What is the most embarrassing thing you witnessed

In My Humble Opinion
81

I used to have a strange job taking care of the Chairman’s cars at the world headquarters of a major oil corporation. The chairman was a total car nut, and everyone knew it. A lot of my business came from other high-level executives who (rightly) suspected that the Chairman had no respect for people who didn’t take care of their cars.

One day one of my customers, a Vice President, came in with his wife’s Mercedes-Benz 300 SDL. It was running terribly, making a lot of noise. When I opened the hood, the smell of gasoline was everywhere. His wife’s car was a diesel. (Putting gasoline in a diesel is a great way to trash the motor.) At this point, the Chairman strolled into the garage for one of his subterranean cigar-breaks.

I tried to get the VP to get the hell out of there right then, but it was too late. The Chairman walked up, took over the line of questioning, asked him if he had topped off the tank that morning, asked him what octane he used (“premium, of course”), shot me a knowing look and started to wander off.

“Maybe it’s the carbureator,” offered the exec, knocking the last nail into his coffin with a sledge hammer. The Chairman said nothing, just shaking his head as he walked away. When I explained what happened once the Boss was out of earshot, I thought the poor guy was going to shit his pants.

That poor VP was sooooo fucked, but I wound up leaving before I found out what happened to him. I’m sure his parachute was 24-karat.

82

[hyperbole detector]
Was this kid’s name Spud Webb? Sheesh, Michael Jordan’s vertical leap is documented at 48"! :smiley:
[/hyperbole detector]

83

I was in High School and it was election time. A girl handed a friend of mine and me each a sticker that says “Vote for Tracy Murphy” or some such and asked us to wear it. I thought that she had walked away. My friend asked, “who the hell is Tracy Murphy.” I answered, “I don’t know but I heard that she’s a total bitch.” Yep, Tracy was right behind me. She looked really sad and said, “it’s me” and walked off. I felt like crap. I never voted in High School elections but I did make a point to vote for Tracy. She lost. The worst part is that I ended up getting to know her and she was one of the sweetest people I have ever met.

Haj

84

I’m curious, malaka; from my extremely limited knowledge of Greek, isn’t “malaka” a swear word? If so, you wanted your username to be a swear word? Just curious about this.[/hijack]

85

The quick and the easy- In 8th grade, durning a pep rally, we got all rowdy and amped up for our team. “Go Colts, yeah!” Half joking, but still amped nonetheless. The cheerleaders or whom ever wrote little slogans on their cheeks, or cutsey little stuff with some sort of make-up. Anyway, I got one of these and convinced my pal I’d write “go colts” on his forehead. LOL, I went ahead and wrote it. . . as the pep rally ended, walking down the halls he couldn’t figure out why people were laughing at him almost everytime they saw his face. That poor little guy, lol, I wrote “I’m a dork” on his forehead. teeheehee
(don’t worry, my shame was returned to me ten fold)

86

This more like therapy for me than anything, but now’s the time to let out some disturbing events.

I was the sophomore class president in high school, and one of my duties was to brainstorm with the rest of the officers on a float theme for homecoming. We were to circle the track at the big football game along with the other classes. We were givin only the theme of “something from the 1930’s” to decide on our topic. Well we decided on “gone With the Wind.”

Weeks later we startet to build the float, but on the very first day of construction, we realized what we wanted to do was nearly impossible. So, with a little more “brainstorming,” and some “guidance” from our teacher advisor, he sent us in the direction of the “Rise of the Nazi party.” And we switched directions for the float. Well, I hope you see where this is going already, cause it’s not good. We built the float, nothing too dramatic, just militerized it a tad, and our clencher was our attire. I, without a second thought was to be Hitler himself. I was going to ride that float without hesitation, around that tract a couple times.

Forward a couple weeks. It was the big night, electricity in the air, huge crowd, big football game. Our outfits were on, I had a mustache, a nazi armand, and a desert fashion hitler getup. All beige.

Half time approached and we were in position. I had a few “officers” and what I refered to as my minister of propaganda by my side. Granted we laughed a little at the situation, but had no idea what was to come. We were off. We went past our home crowd and everything seemed fine. There was a few bad apples giving me, atop my steal float of death and dishonor, the nazi salute back. No sooner than one lap around the inevitable happened. Something that never crossd our minds. No, not the fact that some may be offended by this display, but we were bum rushed by the local VFW, who were on attendance for the national antheme and presentation of the colors.

