Public Lingerie Emergencies or I Fought the Pantyhose and the Pantyhose Won

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

A few years back, I had applied for a job and was granted an interview. I had been out of the professional workforce for awhile, being home with my kids, so I hadn’t bought pantyhose in months. Being the prepared sort of person that I am, I bought them on the way to the interview and put them on in the car. (Ladies, please don’t tell me you haven’t done this at least once.) Well, they felt a little uncomfortable, but I put this off to how I had put them on, NOT to the fact that I’d bought the same size I had worn before I bore children.

 It was getting close to the end of the interview when someone said something that made me laugh - a real belly laugh, as they say. Suddenly I felt the waistband of my panty-hose just POP! right over my stomach and roll themselves down to the top of my lap. As I said, the interview was almost over and I knew I would soon have to get up. There wasn’t a thing I could do but stand up and hope. I *lost* that hope when, as I was shaking hands to say goodbye, the back-side of my pantyhose decided to POP! follow the front side down. With my pantyhose now choking my thighs, I stood muttering social amenities, knowing that I would have to turn around and leave a room full of people that I was trying to impress. I’m sure they thought it wasn’t anything a little powder couldn’t cure. There was no ladies room in sight and I was NOT walking back into the room to ask. I quickly put on my long coat to hide the fact that, with every step I took, my pantyhose were rolling further down on their way to my knees. I still had to go down a hallway and then a set of stairs to get out. I kept trying to inconspicuously tug at them through my dress, but it was neither effective nor inconspicuous.

 I finally made it outside where I only had to cross 50 yards of sheer ice to get to my car. With my knees now tied together by my nylons, I wobbled my way across the frozen parking lot.  Picture a penguin in pantyhose. It’s not pretty, is it? By the time I got to my car, my pantyhose had reached their apparent goal of wrapping themselves around my ankles. It took me ten minutes to break the stranglehold so that I didn't have to play pogo stick with the foot pedals. 

Of  course, it wasn’t quite as bad as the time I left the ladies room with my skirt tucked into the back of my underwear....
2

Oh man. That ranks up there in "Best Post EVER"land. Made me laugh like a maniac - thanks. :slight_smile:

3

Thnaks, Cosmopolitan. Just another moment in my life. There are many more equally humiliating!

4

God I’m glad I’m a guy!!!

5

Yet another reason to outlaw the evil contrivance. If women still wore garter belts and hosiery, you’d not have suffered that indignity. :smiley:

6

When I was in high school all my bras fastened in front. Mostly this involved some sort of slide, click and lock thingie.

One day, in Senior English the classroom was chilly and I was hugging myself to keep warm. The teacher was returning papers so I reached up to take my paper back and the combination of hugging and reaching managed to unlach my bra.

I felt the oh-so-free re-settlement of the tatas. I think I blushed. So I sat for a moment then asked to go to the restroom as I couldn’t very well hop up and reorganize myself there in the classroom.

And it was a satin demi cup 36C in cantalope melon. Odd how I can remember the bra but not the outfit.

7

You know, that’s what trousers were invented for…

8

Pantyhose are the Evil Invention that will damn Womankind to secondary personhood forever.

Any garment that has the sole purpose of trying to kill you is Truly Evil.

Many years ago, I was working at a medical school. One of my job duties was the care and feeding of a BIG IBM copier that used rolls of paper. 50 pound rolls of paper. To put them into the copier required hunkering down on the floor. Often, I also had to repair this copier, as it was a favorite of lots of the staff in the building. If it jammed (which it often did) I had learned from the IBM guy how to pull the drum, unjam it and put it back together. This required sitting on the floor with legs sprawled apart for leverage.

My new, improved supervisor often objected to the fact that I dressed in a manner commensurate with both my job duties and my crappy salary. To appease him, I wore dresses and pantyhose with dress shoes several days a week. (I was a purchasing clerk, and he never realized that I often had to go crawling around in storage buildings and the like, as well as caring for the copier.)

