Commuting to work by bike offers some interesting situations. One aspect is that I don't dress until I get to work. This is a blessing as far as Susan is concerned, since she never has to see the shabby ensemble that I have elected to wear for the day. On the other hand, there are occasional surprises.
One of the basic problems is simply forgetting something. There are some articles of clothing which are to some extent optional, but others are de rigeur. One of the de rigeur articles is pants. My previous employer who shall remain nameless absolutely prohibited anyone to enter the building in shorts. Now, having forgotten one of everything at least once, I stock a complete change of clothing in my file drawer. The problem was that they wouldn't let me near my file drawer clad only in shorts. A classic Catch 22 situation. I had to lurk in the lobby until I found a coworker who I coerced into getting my pants and bringing them back to me. The amusing thing was that they couldn't very well prohibit you from leaving the building in shorts. What are they going to do, throw you out? So I would regularly stroll out of the building clad in shorts in a rash gesture of defiance the like of which hasn't been seen since the draft card burning days. Needless to say, I was not popular with the security people.
On an earlier occasion, before I stocked my file drawer, I forgot my shirt. Fortunately, Jordan Marsh was only a few blocks away, and I arrived that day with a brand new shirt. Needed one of those '80s shirts anyway.
One morning, I found myself at work in the men's room with a pair of jockey shorts that looked suspicious. Now through the years, I had progressed from boxers through your basic Fruit of the Loom briefs to those skimpy numbers with French sounding names, but these looked skimpier still. Sure enough, Susan's laundry had gotten mixed in with mine. That was an uncomfortable day. Fortunately, unlike Kramer, I had already procreated.
Another problem is shoes. I have clipless pedals on most of my commuting bikes, and clomping around in cleats is not much fun. A fellow commuter solved this problem by carrying a pair of bedroom slippers into work each day and changing before entering the building. I decided the extra weight was excessive, and opted to pad up to the office in my stocking feet. More stories for the security guards.
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