These men pounced on me in particular, and our whole float with anger! They literally wanted to rip me down and have at me. A crowd drew as they had to be restrained to some degree and talked to to calm down. it all ended with no violence, thank goodness. But the damage was done, i felt 2 inches tall. It was a specticle. I truely thought it’d be in our local paper.

Weeks later the VFW came to our school. I had a sit down with their representatives, our class officers and the guidence counselor and whomever else. They felt that they over reacted and apologized for their behavior.

Exactly one week later they came into the school again. this time for an slide show on WWII, and to apologize to me personally and to my class.

LOL I had to vent that, I appreciate it.

87

The absolute most embarrassing thing i have ever witnessed was seeing my schools principal walk out of a Sports Bar with a prostitute, the worst part was i was so young and naive that i went up to talk to him.

88

Aw, jeez.

Why in the hell does there have to be a gay subtext to everything involving two or more men hanging out?! Yeah, so they’re playing on the swings and a seesaw and riding a bike. Why are they doing that? 'Cos it’s the total freaking opposite of what they did in the old Bud Fleischer cartoons, namely devise Rube Golberg-like methods of beating the crap out of each other, or just simply beating the crap out of each other.

Now they had their Minute Maid[sup]TM[/sup], and they’re playing nice.

And the whole Olive Oyl thing isn’t a masked rejection of heterosexuality. Again. I cite the old Fleischer cartoons. What was the prime cause of tension between Popeye and Bluto? Competing for the affections of said Oyl.

Now they had their Minute Maid[sup]TM[/sup], they’re playing nice, and fighting over a goil just ain’t that important.

sigh Don’t let this be taken as any sort of opposition to gay rights or the free expression of love between any two (or more) people regardless of gender. It’s just the deconstruction thing is getting old.

89

Good God, I thought I was in the thread for the Popeye/Bluto Minute Maid commercial.

Please, just ignore me and continue about your normal business.

OTOH, this does make for a good ‘witness to embarrassment’ story…

[sub]slinks off to take an extended vacation from the Board[/sub]

90

I was working at district Solo and Ensemble, I hung out in the performing room and kept the judge on schedule. The judge was good, very talented, kind, knowledgeable, and absolutely beautiful. Jawdropping beautiful. Tall, nice curves, long silky deep brown hair. Very elegant.

The day went well, good kids performed, less prepared kids performed…This boy showed up, he was probably about 15-16 and had a nice second tenor voice. But was terrified, tence, not getting into his pieces at all. So the judge tried to get him to loosen up, relax and understand the flow of his work.

It was a very pretty love ballad. And she got on her knees and held his hands to try to give him the picture of singing to/about someone. He got the picture, and a great big erection. He turned maroon and got even more tence, making his singing even less inspired and the poor sweetheart of a judge tried harder to get him to relax.

it was bad.

91

Oh good lord in heaven, i never thought i’d have a reason to remember this. But here goes.

Last summer I took a job at a very well known “Charitable” Organization, processing donated items, in the back portion of the store. It was a big warehouse type setting, and the restrooms were also in this back area. Due to it’s size, one could not always see or hear customers going to and from the restrooms… So i trodded back there in the dimness, catching a rather horrifying odor on the way, only to discover an old lady using the “Employees Only” restroom, with the door open, in the complete dark… she had her pants at her knees and she was spinning half around, back and forth, squatting and acting kind of like a baby horse who was just learning to walk. So of course i said “ooops, excuse me” and trodded off. From about 15 feet away it didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. However, upon my return to the bathroom, several minutes later - and switching on the light… the nightmare unfolded.

There was - and this is no exaggeration, Gobs and Gobs of pasty, fecal matter, smeared on every available surface in that tiny 6x4’ bathroom. There were chunks laying all about the floor and on the rug, as if someone had dropped poop balloons. It was even smeared… on the sink basin, the walls at a height of about 4.5 feet, in the silk flower arrangement, on top of the toilet tank…in the air freshener, a huge box of Tampons, the mirror,
and amazingly, all over the toilet brush, which had been stuffed back into it’s holder. If you could look at it, there was crap gobbed all over it. I didn’t know a human being was even capable of crapping this much, much less that anyone had the dexterity to drop piles of it at such angles and locations.

What i realized a few moments later, when i walked out, to go tell the “guy” i worked with that he needed to come hose down the bathroom (hehehe)… was that the old lady had been scared off by my first visit back there, and was now sneaking back in the restroom… with her Depends undergarment fully hanging open and off the back of her pants. After she left the second time - the other employee, myself and the 2 managers walked back there to find that the recent painting, had been completely smeared, and now covered any clean surface that had remained before. I don’t think any of us used that restroom for 2 weeks.

