You Need Pants to Get Poutine
I was in Buffalo, New York in the winter. We landed and the crew made plans to go to the hotel bar for drinks. It was in the late evening, so the hotel bar might offer a bit of food, but ultimately it was purely for a cocktail or 15. I, of course, said that I would meet them downstairs.
We arrived at the hotel and were changing out of our uniforms into civvies. I think this is a military reference. It means going from your uniform to your street clothes. I always "superman it" out of my polyester uniform. I take about 2 steps into the hotel room before I am naked. On this occasion, I opened my suitcase and there were NO PANTS. I brought all shirts. You cannot wear your uniform to a bar. The alcoholic in me did not take no for an answer though. It was winter. I had a coat. I went to the hotel bar in a shirt, my underwear, and a buttoned up coat. That is desperation. We all had a good laugh over a few cocktails. It wasn't indecent because I was well covered, but was it appropriate? Borderline. Was it hot? Hell yeah. It has been about 9 years, and if I run into anyone on that crew, we still have a laugh.
Whelp. 2016. I did it again. I am on the other side of Niagara Falls in Canada this time. I forgot pants AGAIN. It made for a great excuse when my crew met for cocktails at 11 pm last night. They are lovely and would never push alcohol if they knew I was sober, but sometimes you just need an excuse to avoid the conversation. I just do not want anyone to feel badly for asking. And, I certainly do not want people uncomfortable around me.
But, on a 19 hour layover, I need at least one meal, and you need pants to go get food. Correction: This is Canada. You need pants to get poutine. So once again, I improvised on an outfit. Cheesy, gravy fries. Worth it.
Note to self: Pack pants, you're going to Paris this weekend.