You guys ever fuck with painter pants back in the day? No? WELL, FUCK YOU. Painter pants were the fucking shit back in the day. I feel like some people called them "carpenter pants" back when they were popping, but they are essentially the same genre of pant. I had a sick pair of painter jeans from Abercrombie in high school. My high school made us wear dress pants during the week, so I could only flex my dope painter jeans on the weekends. This may be hard to believe, but when I first started driving by myself, my parents were like, "Cell phones are way too expensive. Here's a beeper and a phone card in case of emergencies." At first, I was a little butthurt because my cooler friends had giant bricks that we called cellphones. But I embraced the dopeness inherent in all pagers.
So, one bright, shining Saturday afternoon, I'm kicking it at a field hockey game because this girl I was into played varsity field hockey. After the game, we were all making plans to hit up the local, shitty food establishment to loiter and awkwardly socially interact with one another. But the field hockey player chick was like, "I'm gonna shower first. You have a cellphone I can call you at?" I was like, "Nah, but I got this pager. Just beep me and I'll have my boy Paul call you back." I then proudly pointed to the pager nestled on the side pocket of my painter jeans. She was like, "Cool, what’s the number?" GUYS, I DIDN'T KNOW MY OWN PAGER NUMBER BECAUSE MY PARENTS WERE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO EVER PAGED ME. I never carried that stupid fucking pager again. I just shoved it in my glove compartment and, for a long time, painter pants made me think of that OD social faux pas. Now, I want these EG painter pants, so you know life comes full circle if you give it long enough.