I was in a restaurant I service a couple weeks ago, when I crouched down to look under their work table for a knife. About half way down I heard RRRRRRRIPPP. Fuck, split my pants. I found the last knife, got paid and split for the closest mall so I could get pants and back to work. I got to Old Navy, asked if I could try on pants and just leave them on and hand the chick the tags. NOPE. I had to try them on, take them off, go pay, then back to the changing room to put them on again.