We Fly by The Seat of Our Pants

 It’s January 9^th, the day of New York Cities No Pants Subway Ride. As I approach Foley Square I am impressed by the masses of people surrounding the large granite sculpture in the middle of the plaza. The crowd is more eclectic than I’d projected, and the seemingly conservative are intermixed with troubled youth, married couples, apparent goofballs, and other personalities. There is no obvious stereotype to describe this crowd.

Maybe New York isn’t all business. Maybe New York has a sense of humor after all.

                                 

I overhear a conversation between two men in gray suit jackets. They’re chatting about the interesting statue that landmarks the place.

“It’s called, ‘'Triumph of the Human Spirit,' Says a man in black rimmed glasses holding a briefcase,

“They built it in 2000 to symbolize human rights for minority groups in the city”

I find this fact ironic. While there is no formalized club or association for pantless persons, today , new Yorkers will celebrate their human rights by choosing to forgo their trousers. I wonder if this meeting place was chosen for its hidden symbolism.

I finally track down my friends John and Chase. The bright sky is deceiving, and the suns efforts to warm cannot combat the winter chill. The easterly winds are lashing against our faces, and I am glad I am not in my underwear, yet. 

A mans voice is thundering around me. I cannot find its source in the crowd. It’s as if it is pouring from the sky, and I’m being directed by Zeus or another Greek god.  For a minute I forget that I’m only part of something silly. The turnout makes me feel like I’m at a political rally, fighting for some noble cause, rather than participating in a large scale prank.

I pinpoint the speaker, standing on top of a staircase near the middle of the square.

“Who is our youngest pantless subway rider?” Shouts a bearded man behind a megaphone

I see a stroller being hoisted into the air, followed by muffled yells.

 “15 Months”, repeats the director. “Can anyone do any better?”

Behind me a young couple lifts up a chubby baby in corduroy trousers and a snow cap. He is unphased by the attention, and he wiggles his legs in a running motion.

“9 months!”

“Wow, nine months” echoes the loud speaker, “Sorry stroller, looks like we have a winner.”

Were sorted into groups and assigned train cars. Clusters of us start walking toward canal street to catch the NQR.  Like elementary students on a field trip, we march in line through chinatown to the subway station. We pass the NYPD and other curious onlookers. People selling knock of handbags and Rolexs heckle us to buy their goods.

“See my perfume! I make good deal for you..78.9 percent off!” Says a little Chinese man in broken English.

His proposition for such an odd discount has us laughing.

“Do you only get the discount if you can calculate the math correctly?” Chase jokes.

Two stops on the train, and I am standing in the car wearing my winter coat, scarf, leather boots, and underwear.  Half of my fellow passengers are in participation. An older man with heart patterned  boxers is reading the New York Times on the bench, and a young women in boy shorts is standing while gripping the overhead pole, bobbing her head to the beat of her ipod. Chase, John and I battle to keep a straight face, as two women enter and raise their eyebrows in confusion.

We’ve been instructed to not break the fourth wall, and “Ride the train as we would any other day,”

I really lose it when the boy next to me wearing boxer briefs is questioned by another fully clothed passenger.

“Can I ask you why you are in your underwear?”

“Oh, I just didn’t feel like wearing pants today.” He says nonchalantly.

An elderly couple with shar pei  like wrinkles and gray hair are holding hands. They are wearing smiles of contentment, knit sweaters, and not much else.

I decide to play Tetris on my phone in order to distract myself from the hilarious circumstance.

We get off at 14^th street, Union Square, and scale the platform where were greeted by the gusty January air and thousands of people without pants.

Surrounded by bare legs adorned in whitie tighties, polka dotted boxer shorts, and silky bottoms , it feels like I’m in an episode of the twilight zone, or a member of some free spirited colony from the 60’s.

A bystander is handing out yellow pamphlets entitled, “The history of pants”

Chase opens one and reads us the first paragraph:

“In early times peoples used ferns  and leaves to uphold modesty. They later switched to cloth and hide due to outbreaks of poison oak and Ivy.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Chuckles John.

My favorite pub, ‘Lilies’ is only a block away from Union Square. We walk to 17^th street and dress on the sidewalk.
Inside we sit at a candlelit table drinking imported beer. Our goose bumps finally dissipate after bowls of soup and finished pints.  

I am riding the high of spontaneity and playfulness.

I will fly by the seat of my pants more often, or… no pants, if I must.