A new category

As everyone knows, there are two main types of trouser emergency. The lesser trouser emergency occurs when you bend down to lift a heavy box or other item, and suddenly there is a huge RIIIPP! sound followed by a sensation of freedom. The greater trouser emergency... well, you can imagine.

For many years, I had been under the illusion that these two types represented the full range of possible trouser emergencies, but my illusion has been shattered by recent events.

On Friday, we were to travel to the top of the Schildthorn, the better to suffer Powerpoint poisoning. It being December, and quite high up, and cold, we were advised to wear something warm. Additionally, those of our party who were skiing or engaging in the other sports o'death for the weekend (not me, in this instance) were advised to take a change of clothes.

So, I packed my bag with a few extra layers, in case I needed them later in the day. And, on a whim, I packed a second pair of jeans. I wouldn't need them, I knew, since my jeans weren't going to get wet, and you can't really wear more than one pair at a time...

Anyway, we set off. And, in the conference centre, they had very nicely placed a bottle of water on each chair (sparkling water, but what can you do?). We sat down for the first three hours of festive fun and Powerpoint.

About three quarters of the way through this, I notice that the person sitting next to me has a chocolate bar. In fact, many of my colleagues have chocolate bars. And yet I have none...

Seeing where this is leading, I start to develop a distinct feeling of dread. And, sure enough, when we break for lunch, I stand up and look down, and discover the location of the missing chocolate bar. Or, at least, the melted remnants thereof. (Naturally, for maximum effect, it wasn't just a chocolate bar. Oh, no, it had to have nuts in, too.)

Fortunately, either no-one actually noticed, or they were too polite to actively point and laugh. I calmly and with great dignity collected my bag, and made my way to the toilets, where I was soon clad in nice clean jeans. When I returned to the conference centre, some kind member of the centre staff had removed the offensive chair, and replaced it with a nice clean chair.

Anyway, I have decided to declare this the intermediate trouser emergency. And I have resolved to no longer be so cavalier in sitting down on chairs, since you can never know when one might ambush you with chocolate.