Pathetic Geek Stories

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

If you’re not familiar with Pathetic Geek Stories, it’s a weekly comic strip where the readers send in humiliating tales from their childhood that are now funny by dint of it being 30 years later.

Go to http://www.theonionavclub.com and click on the link in the side table.

Let’s have our own Pathetic Geek Stories in this thread. I’ve done this in some smaller MBs and it’s pretty fun… although I’ve got to lay down some ground rules first.

  1. ) Don’t post just to get sympathy. If you can’t laugh at it, don’t post it.

  2. ) Post about something genuinely dorky, not the time you were at the mall and some boys whistled at your best friend and you thought they were whistling at you boo hoo hoo. That’s happened to just about everyone.

Here’s mine. When I was 8, this new girl came to our class who was from a family of eight. All the class bullies picked on her as well. I really wanted to Be Friends, but was way too shy to talk to her. So I wrote the girl this three-page unsigned love letter and left it in her desk, and never spoke to her after that. I expected her to miraculously recognize my handwriting and Be Friends with me. She probably still doesn’t know who sent it or why.

Wait, wait, I got a better one.
When I was 13, I had just bought a tube of purple lipstick and thought I was tough. One day I planned to go looking for trouble. Problem was, finding trouble in my hometown was near impossible. I actually sat up all night planning to “make trouble” the next day, and all my plans involved wearing purple lipstick and riding my bike places.
I rose bright and early to make trouble. I put on my lipstick, got on my bike, and rode around the block a few times. Nobody was around. I even went by some of the stores I wanted to swagger my purple-lipped ass into, and they wouldn’t be open for another couple of hours. So I went home. My entire troublemaking excursion took me about 25 minutes.

2

One time I saw this pathetic geek so I gave him a wedgie. It was good fun for all.

3

How 'bout this one?

I was 10, and a stringy-haired beanpole. Walking home from the store one day, I passed by a multi-story apartment building. And then I heard: “Damn. Look at that ugly girl. She sure is ugly. Hey! Hey ugly!”

I ignored it, because it didn’t occur to me for a few seconds that they could be talking about me. Ha! Then I look around, notice that no one else was walking by me, and finally look at the two girls hanging out of a window a couple of floors up. They laughed and said, “Yeah you! Anyone tell you how ugly you are?”

And what did poor little Gundy do? Did she hurl back a scathing retort to make the nasty little harpy bitches recoil in humiliation?

Yeah, right.

I put my head down and ran home, crying the whole way.

Sigh. Even now, it hurts a little to think about it. Thus ends my tale of woe.

Is that pathetic enough?

4

I could tell you about the time I was six and wore button fly jeans to school and wasn’t able to get them unbuttoned to go to the bathroom but you’ve got the gist of the story now. God did that day suck. My mom had to come get me with a change of clothes. I distinctly remember sitting outside in the schools spare ugly plaid pants, stinking to high heaven and feeling decidedly bad for myself.

5

I tried to do this exact thing recently.

You may find my attempt here.

I got three replies. So you already tied me.

:frowning:

6

Uh, well, when I saw the title of this thread, I immediately thought Antigone.

Why? Because I thought we were gonna talk about stories geeks read. And I felt very geeky at work today, because I was reading Antigone, and half the people I was talking to couldn’t even pronounce it…

Considering it’s now 30+ minutes later, I think it’s kinda funny…Other than that, I can’t think of anything. Sorry

7

That would, of course, be Pathetic Greek Stories, rayniday.

:slight_smile:

8

Antigone herself is a pathetic geek story.

:wally:

9

Hmm. . . full thread title really ought to be 'Pathetic Geek Stories: Young Mysphyt Makes an Ass of Himself." We’ve found my area of expertise.

Story One

Way back in my elementary school days, I was the sort of kid who didn’t need to pay attention in class to get good grades, so I didn’t. I’d find other ways of amusing myself, many of which got me in trouble and some of which made me look like an absolute moron.

This story is one of those last.

So there I am, in sixth grade, sitting there letting the teacher yammer about whatever he was yammering about that day, and I decided I was going to fiddle with my pen. I’d already gotten my ruler taken away–it had a hole in the middle that was exactly the right size to spin it on top of a pencil–and my pen was about all I had left.

I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the kind with the drawstrings out the front for tightening purposes. I decided that they were actually there for my amusement. So I set to work.

The pen cap was on the back of the pen, so the writing end was unsheathed. I put the clip on the pen on one of my drawstrings and began twisting. Once I had it wound as tightly as I could get it, I pulled on the sides, making it spin around really fast.

And, what with centrifugal force and all, spew ink everywhere. As in ink on my desk, ink on the ceiling, ink on my shirt, ink on my face, and, much to her chagrin, ink on the girl across from me. We both got to go through the day with a big blue stripe down the middle of our faces. She didn’t talk to me much after that.

Story Two

Skip ahead a year to seventh grade. I had friends at church who are in eighth grade and went to the same Jr. High as I did. One in particular made a note of the fact that she’d never seen me at school.