It was a giant fecal explosion.

Poor old lady. I know she was embarrassed - and god knows, we were embarrassed for her. Especially the poor (yet extremeley sexy) guy who had to clean up.

92

Yup…but, as this thread says, it’s used so often, it’s lost it’s potency.

93

I think the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me occurred in the middle of the Eaton Centre - the most popular shopping mall in downtown Toronto, Ontario…

There are many entrances to the mall, but the centre entrance from outside has 5 or 6 doors opening onto a very nice marble floor and about 5 marble steps down into the main atrium. The atrium is about 3 stories high, and always filled with people hanging out on every level crowd-watching…

Being the middle of winter, there was a great deal of snow outside, and being stubborn, I had no boots, just running shoes…

I don’t remember where I was coming back from, but I was carrying an attache case and a computer bag…

And as I came through the doors and started down the steps, I slipped, and flew down the steps and ended up flat on my back - with my arms and legs splayed in a giant X …

Of course, as I flew through the air, I sent my bags flying too, and they went off in two different directions in the mall… Skidding across the floor alot farther than they would have gone if I was trying to throw them…

As I was lying there on the ground, I realized that the mall, which is usually really noisy, was dead silent… and all the shoppers hanging out on all three levels were staring down at me… I’m sure to see if I was dead!

I thought of just lying there til the mall closed, but decided I probably should get up… I got up, physically unhurt - amazingly - and waved to the crowd… Not sure what I looked like, but I must have been REALLY red in the face… I found and picked up my bags, and rushed back out the door…

Funny, it wasn’t long after that that I moved to SF… :slight_smile:

SFCanadian

94

Bastard! It was YOU! (This was actually said to me once.) :mad:

95

Huh, I wonder…
Years ago, say…the spring of '95, I’m in Panama City with my fraternity brothers, some of their girlfriends and some more of the girls friends. All told, maybe 14 guys and 12 girls.

I’m buff and in the prime of my life, 22 and fresh from the Marine Corps. I’m also wicked drunk, having been drinking since waking up and it’s going on, say, four-ish, but still a suave, smooth-operator (in my mind.)

The scene: I’m lounging in one of those pool-side, uh…lounge-chairs, a stunning friend of a fraternity brothers girlfriend is laying down next to me and we’ve been chatting for a few hours, laughing and hitting it off pretty well. She, too, is fit and in the prime of her young life: at 21, her abs are smooth and tight, her breasts are perky and firm, her thighs curve just the right way and her French-cut bikini looks positively edible.

Appreciating her curves once again, I notice an errant strand, glinting golden in the sun. Her suit, being neon yellow or something, I thought I’d just point it out. Leaning over to do this, emboldened by our seeming rapport, I reach down, mere inches from her most sensitive of areas, and pinch the strand.

“You’ve got something here” <YANK!>

It wasn’t a string. :eek:

Flash forward maybe three years. I’m in the wedding of a fraternity brother. His bride was in Panama those few years ago and it was at her condo the whole thing had happened, but I’d not though of the event since about 10 minutes after it happened (remember, I was drinking.) I catch the garter. As I’m putting it on the woman that caught the bouquet, I hear snickering. By odd and amazing coincidence, she was the woman I had “tweezed.” I had no recollection and wouldn’t have known had they not said anything.

Had I not brought a date, I might have been able to continue where I had bumbled years before, as she was as embarrassed about it as I once again was, but also remembered the flirting and whatnot, so she just gave me a kiss and left me with this tidbit: a nickname the group (of about 10 women) had for me: “Plucky.”

I’m not even going to mention the time, in eighth grade, the kid behind me wet himself during a test, rather than get up and ask permission to use the bathroom. Nope, not gonna tell you how it was when the teacher, Mr. Schaffer, walked up and asked “What is that on your folder?” (beneath his seat.) Or how Joe just mumbled “[sub]Urine.[/sub]” “What?!” said Mr. S. “[sub]It’s urine[/sub].” Said Joe. Nope, not gonna say a word.

96

Hey all,

Well, I have two. The first was one of my dad’s best stories—to set the scene:
Time: Circa 1949.
Place: The yard of the Alabama By-Products mine in Praco, Alabama.
Plot: A simple disagreement between two of the miners has escalated into a full-scale screaming match. My dad, a 22yr old general laborer, is one of the spectators surrounding the two men. Everyone is expecting a fight. One man in particular has become near hysterical with agitation, until…

…a small, hard, round turd drops out of the bottom of the leg of his overalls and rolls out onto the ground. Now, no matter what sort of tough, Nazi-killing, rock-breaking, moonshine-drinking, cross-burning sumbitch you are, you just can’t hit a feller who rolls a turd your way. (Nor can you manage much fight after that if you are the roller, rather than the rollee.)

