Weirdest thing you've been caught doing by other people

In My Humble Opinion
41

Working away from home with a bunch of colleagues, we were staying the night on the second (Americans and other aliens read third) floor of an old, tatty and somewhat labyrinthine hotel; we spent the evening after work drinking and watching comedy shows on video in the downstairs lounge, ending the evening in very high spirits.

When it came time to retire, for some reason, one of my workmates and I decided we would navigate the three staircases and various passageways, landings etc up to our rooms in the style of a crack assault team. So we hugged the walls, glancing furtively about, turning through doorways with hands clasped around imaginary guns, calling ‘clear!’ and ‘cover me’ etc… right up until I leapt through a dorway and landed in (what I drunkenly imagined to be) a perfect shooting stance in the middle of the second floor corridor, grasping my imaginary gun with both hands outstretched in front of me, pointing it … right in the face of the hotel manager, who happened to be standing there. He merely raised his eyebrows and walked away.

42

These experiences are great. Just great. I should be doing work, but I can’t. Must read more!

I think the weirdest thing I was caught doing by someone was one time when I was was a kid, I was trying to get my bike back into our backyard shed. We had a crappy, bashed-up aluminum shed that was full of spider-infested garden tools which I’d rather not have to move, so I was trying to force my bike in there so I could still close and lock the doors. I was having a hell of a time, and in frustration I let loose a growl. I mean like a dog growl. I then looked over my shoulder to see our neighbor standing on his patio, staring at me like I was crazy. All I could say was, “Uh, hi…”

43

Well, let’s see.
I was caught tying myself up…by my mother.

I get my jollies from it. Not from being caught tied up by my mother, but being tied up. Although, there is a certain thrill in knowing that somebody can walk in on you at any time. The worst part was that I heard her coming up the stairs but couldn’t get out.

It wasn’t anything hardcore. I was in my room wearing a suit with a necktie, and there were ropes all around me. The look on her face is something I NEVER would like to see again… EVER. :rolleyes:

44

I hit reply too soon. I meant a little bit of protein, salts, urea, creatinine and various assorted amino or other organic acids.

A project I’m working on at the moment has me heating 500 uL of urine plus 500 uL of HCl at 100 C for 10 minutes. I learned real quick the first time to parafilm those tubes and open them up under a fume hood.

Vlad/Igor

45

my brother has caught me twice. Once when I was 15, the internet did not exist at this time. I think it was a Penthouse. Man, I was so embarrassed. Fast forward twenty years. My brother came over to the house to help me with a computer issue.
He some how goes right for my favorites list? Here he finds things like college girls are the best and other similar sites. Man… busted again. I did the fake cough thing :slight_smile:
To his credit he just snickered. Thanks Bro. :slight_smile:

46

Two things.

First, imagine you are my boyfriend’s roommate. Imagine walking by the open door of his bedroom, seeing him shirtless on the bed, lying on his stomach, with his girlfriend sitting on his back with tweezers. I like to pluck things, he doesn’t like his back hair… what can I say?

Second, when I was going to the gym, I was always looking for new and exciting ways to keep myself entertained, as I am easily bored. In a stroke of genius, I got myself some stand-up comedy. While it sure kept me amused, I think my random outbursts of laughter from no apparent cause must have freaked out the rest of the gym people.

Oh, and a bonus third, I’m the kind of person who gets a liking for certain words. For example, ‘Gondwanaland’. Or, more pertinent to this situation, ‘Bomilcar’, which is a Carthaginian name. So there I am at the bus stop, reading Livy’s account of the Second Punic War, when he writes something about a Bomilcar. Before I can stop myself, I mutter: “Mmm, Bomilcar.” The guy standing next to me gave me the weirdest look, and once I realized I said it out loud, it was all I could do to keep from laughing hysterically.

Mmm, Bomilcar.

47

sigh I get caught often.

