Being as temperatures have decided to dip to -500 degrees, I’ve been wearing my ski jacket everywhere. Saturday, the puller thing (which I’ll be calling “the puller thing”) which attaches to the thing that actually zips and unzips the little teeth (which I’ll call “the zipper” for common sense’s sake) broke off. No biggie. I’ll just pinch the zipper with my fingers and pull it up and down like I normally do when I break the puller thing off of other zippers. It’ll still work, right? Wrong.
Apparently ergonomic engineers for ski jackets have decided that their zippers will lock in place until a wire, or thread, or potentially a very stiff cat hair can pass through the hole in the little nubbin of zipper and push some tiny magical release button. Oh – but you only need to find and push the tiny button to UNZIP the zipper. Zipping it up works no matter what state of gimpyness the zipper’s in.
So, I zipped up my broken zipper. Ate dinner with my boyfriend. Showed up for work late and, like a whirlwind, ran across the theatre lobby, unzipping my coat as I ran. Or, trying to. The zipper didn’t budge. Weird. I got to the locker room and tried again. Maybe my angle was off. Nope. My zipper is locked underneath my chin. I’m doomed to forevermore walk around like a snowman in a straight jacket.
Starting to feel a little claustrophobic, I tried to lift the collar around my head. Head too fat. But I had to be in the theatre’s Tim Hortons 10 minutes ago! So, ducking my head, I flipped the jacket inside out and tried to pull. Succeeded in getting the stupid collar lodged around my mouth and nose; the rest of the jacket dangled somewhere below my head. Couldn’t see, talk, breath – you know, the life essentials – when one of the other girls comes into the locker room. I’m sure I was quite a sight as I flailed around like a new species of ghost, or monster: the jacket monster! The girl asks if I want her to pull. I motion “Yes” as best I can with my limited mobility. No dice. She says she has a knife if I want to try that. I seriously considered it, but decided on a, "No, it's OK."
As I now needed to explain my lateness, as well as potential inability to work, I wrestle the jacket back down around my neck like an overlarge burka and run down the theatre wing toward the office. From the neck down, I'm a cineplex employee in full uniform. From the neck up - Jacket Monster!!
Guests stare at me as I ring the buzzer to get into the office. "Yes?" "ICAN'TGETMYCOATOFFANDI'MSUPPOSEDTOWORKAT6". They open the door. Six managers stare at me and my blue burka. I tell them I can't get my zipper undone. One by one they try it - thinking I'm retarded, no doubt. First manager fails. Second manager stands in the background laughing. Third manager fails. Fourth and fifth managers watch, laughing. Sixth comes up with the genius idea to use a paper clip to push the secret button. Yay! I'm free! And now I have a valid excuse for being late to work.
The end. (I've been told I need to come up with a better ending. Maybe my next post will be the completely untrue tales of the jacket that never ever came off until I went scuba diving and was rescued by porpoises...)