Please post your most mortifying experience

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

Stationed in Germany. Army. We take a friend who has NEVER drank before out to a bar that always has GREAT looking girls. Non-drinking friend gets smashed. Me and my other buddy are talking to two BEAUTIFUL twin girls. Non-drinking, smashed friend picks up a glass beer pitcher, stands up, walks over to a table full of Marines and hits this guy in the head with it. Pitcher smashes, and the Marines ear gets half ripped off. All the rest of the Marines jump up and start beating the shit out of this guy we took. We, being the macho (also drunk) Army buddies that we are, jump in to try and help our friend. I go to take a swing at one guy, miss completely, and hit my friend dead in the mouth and lay him out. The Marines all look at me like I’m some kind of psycho and then grab their buddy with the ripped ear and take off. I look around and there’s a shitload of MP’s ( I was in an MP company) all staring at me. I ended up cuffed and taken to the MP Station where I had to TRY and explain just why I cold-cocked my friend. The next morning, I got called into the 1st Sergeant’s office and had to try and explain it to HIM also. Luckily, he believed me…talk about embarassing…the ONE good thing about the whole mess was that the friend I hit was so drunk he never realized it was me that hit him.

btw…the non-drinking friend got five broken teeth and never drank again. I guess that was a plus but it was STILL pretty embarrasing. Never did go back to that bar…

42

Oh yeah, just remembered…I was actually a generator mechanic but since MP’s rarely use them, I was sent to school to learn weapons maintenance. My Commander ( a Captain) thought I was the best thing since sliced bread and unbeknownst to me, had the Battalion Commander AND the Brigade Commander at the next firing range we went to. Me, being the dumbass that I can be, didn’t think about what I was doing. One of our M-60 machine guns jammed. You are SUPPOSED to let it sit for 10 minutes or so before opening it. I walk right over, flip up the feed tray in front of both the Colonels and, of course, the bullet that was jammed exploded. No injuries thank Ghod, but SHEESH, did I ever live that down??? Hell no. My 1st Sergeant laughed his ass off when he heard and put me in charge of the arms room. Lucky for me, my Commander was transferred about a week later. Or so I thought. Along comes Desert Shield. My Company is NOT slated to go there. Brigade decides they just HAVE to have a generator mechanic. I got orders the next day. At least I didn’t get shot…

43

OK, I have one. Actually, I have a few, but I’ll tell you the worst one first.

My parents and I went over to dinner at the house of one of his co-workers. They happened to have a daughter which I knew fairly well - we’d play together when there were work outings at parks or whatever, and somewhere there’s a picture of us sharing a playpen together. Anyway, my parents and hers were somewhere else in the house making chit-chat, so we went upstairs to play. They happened to have a pool table up in the loft. She asked me if I knew how to play and God only knows why, but I spit out “Sure!” before I could think twice. I’m kinda hoping that I’ve since grown some sort of filter between my brain and mouth, but I have my doubts. Anyway, so I kinda walked around the table, cue in hand, for 5 MINUTES (the 5 longest minutes of my life) hoping that the floor would collapse or something before she said, “You know, there’s really only one move you can make.” I said something like, “It’s been a while since I played…” No duh. I think we ended up not playing, but I was red in the face for a long long time after that.

If you like, I can tell you about the time I got caught with my fly (accidentally) down at the middle school dance, or what happened when I was reading Tim Allen’s “Don’t Stand Too Close To A Naked Man” in study hall, and I’m sure there are more. And when I’m done, I’ll go bury myself in the backyard.

44

OK, I have one. Actually, I have a few, but I’ll tell you the worst one first.

My parents and I went over to dinner at the house of one of his co-workers. They happened to have a daughter which I knew fairly well - we’d play together when there were work outings at parks or whatever, and somewhere there’s a picture of us sharing a playpen together. Anyway, my parents and hers were somewhere else in the house making chit-chat, so we went upstairs to play. They happened to have a pool table up in the loft. She asked me if I knew how to play and God only knows why, but I spit out “Sure!” before I could think twice. I’m kinda hoping that I’ve since grown some sort of filter between my brain and mouth, but I have my doubts. Anyway, so I kinda walked around the table, cue in hand, for 5 MINUTES (the 5 longest minutes of my life) hoping that the floor would collapse or something before she said, “You know, there’s really only one move you can make.” I said something like, “It’s been a while since I played…” No duh. I think we ended up not playing, but I was red in the face for a long long time after that.

