It wasn't until I arrived here in Germany, land of the bike, that I was introduced to the concept of rain pants. I knew of the rain jacket, of course. Bought myself a nice new olive green one before I moved here, ready to bike in whatever weather conditions this country bestowed upon me. I admit I have no clue how I failed to consider the bottom half of my body, which (turns out) is just as at-risk of getting rained upon as my head and torso. Who knew?
I ended up buying a pair of rain pants at the German equivalent of Goodwill for 9 Euros. I mostly just included that detail so everyone would be proud of me for finding such a good deal. They're great, fit me in the waist and length (they're little boy rain pants to be honest) and are - bonus - 100% waterproof. What a snazzy invention! Now, when I wake up to splattering raindrops on my window, I slide my rain pants over my normal pants and bike to work without a care in the world.
Until I get to school.
The thing about growing up without exposure to rain pants is that I was deeply unfamiliar with the ettiquette. To be more specific, I hadn't a clue about When and Where I Should Take Off My Rain Pants.
It seemed like a trivial question with a simple answer: Ummm...when you get inside? Where it is no longer raining? This much I actually figured out on my own. In reality, I found the question of when and where to remove my rain pants to be a quite complicated affair, because inside (the school) there are actually other people (300 children and 45 teachers) everywhere (hallways, classrooms, bathrooms). As I am unaccustomed to taking off my pants in public, I ended up shuffling around in my rain pants for a good thirty minutes until I finally found a free moment and vacant corner/bathroom stall to duck into to remove them.
It quickly became clear to me that this was the wrong approach to take, as I was the only one still wearing rain pants by lunch time. Rain pants also have a sneaky disposition towards outspokenness (whoosh, whoosh, whoosh), each step of mine drawing attention to the fact that I had my rain pants on indoors. In an effort to learn how and when Germans remove their rain pants, I started to keep a watchful eye out on rainy mornings. I saw teachers remove their rain pants mid-conversation with each other in the hallway. I fretted as students almost tripped over their rain pants as they entered the classroom, attempting to take them off while simultaneously removing their jackets, gloves, and backpacks. I watched a fellow intern slide off her rain pants in the break room while the coffee machine brewed her first of many cups of coffee for the day.
My careful observations indicate to me that Germans consider it No Big Deal to slide off rain pants in front of others. While I am relieved that my informal research has yielded this carefree attitude towards Public Rain Pant Removal, I still find it incredibly awkward to engage in the practice myself. I know that there is another pair of pants beneath my rain pants. Everyone else also knows (or at least, assumes) that there is another pair of pants beneath my rain pants. Yet, my fingers scream in protest as I attempt to force them towards my waist in the middle of the hallway. WE ARE IN PUBLIC! they exclaim. WE DO NOT REMOVE PANTS IN PUBLIC!
The solution I came up with for my little Rain Pant Problem is to "Whistle a Happy Tune" it. To those of you unfamiliar with The King and I and/or The Muppets (first of all, how dare you), this basically means I take off my rain pants in the middle of the hallway while feigning an ease I have yet to internalize. I know that my students take cues from me. If I act uncomfortable, they will sure as hell make it uncomfortable. So, until I get used to taking off my rain pants in front of other people, I will whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect, I'm afraid...
