Your Most Embarrassing Moment/Experience

Here’s mine …

A few years ago I was out of town for a business conference with two co-workers, my boss (male) and the president of our company (female). We decided to walk down the street to get something to eat. Before we left the hotel, I complained about not having an extra pair of jeans. I really didn’t want to go out to eat a casual meal dressed in work clothes. The prez of the company said “oh, just wear the jeans you wore on the flight down. That’s what I’m doing.” So I made a quick stop by my room, change into my jeans from the day before and we left.

We all walked on the sidewalk to the restaurant, but the president & I were a fair distance behind everyone else. After eating, the president and my other co-workers decided that they wanted to go down the street to a store. My boss and I headed back to the hotel.

As we casually walked along the sidewalk, we came across a sock. I think to myself “hmmmm … that looks just like the sock that I wore yesterday”. We walked a few feet more and there on the sidewalk is a pair of black thong underwear … MY black thong underwear:eek:. My mind began to race while I’m trying to stay completely calm in the presence of my boss. I was thinking “how the hell did my sock and underwear get on the sidewalk?” and I was completely mortified!

By the time we reached the hotel I’ve figured out that my sock and my underwear were in the leg of my jeans from when I had taken them off the night before – I had just kind of peeled everything off at once and the undergarments managed to stay in the legs of my jeans. And my boss never said “Damn, there’s someone’s thong!” He just kept walking as if it were nothing out of the norm. So although he never knew it was his assistant’s sock and underwear, I was still completely humiliated just the same.

Even worse, one of my co-workers had commented on my socks the evening before – how unusual they were. I knew that if she saw that sock on the sidewalk, she’d know instantly who it and the underwear belonged to. So after making sure my boss was back in his hotel room, I ran down to the street and retrieved my sock and underwear.

All in all, a completely embarrassing experience … what’s yours?

I call myself LouisB because it’s my middle name and the first letter of my last name. No exciting story to tell.

Good God, I posted in the wrong damn thread. Please may a moderator or a hacker of somebody delete the damn post. Thank you.

Oh please oh please don’t delete LouisB’s post! It was too funny trying to figure out why being named “Louis B.” was somehow comparable to having your thong panties make a daring escape in front of your boss!

Look at it this way LouisB, the next time we have a embarrassing moments thread, you can tell this story! :smiley:

That is Priceless! :stuck_out_tongue:

A boring username story? How humiliating!


OK, I’m going to take the heat off LouisB, although this story isn’t nearly as good as atlantic’s. (And I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before…)

This happened in the dark ages of 30 years ago. One summer when I was in college, I worked the front desk at the hi-rise residence hall that served as the summer conference center. One day, when there was a basketball camp just starting, I answered the phone and a man asked for a conference attendee named Kuhn. We had no one by that name on the conference rosters, but it was the first day, and in these pre-computer days, it was likely our printed records didn’t reflect last-minute registrations.

The lobby was full of people milling around and checking in, and a large number of these people were African-American. As we usually did in such instances, I put the caller on hold and, in stentorian tones, asked if there was someone by that name in the lobby.

“May I have your attention, please? Is there a Kuhn* in the lobby?”

I couldn’t understand why my colleagues were looking at me in utter horror. And then I realized what I’d said. :eek:

*In the part of the country where I grew up, “coon” was a derogatory term that was almost as bad as the “n” word.

Oh, hell, keep the post and have a good time with it. I’m still taking pain medication from my spinal fusion and I must have OD.

In fact, this might well be my most embarrassing moment.

I was thinking: Man, this guy must have the most boring, uneventful life on the planet, if this is his most embarrassing moment. :smiley:

At least the caller wasn’t looking for Amanda Huggenkiss.

Back in the early 80’s I was a very different person. Almost immediately after the ink dried on divorce #1, I was ready to broaden my horizons (there’s that stupid phrase again) and start hanging out. The “quest for man” had begun.