If you like, I can tell you about the time I got caught with my fly (accidentally) down at the middle school dance, or what happened when I was reading Tim Allen’s “Don’t Stand Too Close To A Naked Man” in study hall, and I’m sure there are more. And when I’m done, I’ll go bury myself in the backyard.

45

I think my most embarrassing drunken story is the time I walked into the room of a guy in my dorm and announced, “It’s been six months since I had sex with anything that didn’t run on batteries. Are you interested?” Worse yet, the answer was no…

For nondrunken incidents, it would have to be when I first met the parents of one of my high school boyfriends. I went to church with the family, and they took me out to a nice Sunday brunch. I was feeling a touch queasy, but was trying to ignore it. My boyfriend’s father offered me a taste of his crab cakes. I took it, and then my eyes bugged out, and I stood up and ran full tilt for the bathroom. I made it halfway up the stairs before I threw up the first time, and to the sink for the second time.

His mother followed me and was very nice about it. I think the worst moment was coming back out of the bathroom and seeing some poor waitress cleaning up after me.

46

OK. I’d actually forgotten about this until I read Osip’s date thread.

I was in a long, military technical school. For several weeks, I had a mild case of the flu – but I persevered and stayed in school. Unfortunately, I had severe gas attacks. They weren’t the worst I ever had, but they were pretty bad. I thought I concealed them pretty well, no real rip-snorters, etc. Well, apparently someone complained, but didn’t identify the ‘culprit’. So at the end of one day, the officials at the school come in for some sort of lecture. I thought it was going to be about some academic issue. No, it was about farting – how it was polite to leave the room, go to the restroom, etc. Half the class was looking at me. I don’t know how I survived the embarrassment.

47

(Blushing deeply) Oh, all right …

I was 19 years old and on what is euphemistically called a “study abroad program” (if anybody here ever needs to know any alcohol- or drug-related vocabulary in Spanish, I can probably help you). There were a few classes involved, but they were a joke: deliberately watered down for us Americans, poorly taught, barely graded at all. About two weeks before the end of the semester, our Latin American lit prof (who was a total ass, liked to make fun of our accents and refused to tell us what the requirements for the class were) finally pissed me off to the point where I walked out of his class, never to return. I still had the notes from the first ten weeks of class, so I decided to join my fellow sufferers and drinking buddies, John, Tom, and Anthony, for a final study session on the night before the exam.

Decided to pick up a bottle of Eligido (which is Spanish for Night Train) and swill it while my friends were frantically trying to cram, because I could. By the time I’d consumed three-fourths of the bottle, it tasted pretty good. I went down to the corner store for another bottle; Anthony, who couldn’t stand watching me any more, got a six-pack of Heinekens; John and Tom (on whom I had a huge crush, just as a side note) stayed stone-cold sober.

After finishing about half of this second bottle, I decided to take a quick trip 'round the side of the building, the only place which afforded any sort of privacy. When I came back, the guys were waiting …

“Did you just pee? Out here on the street?”

“No, worse …”

They look at each other, wondering what could be worse. “What? Did you puke?”

“No.” Pause. I can see they’re not going to give me any peace until I tell them. “Guys, I just changed a fucking Tampax on a public street.”

“EEEEWWWW!”

The only good thing about going back to America was that I didn’t have to deal with the teasing any more.

48

I am only posting this because of my deep admiration for Zette and my sincere desire to make her feel better. If anyone ever brings it up again I will deny everything. In fact, I’m thinking of changing my username right after this post.

Okay, here goes. Once I actually shit in my pants. Literally. I was walking home from school and was suddenly overcome with massive diarhea. You know the kind that there is no way to hold back. Have you ever tried walking much less running while trying to hold back gallons of liquid shit? Ain’t easy. I tried my best, really I did, but less than one block from our apartment it exploded out. Boom. Now if this had been any other kind of shit, it wouldn’t have been a such big deal, but this was more water than solid and ran down both of my legs. Thank god I was wearing pants! So it only looked like I pissed myself. We won’t get into what it smelled like. I walked by a few people, don’t know if they noticed. Then again how could they not? At least nobody said anything. And have you ever had to take off runny shit encrusted jeans? I had to take a quick but thorough shower, clean the bathroom naked, and then take another shower praying that nobody got home before I could take the clothes down to the laundry.

I will never, ever get over this trauma. Ever.

49

Gosh–my story isn’t that bad at all really. I just passed out at one of those scare tactic anti-drunk driving films all high schools show at prom time. I also passed out a month later while donating blood. Luckily, I was very unpopular in high school and no one knew who I was.