One day I was walking around on campus, and I happened to see her. She was talking to her friends, I was talking to my friends, and yet I was somehow compelled.

“Make yourself look like an idiot, Mysphyt,” my inner voice said. As Shakespeare said, some are born stupid, some achieve stupidity, and some have stupidity thrust upon them. I belong to the first group.

"HELLO? MEL? I’M HERE! YOU SEE ME NOW!!!"

This shouted from a distance of five feet at the top of my remarkably powerful lungs in the middle of a crowded ampitheater.

This, friends, is only the beginning. I could quite easily bring you up to the present and still have stories left over for my memoirs.

10

I was 14 and had just moved to a suburban neighborhood, having spent my whole life theretofore in a rural area: few neighbors, none with kids, and no safe way to walk to houses even if I’d had incentive. So I knew less than nothing about how to interact with others and conduct myself in a Neighborhood.

Long story short, a guy my age lived across the way and we were acquaintances but not really friends. Well, one day, my mom called me downstairs and opened the front door. Guy Across the Way was on his front lawn with another guy, and they were attempting to do some martial arts. Mom said excitedly, “There he is! And with another guy! Go talk to them!”

You don’t know how my mom’s mind works, so don’t even try. I hesitated, thinking, “That doesn’t seem like the right thing to do…” but she insisted, and all but pushed me out the door. I bravely walked across the street, where I was loudly ignored. I stood there, my face burning and my heart feeling kicked, while they went inside. Then I walked around for a while to work off my embarrassment. Then, when I went home, my mom was enraged, wanting to know where I’d been, and completely blew her stack when I said something that led her to believe I’d been hanging around a construction site. (Of course I wasn’t, but I told her I’d been on that street because I didn’t know how the fuck else to explain my having been out of her sight.) And finally, I later heard from another girl that GAtW had been at the bus stop the next day, saying, “Yeah, Rilch came running up to my house yesterday…I totally ignored her…Other Guy thought she was Dolly Parton…[think he would have wanted to make my acquaintance then, eh?]”

Fuck you, mom. Fuck you with Osama bin Laden’s pus-encrusted dick. You didn’t want me to have friends at all. Did you.

11

I lived in a very rural area, where the mailbox was literally at least a mile away and down the mountain. One day I decided to be a big girl and go get the mail (on my stupid pink, purple and white Huffy banana-seated girl’s bike instead of the BMX [or at least just a regular boy’s bike] I’d asked for) and I was coming back up, when here comes my mother and a neighbor in a car with relief, and panic residue, all over their faces. They had thought I was RUNNING AWAY. With training wheels still on my bike for crap sakes! In retrospect, that’s kind of disturbing, I mean, why would they really think I was running away? Wishful thinking? I must have been about 8 or 10, what would I have done to try and make it in the real world–be a consultant for seventeen magazine? “Sassy?” (Anyone else remember that, is it still around? My dad once ripped the Christian Slater issue in half at the dinner table because I wouldn’t put it down.Now that’s a Pathetic Geek Story in and of itself.)

12

I was on the School Reach team (Academics and Trivia) in High School (Grades 10-OAC). In my first year (when we won the championship!), there was a medical category in one of the regular matches.

The Quizmaster asks the question: What is the field of medicine that has to do with age and the diseases of aging?

I ring in all set to say ‘Geriatrics’…and blank.

I spend the next few seconds flailing around mentally for the answer, and my mind comes across a medical field that starts with G. So, I open my mouth and say…

You guessed it.

Gynocology.

I turned approximately the same shade of read as my uniform sweater and tried to disappear under the table.

It’s funny now (actually it was funny a few hours later), but at the time I was mortified.

13

Reckon it was about 7th grade in music class. I had always hated music class in every school I had ever gone to. Just a stupid freakin’ class with really bad taste in music.
So one day, while we are all standing at our seat singing something awful like Bette Midler’s “The Rose”, I decide to amuse myself in a new and interesting way (the old way being to eat whatever papers the teacher handed out).

I pulled both arms out of the sleeves and put them across my chest. I then stuck them out the opposite arm holes and commenced clapping them backwayds.

The teacher, of course, immediately saw me and stopped the song. Nonplussed, I paused and attempted to put my arms back again, but as I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, my elbows got stuck. So I stood there amidst the entire class squirming around in my shirt to get my arms back in the right holed for a good minute or two until success.

I then streightened my shirt, smiled broadly at the teacher, and waited for the song to start again.

Luckily it was the end of class. I still hate that damn song.

14

Ha, ha. Losers. :smiley:

Actually, I have a long string of humiliations. Some high points stick out:

I was part of my high school quiz bowl team. We never actually won any competitions–we measured our success solely by how badly we were pounded by the other team. One year, during the “getting to know you” segment of the show, I told the host, in a pique of boredom, that I “was a very strange boy.” It was almost worth the grinding embarassment to see the school counsellor turn magenta and cover his eyes in shame.

There’s also that time I was railroaded into lipsynching to “I’m Fat” in front of the entire high school. Oh, the pain.