I was trying to make breakfast one morning before a busy day at work. Had washed all the dishes last night except for a single pot that was soaking. I had one English muffin left.
I don’t really remember what happened but I clearly remember looking down sadly at my English Muffin, floating on the top of the water in the pot.
Had no breakfast that day.
Wow, you totally mordified that coffee.
That’s what you get for using artificial sweetener; it kills brain cells. 
The most recent stupid thing I had done was at the train station too. I headed down into the subway station & was speed walking towards the turnstile cause I was in a bit of a rush & tried to walk straight through the turnstile as if I was leaving the station instead of entering. I was pretty embarrassed considering a bunch of people saw me get stuck & heard the clanking of the turnstile that wouldn’t turn cause I hadn’t paid yet.
My first job after graduating: I stick my finger into the hole in the middle of a metal spool of wire. The side of the spool is stamped metal, and the hole is punched through the sheet metal, and tapers inward a little. Result: my finger goes in, and can’t come out.
The supervisor has to cut the spool off my finger with snips. Sooo embarassing.
Then there was the time I backed my friends’ truck into a tree…
While out jogging once in high school I was so busy looking down at my feet, checking my stride or something, that I didn’t notice that some dimwit had parked their car across the sidewalk until I ran into the fender and ended up laying flat on the hood.
I’m sure I’ve done the wrong way turnstile at least once. Ditto the classic straight into the glass door without opening it.
For that matter, I know of at least two occasions where I’ve inadvertently turned into a one-way street the wrong way. Fortunately, I avoided head on collisions. Whose bright idea were one way streets anyway?
We have two cars, a small grey hatchback and a large white sedan.
A few nights ago on the way home from work I pulled into the car park of the local shops to get some milk. I was driving the small grey hatchback.
When I came out a few minutes later I was greatly puzzled as to why I couldn’t get into the large white sedan. 
(parked a few spaces down from our car).
Damn brain.
I’m glad the owner didn’t come out to see me trying to get their car door open. I’m not sure my explanation as to why I was trying to gain entry to a car that is a different manufacturer, model and year to the one we own would have been believed.
I was a senior in high school and had JUST gotten my class ring, which I was wearing. I was not accustomed to wearing jewelery. I went into a library and the band of my ring caught on the door handle, bending it into a non-natural shape. I still have it in a jewelery box, but I haven’t worn it since.
My brother went out partying the night he got his, and promptly lost it in the lake.
A few, uh, rather “unfortunate” girls in my youthful days.
My first two marriages.
My two stories involve fire, both when I was a teenager: in one, I stupidly (VERY stupidly) set fire to our lawnmower after I’d spilled when trying to put more gasoline in its tank (I think I was thinking about how oil spills used to be treated - by burning them off the surface of whatever body of water they were on). To make matters worse I then placed said lawnmower underneath a patch of trees in our yard. Frankly, it’s a miracle that I didn’t start a freakin’ forest fire right then and there.
For the other I placed a paper bag in our bathroom sink when the sink was more or less full of water and then lit the bag on fire. I think I was trying to see if the bag would still burn while floating on top of the water. Fortunately the only real damage was to the knob on the faucet which pretty much melted and what didn’t completely melt was left with a distinct smoky look to it.
Brilliant moves, both. As you can probably guess, my father wasn’t too happy with me in either case.
Last May I got the tiller out of the garage. It’s a front-tine tiller, and I had neglected to clean the tines the last time I used it. Lots of dead grass was caked to the tines.
I tried using a knife to remove the dead grass. Didn’t work. I then tried using a hacksaw blade. Didn’t work very well, either.
“I know. I’ll use a torch and burn off the grass!”
So I grabbed my propane torch and proceeded to burn off the grass. It worked great! Big clumps of grass were coming off the tines after a little prying with a screwdriver. Woo hoo! 
