On the Subway, Without Pants

It surprised me how incredibly organized everyone was: a herd of smiling sheep, huddling close, crossing intersections, walking down the dirty stairs silently into their assigned positions.

A crowd of 300 of pantsed persons gathered in Foley Square yesterday, waiting patiently to hear when and how would be de-pantsing. We weren't the only ones. Stations strategically placed throughout the city and many of it's bouroughs held just as many of us, covering all trains from the 1 to the 7, the A to the Z, and 66 cities around the world (apparently this is huge in Berlin) joined our bare-leggedness worldwide. We were broken up according to our birthday month, Januarys in the front car of the train, Decembers in the back, and then from there we broke up into subsets as to who would be de-pantsing first. From the City Hall 6 train stop, all the way up to 59th street, we gradually became less and less trousered. Eventually, all 3,000 of us converged in Union Square for a Pantsless celebration. I slid my jeans off around Astor Place, and waited on the platform for the next train, listening to my iPod and reading a book. Another pantsless gentleman came up to me, commenting on my shoes. I kicked out my naked leg and non-chalantly thanked him.

Throughout the frigid experience, we felt our adrenaline rise, our modesty fall, and our sense of unity completely solidify. The mid-winter whiteness of skin and goosebumped inner thighs only brought us closer together. Our audience (innocent unknowers) at first was baffled, then entertained, then charmed at the scene. And it was a scene, but a quiet one. Everyone minded their business, saying "excuse me" when they bumped someone with their boxered bum.

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