Its True What They Say, Ya Know

As I limped into the final day of my first week on the job, I looked backed on the week itself and analyzed it. From training to schmoozing to electronic filing and scanning, it was actually kind of fun.

To pinpoint the highlight of the week, I must really concentrate. Sure, spending 9hrs in San Francisco is quite lovely. Getting my own desk/cubicle that allows me to see who walks by is convenient. And the espresso/cappuccino/late machine downstairs is truly fantastic. All of these and then some have been great. I look forward to the weeks to come and learning as much as I can about Law.

However, there was one specific instance that will forever be cemented in my mind that occurred this afternoon. Interestingly enough, it involved only myself. There was no conversing with anyone, no detective work, no nothing. It actually happened accidentally.

Throughout the work day I tend to drink a lot of fluids. No, no, no, I do not carry a flask with me if that was what you were thinking. I drink some coffee, a glass or two of milk, some juice, and lots of water. Naturally, I tend to visit the room of mirrors and tile floors rather often.

Today, I was experiencing more difficulty than is customary with my allergies. After taking my claritin at the office, (expect an entry on the essentials at work ) I found myself rather hot and constantly refiling my cup of water. On my second go around to the gentleman's room I was overcome with shock and excitement at the result of an amazing discovery.

As I recount my tale, I want to inform the female readers that they might not know exactly what I am talking about because, well, y'all sit down. Nevertheless, I shall continue.

I cannot speak for all males out there but I will say that after I am done doing my business there is a bit of a process. (#1 mind you. I will not go around re-telling my adventures that involve a newspaper or aimless text messaging and takes longer that 50 seconds. Shame on you for thinking I would write about #2 in here.) I tend to "shake, shake, shake" as KC and The Sunshine Band would say. You see, once I place the serpent back into the cotton cage, there can be a bit of, well, "drippage". And "drippage" is no good. No good at all.

On this particular afternoon I was fairly tired. First week of work + Friday ="I want to go home!". Once I was finished, I began to take the necessary precautions to prevent a small brook from going down my thigh.

I did not notice until it was too late. I was shaking vigorously, recklessly, and for way too long. My mind was elsewhere throughout the whole process. After realizing this, I was afraid to look down and assess the damage. But I had to look. I had to make an attempt to clean myself up before going back to work. As I looked South, my jaw dropped.

There was no mark. No darkness. No color differential. There was just drops that sat atop the surface. I made one sweeping motion and it all disappeared. I couldn't figure it out and then it hit me. Those pants I bought last week (check out entry entitled "Those Four Letters") weren't just Dockers, they were STAIN DEFENDERS.

Those things actually worked. I never really believed the commercials. I mean come on who does? They have some Joe Schmo sitting down playing with a baby who is holding a glass of red wine and then the wine spills on him. And the wine just rolls right off. How do you just invent a material that is resistant to stain? It just doesn't seem possible. But, my dear readers, it is legit.

Now, I might just bypass the urinal completely and just go in my pants. I could just put a paper cup at the end of my pant leg and will never have to leave my chair. Bad idea?

I suggest to all the males reading to go and buy a pair of stain defenders. As far as the females, I don't know if they make them for you or not. See if they have them for women because I still haven't figure you out and you never know.