I run into the store today to grab my requisite prework coffee. Nothing unusual, jostling with the other bleary eyed worker bees in line for our morning caffeine sting. In jeans and a tank top, I always feel underdressed on these early morning Starbucks forays, flip flopping in shoes given to me by one of my surf brand reps while everyone else in line wears some sort of polyblend suit and heels.
Went to bed after midnight again last night, so I’m keeping my head down as I joyfully suck on my grande iced coffee. Letting the glaze slowly fade from the corners of my eyes before I flip flop back out the door to my car. The cold coffee making its way too slowly to my foggy brain, I glance around the store, noticing only shiny shoes and slacks and trousers and…checkers?!
Checkers. Checkered pants. Checkered PAJAMA pants. Coming out of a pair of battered running shoes. Glancing up, I note a stained Hanes t-shirt completing the ensemble.
PJ’s. In public.
Now that is taking ‘casual’ to an entirely unwholesome level. It makes me want to walk up to Mr. PJ Pants and say: “Excuse me sir, could you please estimate the time it would have taken you to throw on the same pair of pants that you discarded next to your bed last night before traipsing down to this neighborhood Starbucks?”
No one needs to see your ratty pj’s. I bet even your family is sick of them (especially your wife, seriously).
Luckily for him, my caustic tongue is still occupied with my overpriced drink. Also lucky for him, I just so happen to be employed at a place where pajama pants and running shoes could be considered appropriate dress code.
Casual coffee run. No shirt, no slippers, no service.
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