Several years ago, I had no idea about bra cup sizes. I’d keep buying bigger and bigger strap sizes, but never the proper cup size. For years, I thought I was a C cup, because that’s what my mother used to buy me as a teenager. I didn’t do any underwear shopping of my own until I was out of school, and Mom would just ask me “What size is that bra you’re wearing?” And I’d tell her 36C, every time. When I started buying my own bras… well, I used to be quite uncomfortable about the whole ordeal, so I didn’t ask anyone, and just went in and grabbed 36Cs, or occasionally 38C. Because of this, for years I wore very uncomfortable, ill-fitting bras. I thought my breasts were just weird, and that was why they hung out over the top of my bra. Og forbid I try to run - they’d pop right out. “What’s the use of these stupid things, anyway?” thought I.
My last job involved much physical labour. Constant lifting and flipping of boxes, leaning over, reaching up, etc. Whenever I’d get a spare moment, I would run and hide behind one of the finished pallets, piled with boxes, reach down my shirt and tuck my boobies back into my little bra. There was a lady who wrapped the pallets so they would be ready for shipping, who caught me back there quite often, and it never failed to amuse her. I was caught by many people on many occasions, and the reaction was usually :dubious:
Finally, one kind lady suggested to me that I had the wrong cup size, told me to buck up and go to Sears and talk to one of the ladies who worked in the underwear section, and they’d get me set up with a proper bra. Turns out I’m a size D to DD, depending on the manufacturer. I can run now!..Carefully. I could knock myself senseless, but my boobs will stay properly tucked in!

Another work incident: I like to dance. I can’t dance. But I like to anyway. I was once put to work on a very, very slow line during our off-season… I was bored silly. I found a nice quiet little corner, however, where I could still keep an eye on my line, but was more or less hidden away from everyone else. There was a little steel platform there. So I stood up on it, and let loose. I danced my goofy-ass dance: arms flailing, knees bobbing, head reeling. I was a go-go dancer! I did the twist! I shook that ass! I was Elvis! I bobbed. I weaved. I did the hitchhiker. I was free!
I turned around for some bootay shaking action. Oops. There were two friends of mine, staring bemusedly from around the corner of the machine behind me. I forgot about people who might walk up from behind me. Everyone knew about my dancing by breaktime, and I haven’t hidden it since.

Then there was the time my ex-boyfriend was driving me home. I had the window rolled down and my hand out, feeling the warm breeze. It was such a beautiful summer day.
…Something hit my hand.

…

It was a bee.

Did I ever tell you that I am deathly afraid of bees? I’m deathly afraid of bees. I’ve never been stung by one, since I steer very clear of them. It’s a phobia. I hate bees.

So, my hand hit a bee. Ew. But no big deal. Wait a minute. Where did the bee go?

…Why, in my lap, of course.

It was stunned. I was stunned. I screamed. The bee screamed. My ex slowed the car down, startled and confused.

To the sure surprise of the vehicle (about 80 feet) behind us, I opened the door and jumped out of the car, and rolled into the ditch. It was a rural street, so we weren’t going very fast, and there were no accidents. Just some scrapes and bruises. The car that was behind us pulled up and slowed down, and a lady yelled out of the passenger window: “Miss! Are you okay?” I lifted my head out of the ditch and gave her a brave little salute. “Aye, mum. Just a bee.” I didn’t see the look on her face as they pulled slowly away.

I hate bees.

48

This made me laugh so much harder than it had any right to. No beverages spewed or anything so dramatic, but, god, my stomach is killing me now.

Hilarious.

49

If it makes you feel better about freaking out, Anastasaeon, more or less the same thing happened to my dad a long time ago. Only difference is that when it hit his hand, it managed to sting it before disappearing behind the car. It swelled up and we had to go to an emergency clinic. That bee was amazing.

50

Another vermin story:

When I was a wee tot, I used to play my fiddle at street fairs. I’d make about a hundred bucks for four hours work, a wage I’ve not matched since the age of eight years old.

Anyway, one time I’m in the middle of this fast, haunting Irish tune, brow furrowed in concentration, sawing away furiously at it, when something stung my bow hand. I was so startled that I hurled my bow away from me like a javelin–just bowed up and kept going, arced up into the air. The crowd of several dozen spectators just stared at me.

I was eight. I was humiliated. I had no idea what to do. So I walked over, picked my bow up, and without saying a word, started playing the song from the top. To this day, I have no idea what they thought was going on.