Luckily, my mom and dad and my sister lived nearby, and they were good and kind people and they allowed me to drop my children off and hit the street once in a while. (no - that wasn’t me begging and pleading to get out “just ONE night mom, just one night…”)

On one of those “once in a while dates” I went above and beyond my regular beauty regimine and splurged on everything. I was determined to find a new man and the bouncy hair, fresh nails, new outfit and blue suede stilettos (with matching clutch) were all part of my ammunition in the fight for a cute guy with no Jheri curl and all other items on my list.

My prerequisites back then were crazy - tall, well built, great teeth, good nails, great job, funny, very smart, no children (despite the fact that I had 2 of my own), nice apartment or house, disposable income, well educated, very well read, great dancer, nice dresser, compatable astrological sign, close to his family but not dependant on them, not too churchy but spiritual, non Brut wearing, hard worker, street saavy, great kisser, outstanding lover, generous personality, well spoken, well travelled, sports enthusiast… my list went on for days.

Okay, back to the tale:

After almost a whole day of preparation, I was ready to roll. Do you guys remember the old bouncy Oprah hairdo? Me.

Remember the high maintenance 80’s look? Me.

Remember the unbelievable clouds of perfume we wore back then? Me.

My girlfriends picked me up last that night and I’m sure that the cabdriver was amused by what I had to say.

“Look at me! I KNOW that I’m going to meet the man of my dreams tonight, girls, how can he resist?”

This ridiculous (but ignorantly sincere) statement was met with silence. My friends weren’t in the mood to play along with Jali.

I talked smack for the whole ride to the club. I preened in my seat, tossed my hair repeatedly and crossed and recrossed my legs. I really believed my own hype.

As we pulled up, I reapplied my magenta lipstick (with matching gloss) and shook out my hair for full effect.

“Come the fuck on!” My girl Felicia was getting a bit tired of my performance. I have to admit that I really didn’t need to flirt with the cabdriver just to practice my skills, but his reaction gave me the extra “oomph” I wanted.

Remember the “Charlie’s Angel’s” or “Charlie perfume commercial” walk? Me again. (what a pretentious phoney idiot I was).

As soon as we found a table, a drop dead gorgeous man came over to me. OMG - he was sexy as hell, tall, dark and handsome.

“What are you drinking?” His voice was even sexier than his look.

I wasn’t a regular drinker back then, but I had heard of this new concoction called a Long Island Iced Tea and decided to win the man by ordering as a sophisticated woman would. I told him what I wanted and smiled.

I batted my eyes and watched him as he sauntered over to the bar to get my drink. As soon as he was out of earshot I started talking pure smack again.

“See - I TOLD you that I would be irrisistable tonight. The finest man in the place is buying ME a drink.”

Cutie pie promptly returned to the table, placed my drink in front of me and said:

wait for it…

it’s coming…


“That’ll be $7.00 miss.”

Yes, my admirer was the waiter. I don’t understand why he didn’t ask my girlfriends what they wanted to drink.

To this day if I talk to either one of my girls on the phone they find a way to ask me if I’d like a Long Island Iced Tea. It wasn’t funny then and it isn’t funny now.

My first day working at the local TGI Friday’s. I never did fit in there. I was nearly twice as old as most of my co-workers, and less educated. Plus I was hired as an assistant to the most hated guy in the place, so I was pretty much doomed. But this didn’t help: I strode swiftly in to the crowded kitchen on my first day, and mid-stride, one of my little black boots (with the hooks to wrap the laces around) grabbed onto the laces of my other little black boot, instantly binding my feet together. I was moving so fast that SPLAT I was lying on the floor before I knew what was happening. Most people just busted out laughing. The looks on the faces of the others said, “Beware! There is a giant dork among us!”

Jeez. I should’ve quit right then.

I have more embarrassing stories that I’m not willing to tell but this one was pretty bad. I was running a shelter and I was crossing the parking lot carrying a box of donations and at least a dozen of the guys were heading my way to help unload the rest of the truck. I was wearing a short skirt and all of a sudden the wind kicked up and blew my skirt up around my waist. My hands were full so I couldn’t immediately pull it back down and homeless people all over the lot started cheering, whistling and clapping. Years later they were still telling that story, including the details of what kind of panties I was wearing. I supposed it leveled the playing field for them. It’s pretty hard to maintain order when everyone has seen your thong underwear.