50

I was a Boy Scout once.

On camping trips in the morning, it would be the responsibility of one guy to gather firewood, another to make breakfast, yet another to do the dishes, and so on. On my first camping trip, I was assigned the rather lowly job of taking the pots and pans to the stream and soaping them. The soap on the outside of the pots and pans made it possible to immerse them in water afterwards and have most of the fireblack carbon soot come off easily because it was attached to SOAP, not steel or aluminum.

Did I comprehend this? Did I ask when told to do something I didn’t understand? Naaaw…“OK, they want me to soap the pans, I can handle that”, and I did…outside and inside…and brought them back…

Of course no one could eat the soapy eggs and bacon and stuff, and of course everyone knew exactly which complete idiot had done this, and of course unless I intended on trying my hand at hiking out of the wilderness along without map compass or clue, I couldn’t leave either…

51

On New Year’s Eve a few years back, three of my friends and I were in a car accident. None of us was hurt badly, however two (myself included) did acquire newly blackened eyes.

Now, at that time, I was seriously in love with this guy at work. I would show up early so that I could see him before he left his shift and other stupid, childish things. He took a two-week vacation after that New Year’s Eve and I tried everything I could think of to get rid of that black eye. Nothing worked. It hung on and turned an awful jaundiced yellow shade before it FINALLY returned to its normal shade.

His first day back to work since the car accident and, coincidentally the same day I was supposed to work a shift with him, co-incided with my annual gynecological exam. (Can you see where this is leading?) So, I, doped up on cold medicine (another after-effect of the car accident. Note to self: standing in hip deep water on New Year’s Eve tends to give one a hell of cold.), visit the GYN before going to work. After the pap smear, the doctor leaves the room and tells me I can get dressed and meet him in his office.

I sit up on the examining table and feel really woozy. I mean, we’re talking bed spin woozy. Suddenly, the world goes black and I do a nose dive off the exam table onto the industrial-type carpet in the room. Hearing the loud crash, four nurses, doctor’s assistants and the doctor himself run in the room to find me butt-ass naked with my hind quarters sticking straight up in the air and my nose still firmly pressed to the floor. They helped me up and assisted me in dressing. Blushing madly, I quickly ask the doctor if my plumbing is o.k. and may I please leave now? Choking back the guffaws, he says I’m fine and yes, I can go.

(Oh, but wait, it gets better.)

I madly dash out to my car just to get away from the confused and hysterical questions and laughter. I drive to work and begin my eight hours with Mr. Wonderful whose first words to me are: “What the hell happened to you?!”

Again, mad dash to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and find that I have BLACKED MY OTHER EYE!!!

I still want to die when I think of that. What a yutz.

52

Okay, here’s a couple:

When I was about 13 years old, I had the opportunity to go skinny dipping with my best friend (a girl) and a couple of very cute guys. We went, and me and one of the guys decided we liked each other, and started a fairly heavy makeout session. We were at a lake, about a block & a half from my friend’s house. After a while, the guy and I noticed that it was pretty quiet. We stopped kissing, and saw that we were alone. So, we decided to head back. We got out of the water, went to where we’d left our clothes…and they were gone. GONE. We had to walk back naked. Now, this was a dirt road, but damn near every house had either a) a streetlight in front or b)a porchlight that was on. When we got back to my friend’s house, she swore up & down that she’d told us they were leaving, and she said she’d even told us they were taking our clothes. She said we were so involved with kissing that we must not have heard her. to this day, 20 years later, I still do not believe her.
Then there was the time I got drunk and decided I could sing. Not just sing, but sing karaoke. In front of actual people. This was just a few years ago. I bowl on a league, and some of us were hanging out in the bar after bowling. I’d had too much beer, and decided I wanted to sing. I wanted to sing “Me & Bobby McGee.” My husband was there, and he’s a musician, with a really kick-ass voice. But he hates karaoke. SO, since he does a pretty good Janis Joplin impression, I decided I wanted him to go up there & sing in my ear, so give me an idea of how it should sound. He thought I was effing nuts. I thought I was perfectly reasonable. I must have been a really cute drunk or something, because I eventually convinced him to do it. SO, I get up there, take the mike, and start to sing. I get to the line about “waitin’ fer a train” (yeah, the second line of the song) when I suddenly become sober, and it hits me–I can’t sing. I never could. I can’t carry a tune if it had a handle on it. I started laughing. I did finish the song, and I actually got applause. I think it was because the crowd (yes, the bar was actually crowded) realized that I was not taking myself seriously at all. I still haven’t lived it down with my friends on the bowling league, though. And I realized something about my husband, too…he does a really good Janis Joplin impression!

