Reminds me of working as a 'chippy' (joiner/carpenter). I regularly pushed tools into the back pockets of my jeans. Once when fixing kitchens I stood up from a crouching position, and the screwdriver in my back pocket connected with the drawer handle of one of the kitchen units, practically taking out the seat of my pants. The pocket was ripped across the top and then down the inside seam, making a large triangular flap, and exposing an awful lot of my bare arse to the frosty November air. I returned home across town on the London Underground holding the seat of my pants in place. Luckily at that time most of the passengers were workmen and those who caught a 'flash' of bare gave a knowing grin. It happens to the best of us.
This was all many years ago when I was a shy young man. Had I gone to the site foreman and showed him my bare predicament I would have discovered that he kept a stock of old jeans/trousers for just such emergencies and he would have loaned me a pair to get me home. In those days most lads on building sites didn't bother with underwear. Consequently, with physical labour there were occasional accidents (splitting open the crotch seam of pants was the most common). Torn pants, however embarassing, was never an excuse for stopping work, you just grinned amd bared it, otherwise you lost a days pay. With the good construction firms, such things were both expected and catered for, and the 'old man' (the foreman or supervisor) was a bit like your 'old man' at home - your dad, and even though he might bark obsenities at you he also took your welfare seriously.
Great story by the way Jim and I like the idea of a pizza. Taken literally, a nice hot pizza pressed against my bare arse would have warmed my spirits a lot and prabably spared some of my blushes too ... but maybe the melted cheese would have been a problem????????? (He-he!)