Wet Pants or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Irrational Thoughts

I'll tell a tiny tale today--a tale of wet pants and silly behaviour. At least it appears to be a tale of silliness. But is it? Or is it really a cautionary tale about the dangers of rationalization, about letting the future blindly follow the past? Nah.

There is a large apartment complex behind No Frills; people used to cut across the complex parking lot to get to there quicker. The owners didn't like this, so they put up big scary signs to deter people, as well as a gate.

I'm bored with circumventing Value Village to get to No Frills, so today I cut through the forbidden parking lot. To hell with scary signage, I thought. I approach the gate that keeps me from prepackaged, processed food, thinking that the owner didn't really have a lock installed; the gate must simply be for show. I reach the gate, and yes, it is locked. A tall fence also blocks my way.

But there is hope! A stream runs underneath a small section of the fence. The ground dips low enough under the fence to encourage me to squeeze my way under there. Sure, it occurs to me to go back the way I came, but that would mean even more walking than usual; I cut through here in the first place in order to reduce my walking. I can't turn back now--the walk to the gate will be for nothing.

So I squat and wiggle my way under the fence. Through the stream. My pants are soaked to the knees. I arrive at the other side of the fence, No Frills in sight. But I hesitate; I don't want to stroll around the supermarket with my pants dripping. It occurs to me that I should stand here for a few minutes and at least wait until my pants aren't dripping.

Once again, my desire to be consistent pushes me forward. I can't stand here and drip dry, I think. If I do that, then I won't have saved any time at all! I crawled under the fence for that very reason, after all.

So I proudly march into No Frills, head up and pants dripping. My wet feet slip and slide on top of my crappy, $8 Walmart flip flops. The sound is not unlike the quacking of a duck. People stare and snicker, but I ignore them! After all, I saved time and am therefore a brilliant genius; clearly these people fail to understand the need to appear consistent to oneself.