Special Delivery

Amongst the long list of crazy jobs I have had over the years is one I like to call "Underwear Man". Not as glamorous as "Underwear Model", if that's what you're thinking.

Jay's dad got us a job at a dingy, under-lit warehouse in Detroit, somewhere near Tiger Stadium. It was actually a pretty good job, except for the big hairy rats that dwelled in the dark corners of the place.

We used to unload trucks full of boxes of underwear, and then repack them for specific orders. These orders went out to places all across the country.

One day I was packing a box of underwear that was destined for a military academy that a friend of mine was actually attending at the time. This was too good an opportunity to pass up.

So, into the big stacks of squeaky-white undies, I carefully tucked a pink thong with a tag attached that said "Special Delivery for..." and then his name, which for obvious reasons I cannot repeat here. He had no idea that I worked at an "underwarehouse", so it would blindside him.

A couple of years later he confessed the event to me, out of the blue. He had actually received the "Special Delivery", along with a large dose of military-school taunting. This is how people get nicknames.

I never told him it was me.