My recent request for humiliating Dockers-related incidents paid off. The following slice of pathetic fashion history comes from a man who wants to remain anonymous:
"I too was forced by CNN middle management hotshots to put those odious pants on my person. But I couldn't even afford to buy real Dockers. I had to count my coins and buy the cheap, no-name imitations.
One night I was out with some friends at The Lodge in Buckhead. The drinks were going down smooth and I was a star in my brand new, low-rent, cheap-ass pants. Of course, normally I would not go out in my work clothes. Nay, work clothes as fine as mine were to be protected from the throbbing nightlife that Atlanta offered. But since I was on the 3pm-12am shift that night, I made an exception.
At some point someone bumped my plastic cup and spilled Bud Light all over my pants. After shouting "Watch it asshole!" I ran to the bathroom and wiped them off. These were my Joe Kinstle-authorized work pants after all. I needed to keep them professional, presentable and not smelling of beer. I came back out, and cliche of all cliches, "The Macarena" came over the sound system. (Did I mention this was 1996?)
Maybe it was the beer, or maybe I was just high on life. Maybe I was just a young buck out on the town, looking for thrills. But I decided to do a revved up version of that stupid Macarena dance. I really got into it. I was all over that dancefloor, and added my own high energy moves. I guess the regular Macarena didn't involve enough high kicks for me. Then suddenly I heard a very loud tearing noise, and felt a soft southern breeze on my ass.
It was complete humiliation:
I had ripped open the backside my fake Dockers, which were already stinking of cheap beer, while dancing "The Macarena" at The Lodge in Buckhead, Georgia.
Worst of all, those were my 'good pants'.
Looking back, that's just so many kinds of embarrassing that I don't even know how I survived to tell the tale."
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