Daniel

51

Oh, and I got caught having sex by my grandfather, who was 75 and a fellow at the Episcopalian Church :frowning:

Not a fun Sunday, that was…

52

That depends. How old were you? If you were at least in your 20s I’m sure it wasn’t something that he himself did at that age.

E3

53

I was 17. So the answer was not on your life was this something he did when he was my age. He was a highly conservative small-town NE Montana Episcolpalean church fellow. He was not even a bit happy about it. And he let me know in no uncertain terms.

It was not a fun Sunday. :slight_smile:

54

Wow, it must not have been. He made you move to London??? :eek:

55

Not quite that hard… but he did make it very uncomfortable.

56

Oh, good. I feel a littler better now! :smiley:

57

Whoops! :cool: Well at least (I assume) it wasn’t as bad as it could be. i.e. You screaming to your partner “bark like a dog bitch”! or something like that.

Although I must say… my best friend (from jr. high through college ) and I would regularly get rip roaring drunk, trade porno mags, and all sorts of other unmentionable stuff. Today he’s a baptist minister, and you would never guess that he didn’t always have a stick up ass.

e3

58

Was that one of the unmentionable things? :smiley:

59

Years ago, when I was in college (and the story I’m about to reveal will belie that fact) I was on the verge of graduating and was applying for that all-important “first real job”. During my years of college I’d worked as an office girl doing a dead end job only because they paid me every month like clockwork and frankly didn’t care what hours I kept as long as I finished the crap on my desk every day. I was looking forward to getting The Job where I’d be valued, recognized for my intelligence and efforts and be paid well.

Still haven’t found The Job that will do that, but that’s another post entirely.

I purchased a nice dress suit for an interview and arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule - just like all the “Interview Tips for Newbies” pamphlets advised.

Resume in hand, I approached the large downtown building wherein my interview would take place. I opened the large, heavy glass door to reveal a massive lobby teeming with people - and to my horror felt my thigh-high stockings sliding down my legs.

It turns out that in my haste to be on time for the interview I’d put them on inside out. :smack:

The inside of the elastic bands normally have a soft rubber- type substance that prevents them from sliding down your legs. Having put them on inside out, however, I didn’ t have the benefit of that and had to discreetly back away from the door and squeeze my legs together at the thighs to prevent them from slithering down to my ankles. It might have appeared to the casual onlooker that I had an urgent need to tinkle, but I was desperately trying to save myself the embarrassment of elephant ankles.

I took mincing steps over to the nearby courtyard - a very nice courtyard by the way, with benches and a walking trail - employee wellness was apparently very important. I sat down and miserably judged that I had no time to go all the way back to my car in the parking garage to remove and re-apply my stockings in privacy.

I took a deep breath, swung my legs under the tiny picnic table at which I was sitting, and at lightning speed kicked off my shoes, reached under my tight suit skirt and pulled off my stockings. So intent was I in getting them back on quickly that I didn’t notice the two men standing on the other side of the courtyard having a smoke - until it was too late. :eek:

I’m sure they enjoyed finding out what color underwear I was wearing that day, but at least I was on time for my interview.

I got the job.

60

This isn’t so much being caught doing something weird, as simply not checking who was there first, but it’s related, so I’ll uh… relate:

When I was about eighteen or so, my sister and I were sharing a flat. We are very close, and as brothers and sisters do, we developed our own private language. One part of this involved the word “EVIL”, so we’d have a sign on our fridge saying “EVIL FRIDGE”, etc. Another part of it involved speaking like naughty five year-olds, usually talking about “rude bits”, especially the word “BUM”, followed by lots of “teeheehee”. So there would be five year-old-style pauses and blurting out of rude words, followed by fake shock and glee: You… can … see… his… BUMMMM! oooo!"

And that last sentence, in that exact five year-old tone is exactly what I said out of habit…

…looking at a nude…

…in a snooty art gallery…

…next to my sister…

…who actually, when I looked up, turned out to be a complete stranger, and my sister was a few feet away. :smiley:
My sister had heard it though. The other woman went into this weird “don’t make eye contact with the nutter” mode, and my sister and I just calmly left. Then we proceeded to laugh our tits off once we where outside.
I still wonder what that woman thought. No doubt she still remembers it, many years later.