53

Hi,

This didn’t happen to me, but I’m sure you will find it almost as funny as it is disgusting.

http://www.modularmustang.com/ubb/Forum1/HTML/000149.html

54

I just wanted to thank everyone for their submissions. I feel so much better! I even told my husband, and we got a great laugh out of it. :):slight_smile:

Zette

55

Well, only a select few know of this, but since everyone is sharing…

When I was little (and this is the only reason why I’m not mortally embarassed right now), like 5 or something, I was sitting on the pot taking a crap. Nothing unusual or exciting. My mom calls out: “Honey, I’m going to the front yard to pick up the paper, be right back.” So she goes, and proceeds to lock herself out. So she’s ringing the door bell, and I decide that I’m going to bail her out right away. I get up, panties around my ankles, and waddle over to the door. I open it, I accidentally start shitting, and somehow I stand there smiling at my mom, who immediately gasps and drags me back to the bathroom. Gawllie, I’m glad I’ve learned better control than that. Though I almost lost it once in a cab on the way home at midnight…

I also created and left a tremendously clogged public toilet to a long line of women… Thankfully I never have to see any of them again!

56

At the time I was a Junior in HS. (1981 ugh!) My brother (a Senior) and one of my friends decide that after the HS dance we will go to a prono movie theatre that was near our HS. So going actually inside the theatre is bad enough. Old scary men that I was taught to avoid when they offered me candy are now sitting all around me. The movie ends and it is now about one o’clock in the morning. We go out to the car and my brother can not find the car keys. They are not locked in the car. They are not in his pants. They are not on the ground outside the theatre. We go back in and do a very close search of the floor of a prono movie theatre to find these keys. The keys have vanished to a parallel universe because if those keys existed I would have found. I found many other “things” but no keys. Our friend walks back the few blocks to school and drives his car home. We live about 40 miles away and it is too late to have him drive us home. (it is about 2:30 now) So we have to call home and wake up the parents to tell them we lost the car keys and could they bring us the spare set. “You are at the school?” “Ummmm…not exactly.” Dad drives up and just hands us the keys through the window and leaves. My parents never ‘punished’ us for this but my older siblings will still say “don’t lose your keys” if I am going to the movies.

57

[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by FarrisGoldstein *
**

I screamed like a girl, ran out, and never went down that aisle of my grocery store again.

-Farris J Goldstein
Now alot of these stories are funny, but yours…that’s priceless. wiping tears of laughter

58

I’ve told the story before… let’s just make it short and sweet this time

http://fathom.org/opalcat/embarrass.html

Read “The Maxipad Incident”

59

…in Florida. I’m visiting my father, and my older brother has been there for a few weeks by the time I get there. He has made something of a reputation among his new friends of getting naked in public.
We go to a party (me, my brother and 3 or 4 friends), at which can be found a pool table, a jukebox, a pool, and a hottub. And a full bar. The hostess is mixing anything you want, and is pushing mint schnapps milkshakes (retch! but at the time I loved it) on everyone who comes in the door.

Fast forward to me waking up, back at the house of the friends with whom we went to the party. My shirt is on inside out and there’s dry, crusty vomit on it.

The story as told to me was this:
In no time at all, my brother, another guy, and I had stripped down and were diving in the pool, swimming, running around the pool area, and, in my case, roaming fully naked around the party, looking for one of the friends we came with and repeatedly entering the same song on the jukebox… forgetting to stick around and listen to it… then getting irritated that I hadn’t heard my song… then entering it again…

Eventually I made it to the hottub, where I passed out and puked: “Hey, look! A naked 20-year-old girl in the hot tub… Eew.”
Thankfully, my brother saved me from death by misadventure, and he and some others got me out of the hottub, to the bathroom, where I got rid of more mint schnapps and ice cream, and they eventually got me dressed and out of there.

So, all in all, I guess I added to the reputation of visiting Canadians which my brother had initiated.

Still, I shudder at such vulnerability. Not all such stories end with an embarassed chuckle.

Oh, and it was a hottub christening party. Well, my pleasure.

And the song was “The Shoop Shoop Song” (aka “It’s in His Kiss”).

60

…And just imagine what puke will do in a frothing, burbling hottub.