Storytime! Embarrassment Edition
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I'm so glad other people started sharing because I was nervously awaiting the next reply like, "Well I hope SOMEONE replies with a story, otherwise this thread is going to definitely be me just oversharing to the whole of MSB. Repeatedly."
These were great, and put a smile on my face. Thank you!
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I envy you all for having these sorts of stories.
I guess I don’t have any because I stopped caring how many times people have caught me naked or fucking in public.
I mean, it happens.
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When I was in first grade (Catholic school, yo!) I was a year younger than everyone and at that age there are a million ways fellow students and teachers find to rub that in. I was a "baby" I wasn't "old enough" to do other stuff, etc. We had our math class with the second grade teacher, who everyone adored, and she put up a big chart with everyone's names and when you lost a tooth, a big gold star went up there.
Naturally everyone had two or three up there but me. I was the only kid that did not have a big gold star because none of my teeth had even gotten loose yet and I got tormented about it whenever we went into the classroom. So one day I decided that the (small) gap between my front teeth counted as me losing a tooth. So I went up to her and pointed to it and said that a tooth had been there but now it had fallen out so I deserved a gold star. After asking me a couple of times if I was SURE I had lost a tooth (I was SO SURE!) she put a star up and, like a moron, my 5 year old self goes home all excited and tells my mom I got a gold star because I lost a tooth!
Except I clearly hadn't, so my mom made me write an apology note about how I was sorry I lied, but I had not really lost a tooth. She sent me to school with it under strict instruction to get it signed by the teacher after she had read it. So that day, before I went home, in my best printing, I signed "Missus Lynch" and brought it home.
But there was no getting it past my mother, who asked me several times if I had gotten Mrs. Lynch to sign the confession ("Yes mommy! See?!") before dropping the fucking bomb that teachers wrote in cursive and had first names. I broke the fuck down sobbing and begged and pleaded, but she made me take the letter in the next day, now with an added explanation about how I forged her name, and with my mom holding my hand, I had to confess to the teacher.
I cried my little eyes out about how sorry I was but I just really wanted a gold star and everyone else had one and it wasn't fair! Thankfully the teacher was SUPER nice and she decided that I could keep the gold star up there since I'd told the truth (eventually) and she signed the note and gave it to my mom, telling her to keep it because it was a hilarious story that one day I'd appreciate.
Later on when I actually DID have a loose tooth I was the fucking Queen of First Grade and EVERYONE wanted to be there when it fell out--which it did during lunch one day. I still remember Phillip Burns asking me why I didn't get another gold star up on the chart since I lost "another" tooth, and I stood up, put my hands on my hips and proudly announced, "Because I LIED!"
My mom still has the note.
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@Quinn
So this one reminds me that I lost both my front teeth by hitting myself (or I guess allowing myself to be hit?) in the face. And, btw, one of these was roughly 2nd grade. I was a slow tooth-loser, so don't feel bad, Quinn!Tooth 1:
I shared a room with my brother. We had a bunk bed. I had one of those clip-on lamps. The tooth had been loose for a while already.
I dropped something between the bed and the wall and after leaning down to grope around for a while to grab it, I finally lean back up, turn, and WHAM hit my face right on the lamp. Minute later, feel something (lot of something) in my mouth, go in the bathroom, and promptly spit out the tooth and some blood into the sink.Tooth 2:
Some months later, at a park. Running around a playground, during the twilight hour. I go to clamber under a section of the play area. I hit my face on it instead because it was that perfect layer of not-quite-dark that my depth perception was fucked. Just full on WHANG and I've got a face full of wood chips. Except when I go to spit out what I thought was a wood chip, it was my tooth.No wiggling front teeth out for me, nope. I WHACKED 'em out.
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@Roz said in Storytime! Embarrassment Edition:
So I was a junior in college. Dating a really sweet guy. He came with me to visit my parents at some point. The tough thing about bringing your SO home to visit your parents is, of course, how do you do the do. I was like 20 years old, I wasn't gonna NOT do the do.
Yeah.
Yeah, this can be an issue.
So I was visiting my parents for their 50th anniversary or something and I brought along my then girlfriend to meet everyone. They'd gone off to a big shrimp boil my sister was having in her front driveway because this was a classy central Kansas town, leaving me and said girlfriend at home to finish up some stuff we were cooking to contribute to the buffet. At one point we thought, hey, the bed in the guest bedroom is awful and when are we going to have this chance again. We pop on over to the couch and start having a Good Time, in a sort of sitting up position (which I wouldn't divulge if it were not important) when I look over and see that my father's dog had come up out of the basement and is staring at us.
I say, "Just ignore the dog" and she says "what dog?" and I say "just ignore him" because I'm talking to myself because the dog is freaking me out. But still, I've got STUFF! GOING! ON! so I try my best. But goddam that little highland terrier is just glaring. Finally I'm fully wigged out enough that I'm ready to call the whole thing off when I look over and he's gone.
Thank god!
Time to get busy living, or get bus-
That's when I felt the slobbery doggie tongue just go all over my balls.
I believe my quote was "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! DOUGAL NO!!! FUCKING DOG IS EATING MY BALLS!!!"
At which point I threw her off of me and jumped up, tripped over the ball-frenzied dog and banged my head on their coffee table. My girlfriend somehow managed to twist her ankle when she fell. We both needed medical attention.
I don't remember what excuse we gave the doctors in the ER or my parents, but I do remember that not a single damn one of them believed it.
Never looked at that goddam dog the same way again.
Fuckin' ball hound.
maximum craveability
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I would just like to thank you all to opening the door to stories with some sort of awkward potentially sexual element because pretty much all of mine except for the first day of high school story have something of the kind in them. (Only one is at all explicit.)
