I’ve discovered that most people aren’t caring or trustworthy and can occasionally be thoughtlessly cruel.
I’m a hairstylist who works at a popular barber chain for mens hair, and before work today I was shopping and realized that my fly was down. The grocery store was crowded and, during the initial shock of seeing a curving line of gleaming bronze zipper teeth decorating my crotch, I felt the need to dip into a private corner before adjusting my jeans malfunction. Upon closer inspection, I realized that, not only had my fly been down, it had been spectacularly gaping and revealing a significant amount of my p******!! My jeans are tight and pretty high-wasted, so of course the zipper would spread like crazy. And the fact that my jeans were black made my salmon-colored underwear that much more noticeable. I also realized that nobody in the store was kind enough to tell me, even though they had all surely seen. I mean– how could you not! I was embarrassed and frustrated, kind of hypnotized by the sheer catastrophe that was my unzipped fly, and reeling at the memory of all the looks I had been getting earlier. I just assumed people were taken by how well my feminine form filled my jeans! But nobody said anything. They didn’t even gesture with their eyes. Instead, when I happened to catch their eyes glancing downwards, they averted their gaze just to MISDIRECT me so that I wouldn’t catch what they were staring at. I was livid. And, moreover, I was particularly struck by how uncaring the public turned out to be. But, had I not noticed, surely some good samaritan would tell me later. Right? Right??
This whole train of thought was a roller coaster, and it was very quickly spiraling to ridiculous depths. For some reason I was feeling uncommonly spontaneous. Out of sheer defiance and foolhardy optimism I made the daring decision to do nothing. That’s right– I didn’t zip my pants. I turned back around and acted oblivious, as if I had just been looking at some product on the shelves. Immediately my nerves spiked. Suddenly I noticed the sly glances and coy smiles, the double takes and unashamed gawking. I walked down the aisles, expecting any second that I would be tactfully pulled aside and alerted about this catastrophic fashion faux pas. What actually happened is that I put on a free show for an amused audience of indecent onlookers. The pervert following me through the store certainly didn’t want me realizing. The lady that I nervously shared some small talk with at checkout didn’t tell me. The cashier or bagger also said nothing. Ohhh but they LOOKED. They saw my helplessly exposed crotch and beamed at me with their sick grins and relished in their secret japes. I walked through the parking lot, loaded everything in my car and took my seat behind the wheel. My heart was pounding. It actually takes some gusto to do something like that. To be fair– I didn’t expect that I’d have to leave my fly down the WHOLE F****** TIME. But that’s just how people are it seems. They were strangers though. As I thought about it, sitting in my car and studying how my shiny zipper handle protruded outward like a miniature metal p**** all the way down at the inseam of my jeans, I probably wouldn’t suffer the discomfort of telling a stranger that their pants are unzipped either. And, perversely, if it was gaping like mine was it would be even harder for me to work up the courage. Someone who knew me would tell me, though. Right? Right??
I decided for the second time to leave my zipper undone. I drove back home and put away my groceries and put on my work shirt, becoming more comfortable with the unnatural looseness of my jeans. A coworker would tell me. A client would tell me. They wouldn’t let a professional women practice her trade in public with her fly gaping open.
Just before I was about to leave for work, my gossipy neighbor saw me and decided to strike up a conversation. I fully expected her to restore my faith in humanity right there, thinking that she had called on me to tell me about my zipper. I turned around and greeted her, exposing my yawning fly. Her eyes glanced downwards immediately, then back up to me, then impulsively back downwards. But clearly not in a way that was intentional. She went on to regale me with her typically inane conversation, how she was looking after so-and-so’s dog or something, and acted very casual, leading me on to believe that nothing was amiss. I looked away from her from time to time, to watch a little squirrel, and whenever I looked back at her, her wide eyes would dart from my crotch back up to my face. I couldn’t believe it. There I was, literally feeling the breeze inside my jeans, talking with my trusted neighbor. Alone. And she let me remain oblivious. I told her I had to go to work now. That I would see her later. And she let me remain oblivious. The nerve. I angrily started my car and began to worry that my jeans would remain unzipped for my entire shift.
The coworker I worked with today doesn’t get along with me very well. I know (from talking about her behind her back) that she talks about me behind my back. Our working relationship is functional, I’ll say that. But we can get pretty catty sometimes. I thought she would tell me just for the sheer pleasure she would get out of embarrassing me. Turns out, she’s way worse than that and would rather watch me embarrass myself for a whole shift. Turns out, she would rather secretly snap a picture of me as I’m cutting a guys hair with my unzipped crotch in his face. She probably posted it on some social media site and got a good laugh out of it. Turns out none of my male clients wanted their window to my p****** to close either. At least there weren’t that many customers. Still, I had to suffer their gluttonous gazes and and my b****-of-a-coworkers satisfied smile the whole time. And I won’t lie– part of me found it s******* arousing. I mean, I wouldn’t have followed through with it if I didn’t derive some kind of sick pleasure from watching their eyeballs dance around my pubic area. I saw that a couple of them even sported erections for me and awkwardly tried to hide them after I pulled off their capes. But I still desperately wanted one of them to TELL ME.
Eight hours. Do any of you realize how hard it is to act oblivious about an open fly in a place with mirrors FOR EIGHT HOURS??? I humiliated myself for eight hours. After the first two I had already lost hope, so I subjected myself to the trauma just out of spite. I literally stood on my tiptoes to hover my salmon-colored pelvis two inches from mens faces as I cut their hair all night. I literally brushed my dangling zipper handle over their hands. I stood back holding a mirror for them and gave them a clear view of my maximally parted zipper, smiling as if I was proud of how I cut their hair. I avoided the bathroom for so long that I nearly pissed myself, just so I could be believably oblivious. I feel slutty and naive. Why would people be so uncaring? Why would my coworker be so cruel. I bet my neighbor had a good laugh too. She was gardening when I got home and I made sure she saw me with my zipper still down. She just waved and smiled back at me– looking a bit guilty even from a distance. That’s right, b****. Because of you I worked for eight hours with my zipper down.
At least my husband told me. He burst out laughing when I walked in the room and asked me if I worked like that all day. I feigned shock and panic and let out all my pent up embarrassment. I told him I must have and that I guess no one bothered to tell me. My husbands a sweet guy, but sometimes he’s a big oaf– he said, rather indignantly, ‘yeah, I probably wouldn’t have told my lady-barber either.’ I told him about my coworker and my neighbor and the grocery store, listing off all my encounters as if I was coming to some horrible realization about how I’d been exposing myself all day. He did little to console me, mostly just laughed. Then I went and peed longer than I’ve ever peed in my life. I almost forgot to zip my jeans again when I was done. At least I know now that, unless my husbands with me, I’m on my own in regard to my zipper. Maybe I’ll do it again. But purely for the s***** thrill, of course. I won’t be so foolish as to expect someone to tell me.

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