The second, which still causes my wife pain to this day (and I for her) was when she got her period at age 14. Coming home from school on the bus. In yellow slacks. And had to walk down the street a quarter mile to her house. And her mother had never told her about menstruation because it was just so impolite and disgusting. So she thought she was going to bleed to death. Gives me sympathy pains every time she recalls it. One good thing (I guess) is that our kids, one boy and three girls, know ALL ABOUT it. Just ask ‘em. They’ll tell you all about it, even when we are trying to have a nice bowl of chili. 'Course, after four kids, nothing they say or do can stop me from enjoying my food.

Yours,
45ACP

97

In my lifetime, there can be only one truly weird story like this…

College (no I will not name which one). Frat party. One of the more boisterous of our group decided to press the ham against a second story window at us outside. He shouts out of the nearby open one, drops trou, and proceeds to give us a full moon filling the glass with ass.

No not a shit story though that would be bad.

Someone from the crowd below heaved something from a long distance and with the target shooting of a sniper, hit the window full bore. The window shattered and friends ass suddenly became a glass dartboard. He screamed a bloody drunk scream and fell forward into his room.

We ran up to find him face down crawling, big shards of glass sticking out of his ass and oozing blood. He cannot stand or pull up trou so we fashion a travois, roll him ass up and delicately put a towel over him.

Making our way through the crowd to get to the hospital, one drunk friend came up and nearly smacked the guy’s covered ass. He screams and stops him, but not before drunk guy decided to find out what was wrong and whipped the towel off in a flourish in the middle of the crowd. Everyone screamed at the sight and drunk guys eyes go as big as dinner plates, then he faints. Well of course now people are crowding and we cannot get the towel so we hustle through the crowd of onlookers much to the embarassment of the friend who is bare assed and injured in no way easily explainable. Laoding him into the back of the truck, we take off to the hospital.

Luckily, no buses pull up beside us on our way, but jumping out we find no one in our group of four wants to explain this and roshambo to see who walks in. I lost and had to go in, get two ordelies to come with a gurney all while explaining.

No no…it gets better

The nurse who comes in late on the conversation, comes up, looks at the guy bleeding and asks us if we were the ones who stabbed him in the ass. Turns out she thinks we assaulted this guy with what I can vaguely think is some kind of glass dildo. Now the cops show up due to nurse thinking we have somehow violated this retard and handcuff us and lead us in several rooms in the hospital to take our statements. Later they let us go with much hilarity.

From the glass ass guy later on, I hear the docs had a field day with this as they pulled glass shards out of him, joking and laughing and he is sure that in his semi conscoius state, one of them took a picture. He cannot prove it of course.

Doctor comes out and tells us the guy has 40+ stitches and he was gonna be off his feet for a while then later would have to sit with a …helper device.

And that is how my pal picked up the name “Red Doughnut” which he hates to this day.

98

It was my junior year in college. I have Spanish class, and on the first day, my prof calls me and the prettiest girl in the class up to the front of the class to have a conversation. We sat on opposite sides of the room, and didn’t have any other interaction until…

A Wednesday night. I was in my room at the fraternity house, fully intending to skip a social with the Delta Gamma sorority because I had a major test the next day and I had skipped an obscene amount of classes. If you have ever tried to study when there is a party going on with hoardes of women downstairs, then you will understand that I ultimately decided I had to make at least a brief appearance. I went downstairs and strolled out onto the porch, where I encountered the pretty girl from spanish class and several of her friends.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked.

“Well, normally I would, but I have this test…” I replied.

“Come on, you can dance just one dance.” She smiled that smile that girls smile when they know there is no way you could possibly refuse them.

“Most girls adamantly insist that I positively can’t dance,” I replied, trying to seem witty, but also trying to warn her of the inevitable truth.

She ignored the comment, grabbed my hand, and off we went to the dancefloor.

The music changed from Michael Jackson to something decidedly slower.

Don’t get ahead of me here…

We embraced. We did that rocking sort of slow dance that guys who can’t dance do so naturally.

Then it happened. Out of nowhere. I swear to this day that the only thing on my mind was how screwed I was going to be the next morning when I took that test.

I got a stiffie.

The bad part was that we were very close, so there was absolutely no hiding it. That was probably the longest three minutes of my life. When the song was over, we parted, I went back upstairs and studied. We never spoke after that. I would not have known what to say.

