I was going to write about how much I hate all of the news articles about digging up an empty space where Hoffa is supposed to be buried, but I decided the story of how my boss bought me socks was more fun.
This was at my old old job, the first full-time job I had right out of college. I was working at a small family-owned company, where there were literally four of us (and I was the only one not family), so it was really laid back. Like, jeans and tennis shoes with a cat in my lap laid back.
My boss had bought his wife (who worked with us) some boots for Christmas, and had them shipped to the office (because why not?). To make the order large enough for free shipping, he added a pair of men’s dress socks for himself. (Why he decided on dress socks, I will never know, since the man lives in bleach-splattered t-shirts and Birkenstocks.)
When the packaged arrived, he opened the box and went, “Why did I buy these? These are awful!” Not knowing what awful thing he had inadvertently bought, I turned around to find him holding an awesome pair of argyle socks!
Seriously, they’re fantastic.
Because I liked them so much, and because he would never dream of wearing argyle socks, my boss gave them to me.
Even though that relationship ended on a poor note (which is a whole other story), I still think of my boss and that job when I wear them. Which is a lot, because I only have about three pairs of work-appropriate socks now that I have to dress up every day.