I worked at TGI Friday’s for five years (still do about once a month on Saturday’s just to catch up with old friends there), but I’ve had my share of embarrassing moments as a server.

I’m Asian, so a bunch of servers and even the manager refer to me as “ninja,” “Short Round (from Indiana Jones),” “Data (from The Goonies - played by the same guy as Short Round),” and more.

One night, a new nickname was circulating around. That particular evening, I was “The Sensei.” Carrying a large stack of dishes back to the dishwasher, my non-slip shoes decided to fail on me. In front of an entire kitchen staff, a manager, as well as half a dozen servers, I slipped right on my ass, flinging plates in all directions as I struggled unsuccessfully to grab on to a nearby counter top to regain my balance. Nearly all the dishes broke, and I lay there, stunned, surrounded by broken glass and food remains. There was a brief silence that quickly turned into uproarious laughter. I was told later by another server that my manager uttered under his breath, “Some sensei he is.”

I once showed up at a conference in another part of the country - a week after the conference was held. That was both panicking and embarrassing.

Man, I never even eat there. Not even in a different city. I’m scarred, I tell you! :slight_smile:

I believe I’ve told the story before of how I stuffed myself into my locker, in front of the whole class and the teacher, in order to avoid being looked at or spoken to.


There was another incident at the very first restaurant I ever worked at. A friend and I were both sixteen and looking for jobs. We both landed positions as bussers at a nearby Chili’s. One night while working together, we came across a very disgusting and filthy table. We decided to flip a coin to see who got stuck with it. Now, I can’t remember who flipped the coin, but it went rogue. Instead of going straight up about two feet in the air, it went about five feet in the air at a funny angle. Without taking into consideration my surroundings, I lunged for the coin, knocking over a large potted plant directly on top of the head of a customer sitting in a nearby booth. He was covered in nutrient-rich soil, with those little white things, which to this day I have no idea what they are. He kind of sat there as his wife gaped in horror. My friend made a dash for the kitchen, leaving me with the awkward task of handling this ugly situation on my own. My manager eventually straightened things out. Nothing like free deserts and a few meal vouchers to save the day.

I think I’ve told this story before on the boards, a long time ago…

But what the hell.

Way back in the mists of time, in college, I was active in the theatre department. I did lighting and sound design, and also acted. One year, we did a series of three one-act murder mysteries. None of them are particularly famous. My role in the first was as the owner of a old English country home (complete with atrocious English accent). At the end of the first scene, I come downstairs holding a candle and wearing an old dressing gown and nightcap, saying “What? What? Who’s there?” Then a shot rings out, and the candle drops and goes out. Stage dark for a few moments until scene 2 begins, where I’m fully dressed and on the phone with the police, and it’s a big mystery why I’m not reporting the shot or the burglar, blah blah blah. Very dramatic.

OK, so, from a costume standpoint, half of my scene 2 clothes were under the dressing gown. So when the lights go out, I quickly take off the gown, get a shirt handed to me by a stagehand, put it on and tuck it it, then take the phone from the stagehand and am ready to begin my conversation with the police when the lights come up.

Worked fine in rehearsal. Worked fine opening night. Second matinee performance, though, for some bizarre reason, the stage manager calls for lights waaaay early. I’m caught on stage, in the lights, just zipping up my pants after having tucked in my shirt. And on his knees in front of me is the black-clad stagehand, holding the phone and ready to give it to me.

So immediately my mind goes into overdrive. I have to come up with a clever ad-lib, something to make this guy’s presence on stage explainable to the audience. Let’s see… he 's here with a phone. He’s a repairman! Yes! That’s it – he’s the phone repairman, and his job was to fix the phone, and now he’s fixed the phone, so I can call the police. Perfect. I will just say something to convey that and on we’ll go.

So, I zip up my pants, look at the guy on his knees in front of me, and say heartily, “Thanks for a job well done!”


For YEARS, people would stop me on campus to say, “Hey, Bricker - thanks for a job well done! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!”