One of my friends works in this fancy investment bank in San Francisco, and sometimes I like to call her and say funny and/ or obscene and/ or controversial things, because I know she can’t answer over her very official-looking headset within the floor full of fancy investment analysts, and I like to hear her trying to stifle the laughter. I’m not sure who gets more out of this, but I sure think it’s fun. I think she also finds it amusing that I make up terms for things (as you might know if you read my book), and this is one of those instances.
Last week, the subject was a little something I like to call “F*#k Pants.” Now, I’m not all into using obscenity and stuff on my blog, but you get the jist. The term “F*#k Pants” is probably not what you think—in fact, it is quite literal and refers to those random pieces of clothing you sometimes see on the sidewalk. I find this sort of thing funny because I like to imagine the person who was wearing the pants, or the jacket or shirt or whatever happens to be on the ground. I like to imagine them stopping dead in their tracks, right there on the sidewalk, and having some kind of epiphany, like “You know what? F*#k these pants. I am not wearing these one more second!” And then of course, stripping them off and leaving them there in a sad little heap. Can’t even take them to Goodwill. Nope! Can’t put them in a trashcan that’s like, five feet away. No no no! These pants are offensive to me, and must be taken off and discarded immediately!
This term is derived from a phrase developed during my first driving trip cross-country, with a college roommate. We coined the term “F*#k It Point” for road trips, to indicate that point during the course of the day when you CANNOT, nay, you WILL NOT drive one more mile. As far as you’re concerned, for that day at least, you will move to Gallup, New Mexico, or Texarkana, or wherever you happen to be on the trip. You cannot go another mile.
So, F*#k Pants are kind of like this point in the trip, only with pants. And, because there happens to be a high population of homeless people here in Los Angeles, there are a lot of discarded clothes lying around, just prompting me to formulate these theories about them.
The next time you see a pair of F*#k Pants, I want you to laugh and think of that person, just FED UP with that garment. NO MORE! They shout. Revolution! Yesterday, I got a great shot of a discarded piece of medical equipment that looked like it was used to hold IVs and oxygen or something. I like to imagine a miracle occurred, but I suspect the truth is a little more grim.