One lovely Monday, I was feverishly putting together X-ray lightboxes (they were cheaper unassembled, so of course the State of Texas bought them that way), snapping panels and tightening screws, dressed in my lovely spring (pastel colors) dress and white hose and shoes (it was fashionable then, OK?).
I was then beckoned to the copier. A faculty member had jammed it. M.D. PhD. Not a stupid person, but clueless about machines like this. I sit down to pull the drum, being careful to put a towel on the floor first. I open the machine, grab Part A, flip it up, get Part B firmly in hand, and PULL HARD, as usual. Faculty member neglects to tell me that he’d had a med student (who had seen me do this before) TRY to do it, and muck it up. The toner pops out, the handle flips back, then the drum, which should slide out 3/4 way and stop comes FLYING into my lap. It is HOT, as in HOT!!HOT!!HOT!!!, and immediately fuses the pantyhose to my already toner-covered legs. As I push it off me, the skin is going with the melted nylon.

Had I been in my usual black or grey cotton slacks, I would have been scorched, but not really hurt, and I would not have been sitting (in a skirt) sprawled open to the world with melted pantyhose fused to my inner thighs. The doctor kicked into doctor mode, called for a gurney from the ER and was sitting between my legs pouring water on me when my new boss came around the corner.

I’m told that I called him several unkind names having to do with incestuous relations with various parental units, then went into barnyard animal bestiality charges. I just remember the pain, and the really stupid statement he made about my flooding the halls after dumping out the toner, as if I had done it on purpose. I DO distinctly remember screaming “It wasn’t my idea, you prick.” And I remember the M.D.PhD getting a med student to punch him for me…

Three plastic surgeries to patch in skin grafts on my thighs–the toner kept causing infections. IBM sent flowers every time. The M.D.PhD sent fruit and candy and medical students to play cards with me. My department, at the behest of my new boss, tried to fire me. I had NOT finished my work before I took sick leave.(Didn’t work.)

And it took resurfacing the drum completely to get the melted flesh and pantyhose off of it.

I didn’t ever wear pantyhose again. Knee highs or thigh highs, just above the knee. And yes, I continued being the copier person, but in MY choice of clothing.

9

:eek: You are a saint among women. I hope that boss of yours has painful urination for the rest of his life.

The best day of my life? After 3 surgeries and 9 months in a cast, my orthopedic surgeon said that I could never wear heels again. And I, always looking on the bright side, took that to also mean that I never had to wear panty hose again. :smiley:

10

Pantyhose are sexy :dubious:

11

Ok, this doesn’t involve me wearing pantyhose, but it does involve pantyhose.

So, it’s my freshman year in high school, and I’m riding the bus to school. Actually, I’m getting off the bus, it having arrived at school. In front of me is a girl I knew passingly well. We could exchange greetings, but we didn’t hang out together. Anyway, she steps down the stairs of the bus and onto the asphalt of the parking lot, with me right behind her.

Too close behind her.

Because, as I take the last step on the bus, I manage to step on the back of her skirt. And it’s a long skirt, with nothing but elastic holding it up. She, totally unaware that I am stepping on the back of her skirt, keeps walking.

And walks right out of her skirt.

It took her about 1.3 seconds to realize that the reason she was so chilly was because she was standing there in the school parking lot in her pantyhose.

I’m sure she was more embarrassed than I was, but probably not by much.

12

Oh. My. :eek:

DD, that is truly a horrifying story. I hope that boss got sacked!

13

No, he didn’t, at least not right away.

He got sacked after I quit to get married and it took 4 people to do what I had been doing by myself. I was functioning as purchasing clerk, as well as administrative clerk for all non-State accounts, which had never been balanced in 16 years. I had them “close” to balance when I turned in my resignation (from $14 million off down to $16,000. He hired someone at twice my salary to do that part of my job. I had to train her. He had to hire someone else to do general supply and purchasing, and then 2 people to answer the phone lines I had covered by myself.

He’d tried every trick in the book for over a year to fire me. He had to hire 4 people to replace me, and none of them could do the copier stuff. And he put a Do Not Rehire in my folder. His supervisor found out what the deal was, and came to see how the office was running. She found 4 well dressed young ladies in hose and heels fretting about their make-up and ‘presenting a professional appearance’. She went gunning for HIM, then found out that his Sig. Other was a doctor in another department. She went to the Chairman of the department and told him why the budget was off, and that David (the boss, also known as Prissy Missy) was running a fashion show, not an office. she even told him that the secretaries referred to David as Prissy Missy, and had teased me about making him my matron of honor at my wedding. I’m not homophobic, never have been, never will be. The guy was gay, but he was also a jerk. And I had been his only defender.

