When I pulled in to Panera last Saturday morning for our breakfast usual — two power sandwiches and a large iced tea for me, in case you were wondering but you probably weren’t — the drive-thru line was wrapped around the building. Ain’t nobody got time for that. I parked the car and ran inside to order.
One of two girls working the front register asked if I was headed to the big swim meet at the community pool across the street. “No, I’m going to work,” I replied.
“You’re allowed to wear that to work?!“
My first reaction was to panic. Did I leave the house without pants?! Was the dress I pulled from the closet this morning in my sleepy stupor actually a sheer bathing suit cover-up? Crazier things have happened when dressing myself; like the time I rushed home on my lunch break many years ago, switched my stilettos for Chad’s flip-flops to take a baby Doak outside, and headed back to my super-corporate-dress-code office still wearing giant dirty men’s Reefs.
After silently affirming my decency with a quick mental head-to-toe check, I explained that I owned a flower shop and kept my style pretty casual, especially on weekends. She was still incredulous about a dress code that would permit clothing fit for a day at the beach, so her co-worker chimed in with, “She said it’s hers, so she can wear whatever she wants!!”
Yes, the power to write your own dress code is one of the perks of being self-employed. One of just a few. That business of being able to make your own hours and take as many vacations as you want is baloney.