The Sisterhood Of The Shredded Traveling Pants

October 1st, 2011

Around this time last year I was having one of the worst travel days of my life.  It started on a high note with a visit to Victoria Falls from the Zambian side.  After seeing the Falls I took another taxi to the airport.  I arrived at the airport with a little over 2 hours to spare before my flight departure, and as soon as I stepped into the airport I wished I had arrived sooner.  There were two flights going out, two hideously long lines, and the flights left only minutes apart from each other.  I was in the "faster" line, and it still took nearly 1 1/2 hours to finally get up to the front of the line.


But before I move on I should probably tell you a little bit about my pants.   These pants had become my go-to travel pants.  They dried quickly, they matched with practically everything, and most importantly they were comfortable.  I had gone quadbiking in these pants, visited the salt flats in Bolivia, hiked a sand dune, gone to Machu Picchu, went on a walking safari, and even drank champagne in these pants.  If I could have a love affair with a pair of pants, these would have been the one.

 Me wearing the infamous pants on the left while on the way to Chile

Now let's get back to the airport!  When I finally maneuvered my way to the front of the line I was handed a boarding pass.  I looked down at it, and noticed it was hand written, and poorly hand written as a matter of fact.  I couldn't differentiate if I was sitting in 16C OR 28B, YEP, it was that bad.   I watched as the British Airways employee also wrapped a hand written luggage tag around my backpack and threw it onto a stack of other bags.  I looked at my bag and thought, "Well buddy...I guess this will be the last time I will ever see ya.  If the handwriting is as bad as my boarding pass, you will probably be sent to Antarctica."

I went through security which was a total joke.  I'm convinced that I could have gotten through wearing a grenade-filled vest.  Extremely petrifying that it was an international airport and an international flight!  I took a deep breath, and found an empty chair to finally relax a bit before my flight. I sat down on the metal chair and immediately felt the cold metal on my skin.  "That's weird", I thought.

Earlier on my trip, I had almost lost my pants in an accident.  The pocket had gotten tugged on something and tore a two inch gash.  Playing surgeon, I was able to save it, and had no problem wearing it for the rest of the trip, until now that is! The tear definitely felt bigger, but it was hard to gauge how bad the damage was without possibly flashing myself to the entire airport.  I thankfully had a sweater in my carry-on, so I quickly wrapped it around my waist.  I am convinced I was "exposed" for awhile, because I never heard a rip, and being that it was so hot I never even noticed the draft whiffing through my undies.

I then heard a man yelling that my flight was boarding.  Yep yelling, because this international airport had no speakers.  I boarded my flight, and was trying to figure out what I should do about my pants.  I knew I would have to go through security again in the U.S.A, and I would have to take the sweater off around my waist eventually.  Then this buff young guy sat next to me, and he was a fidgety little thing.  He was constantly banging my boob with his elbow, and by the end of the flight I had just about had it.  By the time we landed in Johannesburg I had the biggest frown on my face.  Both he, and his father looked at me and said, "Miss, are you okay?" I looked at them and smirked, "No I am not okay, your steroid obsessed son needs to stop taking drugs because my boob is now broken!"  Okay.  Maybe I didn't say that, but I wanted to!  I kindly said, "Oh...I just hate flying (which is 100% true!)."

I dashed out of the plane, and quickly went through the necessary lines.  Johannesburg was full of shops, so I figured I would be able to find something.  I stormed in and out of every store and only found shirts, and more shirts!  I had walked the entire length of the airport, and decided to walk back to where I started.  I finally found a Nike store, how did I not see that before?  I found a pair of pants for $60,  but at this point I didn't care and I was desperate.  The two guys at the counter looked at me oddly as to why I wanted some boring black Nike pants in Johannesburg, especially since I told them I was on my way back home.  

I went to the bathroom to change and finally saw the damage.  I was mortified.  It was worst than I thought.  How did this happen?!   It truly looked like Freddy Krueger had sliced my pants not once but 5 times!  It was beyond repair!  I folded it neatly in the bag, and frowned as I had to stuff it into the trash can.  Rest in Peace my love!  So now began the journey with my new traveling pants.  As soon as I landed into Washington D.C. the pants got its first test drive as I had to run through the airport to catch my flight home.  It succeeded it's first task as I was the last person on the flight!  Do you have a lucky pair of pants or an article of clothing you always travel with?