The Case of the Phantom Drawers

A few months back I was at work and walked up to the assignment desk.  The assignment desk is the nerve center of the newsroom.  It’s a 15-foot desk on a raised platform at the end of the room.  There are typically two or three assignment editors managing everybody and collecting and distributing information and…assignments.

So I went up to the desk.  I may not have and a specific reason to be there.  I do that.  I don’t know if it’s restless leg syndrome (I’m not trying to make light of those with RLS) or chronic boredom, but when I have a moment when I am not doing anything I just get up and walk around.  So anyway, I went up there to talk, ask about something, eavesdrop. Whatever.  On the floor in the middle of the entire newsroom was a pair of boxer shorts.  I asked about it.  There were at least five other people sitting at the desk or standing around.  Nobody knew why they were there.  Just…that they were there.  They speculated that it was “the sports guy’s”.  He had just walked by earlier.  Perhaps they fell out of his runbag.  Huh?  Okay.

I went back to my office and did a little work.  Again, I had downtime and a little later I made my way back to the desk.  There were now six or seven people standing around the underwear still on the floor.  I asked, “Are you sure it’s the ‘sports guys’?” They were all pretty certain.

I had seen enough of those PSA’s about doing something.  Don’t stare at the trash on the ground next to the trash can.  Pick it up!  That’s what I did.  The pair of elastic waistband polyester drawers looked clean enough.  I reached down, picked them up, and promptly deposited them on “sports guy’s” chair.  I got some disgusted looks.  Relieved looks, but disgusted.  “What?  It’s not like I’m gonna get Ebola.  I’ve changed plenty of dirty diapers not to get grossed out by underwear on the floor.”

I went back to work. Again.  An hour or so went by and I had another free moment.  So it was another chance to up the counter on the ol’ pedometer.  So I made my rounds and saw that the “sports guy” was back.  Since it was the “sports guy” I was gonna bust his balls a bit.

I walked over to his department slowly.  I had to gather my composure.  Just the thought of the awkwardness made me laugh.  I must have looked nuts to my coworkers.  I walked by myself and seeming at random for no reason began to laugh.

I got control of myself.  By time I reached the sports department I think my grin was gone.  The complexion of my face no longer red.  

“Did you get the underwear I left on your chair?”

“Why does everybody think those were mine,” he asked as he turned to face me.

“I don’t know. They were all adamant that they were yours so I brought them over.  They thought it fell out of your runbag.”

“Who the hell carries extra underwear in their gear?  If I shit my underwear I’ll just throw them out and go commando.”

“As one does.”

“I mean we all do it, suck it up buttercup.”

“What did you do with the skivvies?”

“Oh I threw them away.”

“Did they not fit?” I asked sounding completely unserious.

“Oh they fit.  But I don’t wear Hanes. Fuck this, I’m gonna go smoke.”

And he was up and off to outside ready to light up some cigs.  Nobody would ever solve the case of the phantom drawers.