1. At the local Sears, women’s jeans, unlike men’s, are indexed not by pairs of numbers that denote waist size and inseam, but by single numbers that denote nothing. Yeah, I know, I’ve been over this before, but that’s what you get when you keep reading the same blog for over a year. Anyway: a few weeks ago I subjected a (middle-aged, male) coworker of mine, nevermind why, to a passionate tirade about how I will not even try on jeans whose manufacturers can’t even be bothered to provide a two-parameter description of them. Why waste my time? Except that some of the Sears jeans are labelled with waist size and inseams: one pair, filed under the marker “8?, sported a tag that read “30/32?. Seems the dolt in charge of the women’s jeans section decided that that information should be hidden from immediate view. (Aside: you know those women in fiction who describe themselves as “I’m a size n”? Does anyone actually do that? Because if I were to give the single-number pants size, I’d need to provide a margin of error as well.)” Credit where it’s due, however: I did manage to pick up some great pyjama bottoms at Sears. They came from the men’s section – and were labelled with waist and inseam. Which is kind of weird, but goddamn, do those pyjamas ever fit.” 2. My employer sprung a new business trip on me after I’d already booked tickets for another one. I called the airline to cancel my original flight, had some conversation involving the words “non-refundable” and “thirty dollars”, and I agreed to a bunch of stuff, and then, a few weeks later, saw my credit card bill, and -” “Excuse me, but did you people charge me thirty dollars to change a flight from return trip to Edmonton to return trip to nowhere?”" “Yes, we did.”" “That doesn’t make any sense.” “It’s our policy. We explained it over the phone to you.”" And, in all fairness, they did: they said that my tickets were nonrefundable, and that I could cancel the flight “for thirty dollars”, which I (understandably) parsed as ” but we’ll refund you $30.” You know how I always complain about students not reading the damned question, and instead just doing whatever they want with the numbers in their word problems? Feel free to point me to this post next time that happens.” Nevertheless, “But if I just didn’t show up to the airport, it wouldn’t cost me anything to fly to nowhere. I thought that the airline would prefer to know that I wouldn’t be flying so that they could sell my seats to someone else.”" “Yes, we do appreciate it, thank you for notifying us.”" “But you just showed your appreciation by charging me thirty dollars.”" To be fair, they were charging my employer thirty dollars, and perhaps I should have shown my appreciation for my employer by not spending more than thirty dollars’ worth of my time debating this issue with the airline. However, it wasn’t about the money; it was the principle of the thing.” “That’s our policy.” “May I speak to your supervisor?”" Yes, I may! And let me skip the ensuing thirty-minute conversation and go directly to the coda, which is this: supervisor agreed that why yes, now that I mentioned it, this was ridiculous from the perspectives of both company and customer, and we’ll credit your account thirty dollars, have a nice day.” 3. The hotel where I last stayed on business had a pizza place on the first floor. “Available in the restaurant on the first floor, and in room service!” boasted the menu on the desk. Also: “15% gratuity extra for room service.” Why not? I’m sure that lots of folks who pay their own money to stay in places like this also pay their own money to avoid walking to the lobby.” “I’d like to order a pizza,” I said.” “Room number?”" “Oh, I’ll pick it up myself.”" “Okay, but we still need your room number so that we can call you when it’s ready.”" Fair enough.” Twenty minutes later, a knock on my door, along with man holding a pizza.” “Oh,” I said, “I told them I’d pick it up in the lobby.”" The fellow nodded, and walked over to the end of the hall. I followed him into the elevator and into the restaurant. “That’ll be twelve dollars,” he said, reading from the receipt he’d carried up to my room and back down again. “Price of the pizza plus tax.”

Midway through last term, I observed that my students were relating to me very well. I was, to them, something of a peer; I was close to the youngest ones’ ages, and I was younger than around a quarter of my students. This had its advantages and its disadvantages. On the one hand, my students saw me more as an ally than as an authority figure. On the other hand, my students saw me more as an ally than as an authority figure.”This development, coupled with the fact that – irony of ironies – people in Island Town tend to assume I’m a student far more often than anyone ever did when I was actually studying at Large Urban Grad School, led me to decide that it was about time I started looking like a grownup. The two easiest ways to do this – get haircut, and wear makeup – were out. No one, including me, would recognize me with short hair and a painted face. No one.”This meant new clothes – suits, or some approximation thereof.”I had a list of nonnegotiables:” 1. Limit of $200 per outfit, and even that was pushing it.” 2. No garish colours. I’m trying to be taken more seriously, not less. Even allowing that neon pink and bright purple have their uses, businesswear is not among them. Brown or olive green would be ideal for a suit. Black would be fine as well.” 3. On the same theme as 2), only moreso: “sexy” is quite decidedly not the image I’m going for. I’m not interested in flashing leg. Ditto for cleavage, which is a nonissue for me anyway.” 4. On that theme, clothes must fit. I am the arbiter of fitting. A salesperson telling me that “it’s supposed to be that tight” does not have the final word.” 5. POCKETS. This is a dealbreaker. Pants and jackets must have pockets that are cumulatively of sufficient size for transporting items such as wallets, pens, small papers, and cell phones. I refuse to tote bags with me whenever I wish to bring more than my person from one place to another.”I don’t think I’m that picky, but a trip to the largest mall on Vancouver Island left me emptyhanded. The only jacket with pockets would have set me back $150. The long skirt that looked fine from the front, had a massive slit right up to the ass in the back. And I had tried on the lovely, well-fitting, $40, chocolate brown pants when I realized that they were manufactured by a POCKET TEASE, a designer who puts little folds near the hips that look like pockets, but that go nowhere. Apparently it is considered fashionable to appear as though you have pockets but don’t.”This doesn’t even take into account the frustration engendered by the sheer arbitrariness of women’s clothing sizes, which are apparently functions of a multitude of variables, including, but not limited to, the woman’s size; the calendar year; the price of the clothing; and the alignment of the planets. I am of the tall, thin variety, with apparently the majority of my body fat concentrated in my thighs and ass. Somehow, though, it’s not uncommon for the size n pants to fit just fine, while the matching size n+4 blazer is a little small. There’s also the perplexing experience that I routinely try on pants that fit me at the waist, but that are around three inches too long. I have a BMI of NINETEEN. I cling naively to the view, unpopular on this coast, that the market responds at least somewhat to demand, but (evangelical Marxists, take note) damned if that belief doesn’t take a beating every time I shop for clothes. I guess it’s possible that although I’ve never met any six foot tall, 120 lb women, they not only exist, they also buy a helluva lot of pants – but I’m skeptical.”In any case, I decided to put the clothes shopping on hold. It wasn’t worth the stress, and Island Town apparently had little to offer me.”This week, though, I found myself in Big Ontario City, and decided to try again. The clincher: the local paper’s horoscope for my zodiac sign, which I reproduce in full:” You will acquire some new clothes.”And – THANK YOU, Mercury in retrograde! – I did. For three hundred dollars, I obtained three pairs of well-fitting, dark, pocketed pants; two blazers (one black, one orangish-brown) with pockets; and two shirts. The sizes were arbitrary (I can feel my ribs and spine, which to me indicates that a size large shirt should not restrict my breathing, but whatever), and the mall was a zoo, but I can wear something other than jeans next term. Without needing to carry a purse.”And best of all, I won’t have to do this again for another year or two. Unless the stars encourage me otherwise.