The very old-world gentleman (and ex-Army doctor) chairman fired him for inefficiency and overstepping his budget. He’d spent over $3,500 (in the early 80’s) refurnishing his office, and THAT was a no-no.

I didn’t care. I was in New Orleans being a new wife, and thoroughly enjoying not having to ever see any of them again. Two months later, my Mom had major surgery, and I was at the hopital attached to the med school for several weeks, and was right back with the same people. Except David. He was history. And they offered me his job.

I went back to New Orleans instead.

14

Well, maybe not. Way back when women wore things called corsets, one of my aunts went into the ladies room in a fancy hotel in Minneapolis and during the pit stop noticed that one of her corset stays was beginning to come out of the garment a half inch or so.

So she decided to pull it all the way out to avoid any possible accidents. Now the stays were spring steel with a paper covering inside a close-fitting pocket in the corset. Unfortunately for her, the paper tore and she was only able to get the stay part way out when the wadded up paper jammed it and she couldn’t budge it.

In the process of trying to unjam the stay by pulling she bent it so that it stuck nearly straight out. It was summer and she had on a light weight, summer dress so she had to walk the full length of the lobby with her dress draped on the stay which bobbed up and down as she walked.

15

What the hell, I’ll play. This is a true story (unfortunately).

Two years ago for my then-company’s Christmas party I got a brown velvet A-line swing dress – very cute, but a little too drapey – it tended to to show that my tummy is not, um, perfectly flat. Or even flattish. So I went out and bought a shaper, which is the modern word for what my mother’s generation would have called a girdle. Lord, the things we women inflict upon ourselves for fashion. But it did hold me in in all the right places – I think it was like 400% spandex.

Now, I’d never worn a shaper before (or since), so there I was, all dolled up, and then striding down to the bus stop – I tend to be a strider because I walk a lot. The shaper was working its way up my thighs, apparently because my steps were to long, but I didn’t notice it until SPANG!! it rolled up to my waist, just like a windown shade.

Suddenly, I’m not just a slave to fashion, I’m a slave to fashion wearing a spandex tourniquet around her diaphragm. And there I am, standing at the bus stop, trying not to pass out, waist the size of a Livesaver. And no way to fix the problem out there in front of God and everybody.

I had to stagger back to my apartment for some emergency repair work. I think returned to the bus stop, and eventually the party, taking small lady-like steps so as not to re-offend my foundation garmet. Which I never wore again.

But at least I got a story out of it. :slight_smile:

16

Dang, that post is full of typos. “window,” “then,” “garment.”

Preview is my friend.

17

One time some friends and I were at a club and I was pretty drunk by that time and was wearing a skirt/pantyhose combo. I decided to go to the bathroom and got the panyhose up ok, but totally forgot to pull my skirt back down. So I walk out of the women’s bathroom with my skirt wrapped up around my waist.

18

Back when I worked in computer repair for IBM, I wore dresses/skirts and blouses some of the time. One day I went to see about packing up an old system at a warehouse. I checked out the system, set up a date to return and pack and headed for the door.

I was wearing a skirt and blouse that day. Underneath I had on a camisole and a half-slip. I knew the elastic in the slip’s waist was a little loose, but thought I’d wear it anyway.

So I’m walking across the big open room, carrying my toolbag in my right hand as usual, try to look professional, when I feel something on my ankles. I look down and see that the elastic in the half-slip’s waist has given up the ghost, and the slip is now down around my ankles.

No woman in history has ever snatched up a wayward piece of lingerie more quickly than I did on that day. I stuffed it nonchalantly under my arm and walked out to my car with as much aplomb as I could muster.

I can laugh about it now.

19

My mother had a brief first marriage before she met my father. The only thing she ever said about it was a story from the wedding – as they were entering the hotel ballroom where the reception was to be held, her slip gave way. She stepped out of it and handed it to her groom, saying “would you check this for me, please?”

20

Those are too funny! Except for DD’s that was horrible! My sympathy there as well.

And reading this thread has just reaffirmed my own personal “butchness” :smiley: