Once, I farted very loudly during a job interview. I had chili for lunch and the beans were fermenting in my gut. It was one of those gaseous moments that couldn’t be controlled. The interviewer heard it (how could she not?) and smiled. I didn’t get the job. I was SOOOOO embarassed and humiliated.
Eric
When I first started dating my husband, I was talking to his mom and dad when his mom asked me if when I got married, did I require a diamond engagement ring. I was feeling very good that I was getting along so well with his parents that I went into a big speech about there was no way I would say yes to anyone who didn’t present me with a diamond. I went on and on about how it had to be a decent size stone. I also said that anyone who said yes to a man without a diamond was a fool. It was at that moment that his mom told me she never got one!
In my office while my “former” boss caught me playing air guitar.
Hmm. I guess I don’t embarrass easily.
I got my hair cut a couple weeks ago. I usually avoid washing it for a day or two after, because I like to take advantage of the professional blow-drying that comes with the haircut. I walked by the secretary’s desk at work and she commented that my hair looked nice, and that I’d changed it. I said “Oh, well it looks better today because of the professional blow dry job.” Only I left out the word “dry.” She’s still teasing me about it. :o
It involved my mother screaming, my father laughing, and quite a few nurses stopping in to look at it.
Oh, you absolute TEASE.
Watch the news Feb 23, 2011. I’ve got a bad feeling about that one.
Until then it will be the time I walked in to fold my clothes after washing them at my co-ed dorm’s washing room. In it were some old bvds that looked pretty ratty. And this gorgeous girl that I had a huge crush on which she knew about was folding my clothes, including my underwear because she thought they belonged to this other guy. I said no they were mine. So there I was 17 years old and folding my ratty underwear with the hottest girl in the dorm. I think my cheeks were redder then her hair that day.
Since then I replace my underwear regularly. In fact I think I should toss my current ones out and buy some new ones. New underwear feels so good anyway.
Not my most embarassing, but one worth sharing.
I was sharing a house in London with a woman I didn’t get on with; she was already living there when I moved in. In these Victorian terrace houses the entrance to the bathroom is often off the kitchen, owing to the fact that previously the shitter had been outside in the garden, and the kitchen opened out into the garden.
Anyway one day I come home to an empty house. I go to the toilet, and then I go to wash my hands. I look at myself in the sink mirror and say out loud “Now that was a good crap.” I dry my hands and go through the bathroom door.
My housemate is in the kitchen. She must have just come home. There is no way she could have failed to hear what I just said.
It would have to be in 10th grade gym class. We were walking on the track, and I was with my friend (we’ll call her H). Being the lazy-ass whiner I am, when the teacher (we’ll call her Ms. P) came by and asked how we were doing, I complained that my legs hurt. Here’s what happened:
Ms. P: “Oh, I can massage them, they’ll feel better.”
Me: “Um, no, that’s ok…”
Ms. P: “I have training in this, here, come with me.”
She then grabbed my arm and pulled me to this big tarp-covered thing on the field. She had me sit down and then proceeded to massage my legs. Meanwhile, the girls in my class were walking by, laughing and gossiping amongst themselves. H was on the other side of the track, trying really hard not to laugh at me. When Ms. P finished, I stood up and thanked her and went back to the track to catch up with H. I was so embarrassed I was nearly shaking. H said that the girls were probably laughing at Ms. P instead (since you don’t normally see a 34-year-old woman rubbing a 15-year-old girl’s legs…), and nobody really said anything to me about it afterwards, but still… Oy, I’ll never forget THAT one…
My cross country team had morning practice and we were going to shower at the weight room/locker room facility that my shcool has across the street from the school. We were going to use these showers because they were individual and had curtains, whereas the regular locker room attached to the gymnasium has a wall with about 10 showerheads. Well, there was pretty much no water pressure so we decided we’d have to go across the street and use the other showers. Since we were already running late, none of us took the time to get dressed, since we figured we wouldn’t see anyone anyway, so we were all in just our underwear.
