My office environment is defined by conservatism. No boots with skirts, no skirts above the knee, no tattoos, extra piercings, or scandalous attire. I work for an organization rooted in religion, where every policy is reviewed through the eyes of one of the largest denominations known to man.
So there I am, sitting upright at my desk, wrapped up like a Barbie nun, working. I have on my ever-so-clever black tights top- literally black pantyhose in the shape of a shirt, used as a perfect layering garment. It’s only see-through where it stretches, so I’ve covered my chest with a ruffled, elephant-printed cami. I’m typing away, when I look up to see a visitor in my door frame. My coworker has stopped in to deliver some memo or another, but stops short to wave his hand in an outward, diagonal motion. I am perplexed. “You, umm, you’re…ummm.” He stammers.
I look down to discover that my elephants have jumped the track, if you will. One string of my cami dropped off my shoulder, pulling the covering for the right side of my chest down with it. My see-through pany hose had done little to conceal my goods. I rearrange myself, look up, and carry on.
Just another day of not fitting into the corporate mold…