Strangers In the Hall

There are people who do not work here walking the halls of my office. They have clearly been warned that we are a casual office. What they were not told is that by "casual," we generally mean we wear things described as "this smells cleanish," or that many inmates interpret "dress code" as "please get dressed."

The strangers are wearing jeans and polo shirts because they think they will blend in better, but au contraire! The jeans are of the bluest blue denim, still stiff with the factory starch. These are clearly people who wear khakis to mow the lawn, for heaven's sake.

It's easy to identify men who wear jeans every day. The ass pockets have little worn squares where their wallets go. Their belt loops are stretched exactly where their favorite belt hits the cloth. They have little holsters for their cell phones, because everyone knows you can't fit most cell phone models in the front pocket of jeans. The material is stretched a little, even on baggy jeans, to cling and drape in an individual way that cannot be purchased. If they are techie boys, the knees of their jeans are as velvety as a horse's nose.

If I were an alien from beyond the edge of the universe, transplanted to this office on this day and asked to guess who belonged and who did not, I would point an undulating tentacle and cry, "Imposter!" at these men in their new and stiffly indigo jeans.