Why is underwear white?

It's a simple question, but one without a clear answer. Honestly, all the things that underwear is keeping from seeping onto your nice outer layer of clothing is not white (well, maybe one thing, but you shouldn't have underwear on at that point anyway). It is inevitable to end up with some sort of stain in these undergarments. Is the point of these articles being white to make it more evident? A sort of time-to-change indicator that makes a stain painfully obvious?

Thinking logically, it was most likely the cheapest and simplest color for a clothing manufacturer to produce and since it is not actually seen (or at least shouldn't be seen), the color did not really matter. Thinking morally, white is associated with purity and innocence, hence covering up your naughty bits with a swath of white could help the sinners ease their mind. Thinking practically, however, it doesn't compute. Do I want to be shamelessly aware of the remnants of my excrement? Do I need that clear of indication that it is time to change into something fresher? This may make sense for young ones in training, who are new to the underwear game, but I think even by early childhood, the concept of changing one's drawers is understood.

Perhaps I am too judgmental. It is a societal acceptance and expectation that underwear is white. If I were to say, picture a man in his underwear, you would most likely (I hope) picture a guy in a pair of whitey tighties and maybe a white t-shirt. This being the fact, we all know how hard it is to go against convention. There is a wide variety available of colors and patterns available nowadays, now that dye and colored fabrics are a bit cheaper to produce. Still, the majority of your standard underwear is pure cotton white.

I think what it boils down to (there's a pun in there somewhere) is that I don't need to be reminded of my body's minor failings of natural procedures. Nobody appreciates a skidmark and nothing makes it more evident than a white background. It is certainly embarrassing for myself, let alone if a third party were to observe such an atrocity. Is it too much to ask for maybe a tinted insert that doesn't make the inside of these undergarments look like a sepia toned art palette? That way you can keep your pristine white on the outside and not be subjected to an earth-toned Jackson Pollock waiting for you on the inside.

The peril of sympathy

Yesterday, I decided to check out a new restaurant nearby my office. It is a little fried chicken place located in a small strip mall. The place used to be an independent burrito joint that had awesome fried plantains. I am assuming the location is the main reason for the original restaurant's demise, but this chicken establishment moved in pretty quickly after the former tenants left. Anyways, I drive up and see the usual signs: fried chicken, burgers and pizza; all available and ready for delivery. It looked promising.

First off, I like to mention that when it comes to food, it is my philosophy to try most everything at least once. There are the usual automatic rejections, like eyeballs or 'lamb fries' that may be a tad too exotic for my taste. But for the most part, I'll give new things a try. This relates to the fact that I try to patronize all of my local eateries at least once. Many are not good (One place I went had a spinach and cottage cheese sandwich... I like these separately and unfortunately, that's how they should remain), but occasionally you find a diamond in the rough that becomes a place to frequent. All that being said, I had no qualms about giving this chicken place a try (despite the temptation of Chick-fil-A right around the corner).

I should have guessed something was up as I walked in. The place was empty except for me. The lady behind the counter looked eager to please, so I shrugged off the desolation of the place, attributing it to the not-so-prime location. Looking further behind the counter, I noticed the cooks leisurely standing by, seemingly out of action for quite a bit of time. On a side note, I need to mention that all of the staff were of Asian descent, most likely Korean. This is not a big deal at all, as my area is known for great Korean food and BBQ, but the name of this certain establishment happens to be "New York Fried Chicken". Something about that name for the given employees seemed off (these employees were most likely also the owners). These elements aside, I checked out the menu and ordered some chicken fingers and fries. The lady behind the counter happily took my order and the cook started up the fryer. I grabbed a seat (there were plenty to choose from) and waited for my meal.

When it was ready, everything was nice and golden brown and hot out the fryer. However, my first bite vehemently betrayed the expectation my eyes and nose had made. These chicken fingers were the most rubbery, greased soaked pieces of chicken I had ever eaten. I ordered four pieces and only made it (gruelingly) through two. The fries were ok, but I realized they were distinctly similar to Ore-Ida crinkle cut fries that I get from the grocery store. They were nice and crisp though (but really, if you fuck up french fries, you might as well get out of the restaurant business). The meal had been served to me in a travel container, so luckily I just closed it up and packed it to take with me instead of having to toss it out right in front of everyone. Normally, tossing food wouldn't be an issue, but as the sole patron, I had many eyes upon me observing my reactions. I refilled my Dr. Pepper and prepared to leave, very unsatisfied. The lady behind the counter kept smiling and as I got up, she asked if everything was ok and was it good. This is where the dilemma of this post made its appearance. I just didn't have the heart to tell her the food was horrible. I mean, I had already made the decision in my head that I would not revisit this place ever again, but for some reason, I just couldn't relate my disappointment to this lady. She was so cheerful to me during the visit, (I am assuming just because there was someone actually in the place) that I felt it would be just shameful of me to tear her happiness out from underneath her.

The question is, should she be told? Should the employees and owners be made aware that the product they are selling is pretty much garbage? I know this is one of those situations that would eventually work itself out: bad food = no patrons = no business. But I am also sympathetic to the fact that the restaurant industry is a hard business to be in, especially being independent and not affiliated with a franchise or national chain. I felt like I could have helped these entrepreneurs maybe save a little money or effort by letting them know that what they are offering is not going to attract more customers. This would mean, though, that I had to tell them this to their face.

My decisions could easily be attributed to my preference to stay out of confrontations or awkward moments, but I think it lies more with the fact that the whole situation was borderline pathetic and my sympathy for those that worked there prevented me from piling on more bad news. I know in business, it is kill or be killed if you want any type of success. This place was obviously not headed for any type of success. But it is my place to make them aware of this fact? Does my sympathy hurt them more than it helps? Like I said earlier, this situation will work itself out eventually, but I can help but feel like my compassion was not the appropriate response. Cold honesty would have been the best advice to give them business wise, but the compassion from human interaction won out. Sadly, this same compassion that seemed right in the moment will most likely hurt more in the long run.