So I fish in my pocket and pull out a car seat belt restraint. I look at the barista (can you call them a barista?) who is looking a little more pissed at me. I reach back in my pocket and pull out a child’s crown. At least this time, I also manage to fish out a loonie, so I’m getting close. I look at the coffee wench (seriously, if you know what to call them, please let me know) who is now looking confused on top of pissed. I can imagine she’s thinking “Why the hell is this guy walking around with a kiddy crown?” Back to the pockets, I need 65 more cents.

By now my coffee is ready and is just sitting there waiting for me to get my act together and get this damn money on the table. I reach back into another pocket and pull out two quarters and one of those clunky baby necklaces. I hear a grown and look up. The look I’m getting is the weirdest mix of anger, frustration and confusion I have ever seen from someone making minimum wage. Back to the pockets, men. I fish around and grasp a bunch of change that’s wrapped up in some tissue. I try for a second to get the change loose from the tissue and finally just accept the fact I’m gonna have to hand this lady 15 cents from a dirty tissue. Screw it, I don’t care if she thinks I’m gross. I’m just gonna pull out the tissue and get it over with.

Only I don’t pull out tissue. I pull out an extra pair of Abby’s underwear that I had meant to leave at daycare. I look up and the look of anger from the coffee getter has been replaced with pure shock. I look back at the stuff I’ve dragged out of my pocket and quickly realize “Oh my god, she thinks I’m a pedophile or something”

I start to stammer some sort of explanation and then quickly realize that it is impossible to explain why I have a restraining device, child’s hair piece, toy necklace and crumpled panties in my pocket. I fish out the last fifteen cents, slam it on the counter, grab my coffee and get the eff out of there as quickly as possible. The whole ride to work, I was expecting to get pulled over based on an “anonymous tip from a concerned citizen”.

Kids. Sure they fun and all, but they’ll probably get you arrested.

By the way, I’ve recently started going to Starbucks.