Commando Fail, or How I Learned to Love the Shorts

Back in my hippie days- and for a while after- I went what is now known as commando style. We just called it "no undies", or "partial freedom". Total freedom would have been "no undies, no pants" but (a) I was free but not that free and (b) Atlanta at large was definitely not that free. Atlanta at large didn't want to know how free anyone was.

One fine, spring day I went to the doctor for a job-related injury- one totally unrelated to my freedom loving nether regions. The doctor decided I needed a penicillin shot. Do you know where penicillin shots go? Yup. Right in the nethers.

The young nurse giving me the shot was a little embarrassed, which made me feel the same as I leaned over the table with my butt hanging out for her and the world to see. An older nurse came in to talk with her as she gave the shot. They left to check on something. "Stay right there. We'll be right back."

I took them at their word and did just that, in part because they left the door open and there were worse things than showing my backside to whatever segment of Atlanta at large happened to stroll down the hallway. That segment happened be two elderly southern ladies. They kind of paused, their eyes got real big, then they started shuffling faster down the hallway. Great.

The nurses returned. "Are you OK?"

Having no reason to believe this question made any sense, I replied with a bit of sarcasm. "No, I think I'm dead."

The next thing I knew they had flipped me over on my back, were checking my heart and pulse, trying to look in my throat, asking if I can breathe, and generally making a scene. That was how I learned you can die from an allergic reaction to penicillin.

And it turns out that "Stay right there" actually meant "Pull your pants up and sit down". Who knew?

I stopped on my way home from work that afternoon to buy underwear.