You cut 'em, you buy 'em.

For about a year now, I've been working at a major clothing retailer that I'll call "C.J. Nickelbocker". The idea is that it pays the bills and keeps me fed while I pursue writing and independent film making. Despite the cast of characters that I work with and the even zanier characters that come in shopping, the job is fairly mundane and uninspiring. Occasionally, however, it provides a little nugget to break up the daily monotony. One of these occurred a few days ago.

I was in the "Kids" section working on some pricing issues when I overheard a mother talking to my coworker, who I'll call "Norma", at the cash register.

"This is really embarrassing, and it's never happened to me before, but my son is stuck in these jeans and I cannot get them off. I've been in the dressing room for 30 minutes now and I'm not making any progress."

"Well now, sweetheart, I'm sure if you got 'em on we can get 'em off too."

"I don't know how this happened. He gained ten pounds over the summer, but I've never had a pair of jeans get stuck like this. I'd hate to have to cut them off and pay for a pair of pants he never even wore."

"Oh no, honey, we'll get 'em off. Don't worry."

"I don't know. Look at these things. They're just stuck. They won't go anywhere. Do you guys have a pair of scissors or something?"

"Oh no, honey. We don't want to stick a sharp object in there. That could cut him or hurt him somehow. We'll get those pants off, won't we young man?"

To this the husky young boy of about 7 years old answered, "Mommy said she's not sure if they'll ever come off."

For the next 25 minutes I worked on pricing nearby while I listened to the mother's ongoing struggle to de-pants her child in front of Norma and any passing customers, accompanied by a continual dialogue of embarrassed apologies and statements of disbelief. I wanted to go see firsthand myself just how skin tight the jeans were that this mother sucked her child into, but I figured it's probably better not to involve oneself in the public undressing of a young boy. Besides, I felt bad for the kid. This was a classic case of "How to turn your child into a self-conscious, neurotic adult with chronic self-deprecating tendencies and mild social anxiety disorder".

And another thing. What did the mother think the father would think when he saw his plump little son in skin tight jeans that looked like they were painted on, apple bottom cheeks bobbing up and down with each step? "No son of mine, g. d. it!" That's what he'd think. And he'd immediately enroll him in football, take most his toys away, and never allow him to cry again. "Thanks mom. I just lost my childhood and a healthy, nurturing father son relationship."

Finally, after about 55 minutes of struggle between the dressing room and the sales floor the mother somehow got the pants back off without having to cut them. Norma asked her if she wanted to try a larger pair, but the mother said, "No, I think we'll just go home now." Apparently, skinning a child is a much more exact science than skinning a cat. I wonder if the young boy will someday remember the time he was psychologically traumatized at C.J. Nickelbocker or if he'll simply bare the damage with no idea how it got there. Either way I'm certain when he starts buying pants for himself he'll be wearing "Loose Fit" and wondering why he cringes at the sight of our "Skinny Jeans" tables.