I miss college.

99

The time: Sixth grade, the first year of middle school. It was during that time of life when the slings and arrows of early adolescence makes even the slightest embarrassment the emotional equivalent of a hydrogen bomb.

The victim: My friend, who I will call Jane. Jane was a quiet, nice girl - the kind that is popular with teachers, overlooked by most classmates, and happy that way. She had a reputation for never doing anything wrong. It was well-earned and she enjoyed having it.

The lead-in: We had had a measles outbreak that year in some of the area schools, and so every student in the district had to bring in proof of a recent measles shot or get a new one. They had brought in nurses and vaccines in great quantities and set up a sort of shot clinic in the gym. My mother was highly suspicious of school-administered shots (for good reason, as it turned out), so I got mine at the doctor’s office the day before and I had a certificate to show. But Jane hadn’t had one, and I agreed to wait in line with her because she was kind of nervous about it.

There were a number of shot stations all over the gym, which was packed, absolutely at capacity, with every student in our grade in there. Jane and I waited in line at one of the shot stations, with a long line of kids behind us and kids everywhere around.

Finally, it was her turn in the shot seat. The nurse began her standard pre-shot interview.

Nurse: Do you have allergies to eggs or any medications? (I think that’s what she said, anyway.)

Jane: No.

Nurse: Are you feeling well today?

Jane: Yes.

Nurse: Are you taking any medications?

Jane, looking worried: Yes.

Nurse: What are you taking?

Jane, very very quietly: Um…[sub]the Pill.[/sub]

Nurse, rather loudly: What Pill?

Jane, now turning an alarming shade of red: You know, the, the, the - [sub]Pill.[/sub]

Nurse, who has gotten very loud at the same time the surrounding kids have gotten very quiet: Don’t keep saying you’re taking the pill. Tell me what pill!

Jane at this point was blushing so severely I feared for her facial capillaries. She was also so embarrassed she was just about incapable of speech. It so happened that I knew what was going on, because she had told me, in greatest secrecy: her first period had lasted for a month, and her doctor had put her on the mini-pill to straighten out her cycle.

Me: Jane, do you want me to tell her?

Jane, who was on the edge of tears, nodded.

Most of the gym was silent and everyone was watching, so I got a piece of paper from my backpack and wrote down: “She is taking the mini birth control pill.” The nurse grabbed the paper out of my hand and then read it out loud.

Nurse: You’re taking a birth control pill?

Jane nodded, looking absolutely wretched. There was a general collective gasp - this was sixth grade, remember, when just making out with a guy was considered the sure sign of a slut. And Jane was a well-known Good Girl.

Nurse: Well, you shouldn’t go out and get pregnant for a week after getting this shot, do you hear me?

Everyone heard her. (And I’d almost swear that evil nurse did it on purpose - she must’ve known how loud she was being, and how personal the subject matter was.) Which meant everyone in our grade either had heard it or was about to. Jane was mortified. Later, she said she should have told the nurse, “You’ve just ruined my weekend plans,” but at the time she was too humiliated to open her mouth.

Jane transferred to a private school at the end of the semester; I don’t know if it was related to this or not. But I do know that everyone in our school absolutely knew, by lunchtime on the shot day, that Jane was wildly promiscuous, a real slut, and had to be on the pill. It wasn’t true, of course, but no explanation could kill the rumor.

100

I don’t have anything as bad as that, but maybe I can make up for low margins by dealing in volume.

When I was in 4th or 5th grade we used to play this stupid game where you loosen your shoe and see how high you can launch it off you foot. I won once… by kicking my shoe up and over the very tall fence at the back of the playground and into the yard of the house next door, just when the bell rang. Someone else got my shoe for me.

One time over summer break before 10th grade I was playing frisbee or something at a park when the ass of my pants disintegrated. Fortunately I was wearing a flannel shirt with a T underneath, so I tied the flannel around my waist.

Later that year, the Discovery Club at my school, a club run by a biology teacher that did nature outings, was doing a biking field trip. I got my mom to volunteer to drive some of us there. When we were hanging around in the parking lot at the trailhead, waiting for the other cars to show up, this one guy was goofing around and pretended to hit me with his bike pump-except that he actually did. Hard, in the nose. On the plus side, I got sympathy from this cute girl that I ended up dating for a while, before she dumped me for a stupid jock meathead.

There’s one story I have that’s pretty bad, but I’ve been forbidden to speak of it by a certain involved party so you’ll have to use your imagination.