The Orange Guy Association (TOGA)

Where does the violet tint end and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blending enter into the other. So with sanity and insanity.
- Herman Melville
US novelist & sailor (1819 - 1891)

It all started a few years ago. My buddies Mr. T and Joey had joined me for a leisurely stroll through downtown Toronto. We were passing through the uber-hip Queen Street area, where all the fashionistas, hipsters, druggies, and artists hang out. It was there that we entered a vintage clothing store called ‘The Black Market’. It was always a favourite for picking up some fun t-shirts, but that day, things were different. The three of us were feeling adventurous. We left the establishment with three identical orange jumpsuits. We crossed the street and ventured down an abandoned alleyway. We suited ourselves up in our new orange garb. When we stepped back out into the street, we knew that there had been an undeniable transformation. We had become members of an elite unit of dudes in orange jumpsuits. We were TOGA (The Orange Guy Association)! And we were unstoppable.

As we strutted (strut?) down the street, flaunting our citrus couture, people began to take notice. "Hey! You guys just get out of jail?" a young man shouted. We were mysterious!

"Is there a parade or something?" We were daring!

"Yo! You guys just get out of the Don? My bro is still doing time in there for B & E. You know Lonnie?" We were freaked out.

The TOGA tour continued as we kept moving down the street. The three of us entered Ontario’s biggest mall, The Toronto Eaton Centre, and we proceeded to disturb the public with our crazy antics.

After a little fun with the employees at the travel agency, the TOGA triad opted to punk the workers at the Old Navy store. It was there that we explained to a frightened salesperson that we had just been released from jail earlier that day, and we were looking for affordable but fashionable summer wear. We told him that our probation officer had given us some cash, and we were eager to use it to turn our lives around. The Old Navy employee was both helpful and fearful, and a month later when I returned to the store without my TOGA suit, he offered me a look of recognition. Funny.

The orange jumpsuit is more than just a means to weird out random passerby. It is a lifestyle, a sub-culture, and a bond. Joey, Mr. T, and myself are eternally connected by the orange fibers resting in our closets. Joey recently moved to Israel, and with him, he took his orange jumpsuit. I recently received this message from him over the OrangeNet:

DUDE!!!
sorry i have been so crappy in keeping up with my writing etc, but it is great reading up on your ca-rraaazzy adventures and musings on your blog.
Big newsflash: yesterday my group had a big debate on the pullout and I was deeply involved, representing sanity. In honour of the occasion I pulled out a relic from the good days gone by, the orange jumpsuit! The second I donned the orange robes of honour I was flooded with nostalgia and a feeling of awesome power running through my body. But that could have been diahrrea, the food here isn't great.

Whether you have an orange jumpsuit in your closet, or just in your heart, you need to remember to hold on to the important things in life; that includes brotherly love and freaking out store employees.