And then I noticed something. Drip! Drip! Black liquid was leaking from the gearbox that attaches to the tines. Yep… I destroyed the shaft seals. The liquid was the grease inside the gearbox. :smack: :smack: :smack:
So I had to removed the tines and gearbox, disassemble the gearbox, replace the bearings and seals, install new grease, and button it back up. Was not a fun day. 
Was deer hunting on our property last December with a buddy of mine. He brought over a couple cans of Buck Bomb, and gave one to me. It’s a can of pressurized doe pee, and it has a locking valve. According to the instructions, you simply set the can on the ground, push down hard on the valve handle, and the valve will lock open. It will then create a cloud of doe piss that will attract bucks, and it takes about 20 seconds for the can to empty.
So it’s 5:30 AM, very dark, very cold. I’m trying to find my way to the tree stand. (It’s pitch black.) After finding the stand, I leaned over, put the can of Buck Bomb on the ground, and pushed down hard on the valve handle. Piiiisssssssttt. A highly-pressurized stream of doe piss shoots straight into my eyes. I stepped away. My eyes were shut but stinging, and it smelled horrible. Doe piss was dripping off my face and hair. Was… not a good way to start the morning hunt.
You see, I *thought *the nozzle was perpendicular to the can, like spray paint. As I was looking down on the can, I thought it was going to shoot out horizontally and away from me. No, the nozzle is vertical; it shoots that stuff straight up. :smack:
I texted my buddy soon after it happened. He has never let it down. 
About age 15, eager new driver, I backed up Dads’ car to get ready for a trip – right into the side of my uncles’ car. They were partners in a business, and those were their work cars, so both were on the same insurance policy. Uncle took it well, for me – he mostly picked on Dad – said “well, what could you expect? Look who was teaching him to drive!” (They fought like brothers all the time.)
My cousin (that uncle’s son) was about 6 months younger than me. So a few months later, a the business, he drove my uncles car too close to dads car, and scraped the sides together. On the other side from the fender that I had backed into earlier. Another call to their insurance agent.
(If the policy hadn’t covered a half-dozen over the road trucks, plus local delivery vans, he might have been upset. But he did work on selling them both policy riders to cover their teenage sons. And suggested they might get us some older, cheaper used cars than their work vehicles.)
I was out with friends, we were around 5 or 6, and an adult (can’t remember which) and we had to cross a road. We all waited patiently to cross, then ran as fast as we could when the adult said it was okay. The other side of the road was a grass embankment with fence posts spaced equally apart but no fencing. What they had between them instead of fencing was a thin, metal wire about neck-high to a small child.
I clotheslined myself running at full pelt. Fortunately ‘full pelt’ wasn’t that fast so I was able to recover and get back up after a minute or two.
I didn’t know that it was a “modification station” either.
Locally, the place you go to turn in your plastics, cans, and glass bottles always has a big “REDEMPTION” sign on the door, with hours that it’s open.
It’s sad that you can only get redemption at certain hours of the day.
I present you this thread, where I talk about my experience of an incredibly annoying fly in my bedroom.
For those who don’t want to revisit that thread:
Legit question: how do they harvest doe pee?
My daughter had a trick to remove stains from her white t-shirts – she would dip a Q-tip in bleach and dab the spot. So when I got a stain on my otherwise clean white work shirt, I poured some bleach in a glass, did the Q-tip trick (it worked!) and rushed off to work.
When I returned that evening, a hot summer day in Texas, I came into the kitchen and noticed I’d left a glass of water on the counter so I decided to drink it. Yes, I drank bleach.
Only a little made it to my mouth, as I immediately smelled the bleach. My brain went into Total Panic Mode. I DRANK BLEACH! MY MOUTH AND THROAT WOULD BE MELTED!! I ran water and shoved my mouth under the tap. Then I grabbed milk from the fridge and sloshed it all over my face in a desperate attempt to wash away the bleach. I swished it and gargled with it.
Luckily I had no ill effects or damage at all, but I felt like a Class A Idiot.