One day, having just arrived at work, I climbed out of my car and heard the crackle of static electricity. I looked down at my black dress pants. They clung to my legs in large unsightly wrinkles. When I got inside, I complained to one of my female co-workers about the static.
“Oh, you have to use lotion,” she said.
Hm. Simple enough solution. Luckily there was lotion in the women’s restroom. So I went in, locked the door and used lotion.
Meh… it helped a little, but my pants were still full of static.
I came back out of the bathroom, pants still clinging to my legs. I wove through the maze of cubicles until I got back to her desk.
“I used lotion, but it didn’t really help,” I said shrugging one shoulder.
“Really? “ She said, facing her computer. She swung in an arc around to face me. “That’s strange. It always works for me.”
She looked at my pants, then closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath through her nose. I thought I saw her lips twitch into a smile, quickly suppressed. She sat there for a moment, not speaking.
I looked down at my pants, puzzled. I had used lotion on them like she’d said. The lotion smelled good, but all it had done was leave wet spots and white streaks.
“Well, that’s one way of doing it,” She opened her eyes, she said very calmly, “but I meant you should try putting the lotion on your legs—not on your pants.”