The campus of my high school is huge, so we decided that instead of some of us walking, we’d just all pile into one of my teammate’s Honda Civic. We were going to go into the main entrance, but to do that we would’ve had to pass a parked cop car, and there were way too many of us in the car, so we thought we would turn into the bus loop and just drive around the buses. The bus loop is not nearly as wide as we had believed. We were stuck behind a huge line of buses, so I said “Jill throw it in reverse before another bus comes behind us!” Sure enough, here comes another bus. I should also mention that this bus loop basically goes through the middle of the school and a ton of people hang around there before first period. So here we are, half-naked, all jammed into a small car, stuck between gigantic buses, with everyone pointing and laughing at us, all of us screaimng at the top of our lungs, and all the windows down. We were stuck there for a good 5 minutes not being able to move. :eek:
I don’t embarrass easily, but I’ll never forget that one.
In 8th grade yearbook we were all allowed to take one of the school cameras with us throughout the day to take pictures, and then take it back the next day.
I got the pictures, and then took it home. My dad was attempting to show me some trick with the camera and accidentally took a picture. It was just of our legs and the rest of the living room, but still, I was mortified. (I was, after all, in 8th grade.)
So I gave the camera back…hoping maybe the photo wouldn’t come out, or the teacher would miss it or something. Four days later, he got all the developed photos out (no one, including him, had seen them) and he stopped at a certain photo. “What’s this?” he asked.
I knew what it was. I didn’t say a WORD. The other students were examining the photo. Since you could see my legs, which were in jeans, in the photo, they were going “who here has jeans on?”
That almost makes up for the embarassment. I mean, seriously, at least 90% of the class might have jeans on, and it doesn’t make sense that someone would be wearing the same pants five days in a row! I still didn’t say anything, though.
Flash-forward to the end of the year. It’s an “End of the Year Slideshow” for the whole school. Including friends who have seen the inside of my living room. I’m hoping the teacher threw it out, or at least not included it. After all, what does that silly messed-up photo have to do with the school year?
I forgot how evil the teacher was.
Yes, he included the pic in the slideshow.
No, none of my friends called me on it, thank Zeus.
sigh
I think I’ve done both of these before, but what the heck.
Back when I think I could still be embarrassed, in 4th grade, there was this girl I had a serious crush for. I called her many times to ask her to be my girlfriend. Well, she and I shared the same pediatrician. His lab was at the end of his building, and the swinging door to enter it was at the “T” intersection of the hallways that connected all of the examining rooms with the two exits.
So, one day I’m up there for who knows what, and he decides I need a test in the lab. It’s drop trou and bend over. Just as I’m getting a butt swab in the main aisle, a lab assistant brushes through the door, and guess who’s walking down the main corridor?
I’ll give her credit for trying. The next week in class, she got permission to use the dictionary and took the opportunity to come down my aisle. As she passed me, she leaned over and whispered, “I didn’t see a thing.” :eek:
And your confirmation number is…
Many years later, and this was probably one of the key experiences (there were many) in my losing the ability to become embarrassed, I had a gay neighbor when my brother and I were roommates. For the sake of the story, know that I am heterosexual, but have gay friends.
This guy was really more of a friend with my brother, but bro’ mmoved away, and Citizen X was still my neighbor. So when his relationship with his live-in started to nose in, he started calling me for support. I noticed the similarities with my straight friends’ complaints about their relationships goin’ south. The about-to-be-ex was griping about his need for ‘space,’ etc.
OK, been there, done that.
Eventually it developed that his boyfriend was moving out and he called me at work to ask if I’d just come over and be somebody on his side while the ex’s family moved furniture out. I did that, and when they were gone, he wanted to go get a beer.
I consented, and we went to a variety of gay bars, one beer at each. An educational evening, as we stopped by Chutes, the Locker Room, the RipCord and, finally, Mary’s, which I believe claims title to being the oldest continually operating gay bar in Texas (although the Farmhouse must be considered).
So my neighbor and I wind up at Mary’s and, as we’re pulling out, on to a major street in Houston, we’re caught at the light with me at a 45º angle to the street from the premier gay bar in Houston’s parking lot, me with a stereotypical early-'80s bodybuilder in the front seat, and an accountant from my company is stuck at the same light.
He gives me the Tinkerbelle wave and I just think, “Fuck, there’s nothing to be said of any avail.”