Educators don’t make a whole lot of money, so many of us take odd jobs. One of my odd jobs is working as a pari-mutuel clerk at thoroughbred racetracks on “Big Days.” I’ve worked at tracks in Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana. Everywhere I go, the uniform is… well… uniform: black slacks, white shirt, and a tie. This was my first racing season to work “Big Days” since losing nearly 100 pounds, but I felt confident that I had my uniform ready to go last Saturday.
I’m often described as an organized person. I am highly dependent on my Google Calendar, I can find just about any email I need to document a point, and I even know how many steps I’ve taken in any given day. I knew I had a job coming up, so I pulled out an old pair of black pants, tried them on, put them in the wash, and set them out for the event over a week ahead of time.
On the morning of the race I woke up with plenty of time to spare, I put on my tellering trousers, and I was amazed at how comfortable they were! I walked around the house, responded to some Facebook friends, did a bit of tidying up, and when I bent down to pick up my belt, I realized something was terribly wrong. I was wearing pants that I had split the seat out of last season. Sure, they were comfortable, but they weren’t going to cut it at work.
So there I was, running around the house with an exposed rear, looking for pants… any pants that were black and that I could wear to work. I had pants from long ago that swallowed me whole. I had pants from even longer ago that were at least 8″ too small in the waist. And then… in the junk room… I found a brand new, unopened pair of pants that were within the ballpark of my current waist size. I had ordered them, outgrown them, and set them aside. Success!
Well, success in the waist department. The pant legs were several inches too long. Did I mention that it was time to go to work? The first pair of pants were ripped beyond repair, but the second ones were workable. There I sat, on the edge of the bed, pants turned inside out, thanking my lucky stars that Ann Kilman had made me learn to do this on an Apron in the 6th grade at Carl Stuart Middle School. She would roll over in her grave if she saw the work that I had done, but it was time to go!
Did I mention that I’m colorblind? I have a deficiency in perceiving the color red that makes it sometimes look black. Unbeknownst to me, I had hastily hemmed my pants with RED THREAD. I noticed this after turning them inside out and walking past a sunny window. With some colorful words on the side, I put them on, tied my tie, and shot out the door. I made it to work on time (because I’m usually annoyingly early wherever I go), and the track was too busy for anyone to notice my needlework. I SURVIVED!
Losing weight is a wonderful experience, but it can leave you in a bind if you’re not on top of things.