Y'all have been warned. I will start typing after I coffee up and eat a thing.
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The tale of Egypt Air is the only place I can start dropping any of these bombs. For folks who haven't been around the various forums forever, my original handle 20 years ago was 'surreality vortex', rather than just 'surreality'. That was my term for 'weirdness magnet does not even fucking cover it OK?!'
So! My mother apparently had a tradition in her family that, between 8th grade and the start of high school, over the summer, a grand vacation would be had. We argued about what it would be that entire 8th grade year. She wanted to see the Holy Land and Egypt, preferably on a cruise. Welp, that was the year a cruise liner got taken hostage and it was probably the only reason my preteen anime-geek ass won the argument: I WANT TO GO TO JAPAN, MOM.(1)
Not gonna lie, this trip was epic. It went all around Japan for 7 days, then on to Bangkok, Singapore, and Hong Kong for a few days in each. There are wacky WTF tales from every single leg of the journey, but none of them -- NONE -- could possibly compare to the story of our transit from Tokyo to Bangkok.
This was the mid-80s, so there was no 'news in English' available in every hotel. We had to just guess at news from pictures and diagrams in Japanese. Three stories dominated the news every night we were there: the Bakers (Jim and Tammy Faye) wailing about their air-conditioned doghouse and disgraces, a coup that might or might not be going down in Manila (this will come up later, y'all), and a doomed flight from Japan to Hawaii on Japan Airlines.
The 80s were the early days of 'cute stupid graphics to illustrate the news in simple form'. They were actually pretty good in Japan, as one might expect! It's that last story that could have benefitted from a... less detail-oriented team of animators, though. Y'see, while we don't know specifics of what happened, we could absolutely glean the bullet points from that animation they kept showing over and over and over and over.
Picture if you will, a little chibi plane flying merrily over the ocean, sun sparkling in the background, waves rippling below. There is a comic-book explosion effect on one side of the happy little plane, and one wing breaks off and goes down, down, down with little motion lines until it hits the water. Small bubble-like rafts begin to emerge from sad little chibi plane, after which sharks rise from the water with their mouths open before it cuts back to a newslady who looks very serious and somber for a moment before perking up like someone blasted literal sunshine up her ass from under the newsdesk.
<insert horrified face gif of your choice here>
Never had I prayed like I prayed we would not be on any Japan Airlines flights for the rest of that trip. If this trip taught me anything, it is that there is a god, and it's definitely Loki.
We naturally discover that our flight is going to be on Japan Airlines. 12 year old me is trying to not panic, because I don't want to be eaten by sharks. Is that really too much to ask for out of a vacation? To not get eaten by sharks? (Oh, god, please, I will be your BFF FOREVER if you get us on a different plane!)
Our tour guide for Japan pauses. He looks distressed. Many things distressed this man, to whom being 15 minutes early was being five minutes late for his liking, but this was a special sort of distressed. He explained to us all very calmly that our plane had been grounded for extended inspection -- presumably to check to ensure the wings weren't going to fall off of it -- and that the tour company was seeking an alternate flight with enough available seats for our tour group.
(OMG YOU LISTENED I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE REAL!)
We get shuffled around the airport for over an hour, and go through the most detailed security three times. Every item in our carryons was individually inspected, and we were physically frisked each time after going through the metal detectors. (Did the DDD cup 12 year old get the weirdest looks ever getting frisked? YOU BET. One lady just had this look on her face like... '...but how.... ' as she stared at me with her head tilted like a confused puppy for a solid half minute as she went 'honk honk' on my boobs, convinced I had to be smuggling food or SOMETHING in there.)
All the while this is going on, we are told we have a flight, but nothing about that flight until we're on the actual plane -- just that they're going to make a refueling stop in Bangkok to drop us off. Have y'all ever seen The Golden Child? Remember the plane in Nepal, with the goats? Just remove the goats, and you've got it nailed. We only learn the name of the airline when we see it embroidered on the seatcovers. Everyone is split up, and sent to their seats, scattered all over the plane. I'm planted next to a woman who resembles rumpled leather, who is already asleep. She sleeps through 'what to do if we crash and what your seat belt is for' in 22 languages -- they played it twice, 11 languages each time, a process that took well over half an hour.
We are already in the air when the pilot comes on to tell us where we're going and what we're doing. (Again, this is repeated in several languages... not 22, but it was up there.) This is Egypt Air! We're flying from Tokyo to Cairo, with a stop in Manila.
Wait. What? I immediately see two problems here. First, we're directly en route to the airport that we've been watching stalked by men with guns in paramilitary uniforms all week on the news. Further, and perhaps more pressingly, there is no mention of Bangkok.
...at least we finally understood all the extra security?
Right about the time we're served sliced tongue sandwiches -- yes, really -- the woman beside me wakes up. While boozing it up, we start to chat. She's a lovely person! We bond immediately over talking about the Great Barrier Reef; she dives there often and I've always wanted to see it. (Still do!) I mention the sharks on the news.
"Oh, that's nothin'!" <pulls up pantleg, giant chunk missing from leg, teethmark scars>
<insert your favorite internally screaming gif here>
At this point I am relatively convinced I have developed telepathy, because my mother was able to sense my frantic stare from a few seats over and a row up, and she came to rescue me and swap seats. This plants my woefully awkward preteen ass between what must have been the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in person, and a French male model, who know each other and are chatting merrily and including me which is super awesome of them and makes them amazing people but holy jeebus, I must have been a truly 80s-appropriate shade of magenta the entire time.
They depart in Manila when we land. We are searched again. The entire plane is searched by men walking up and down the aisles with automatic rifles. Everyone still on the plane is trying very hard to not make eye contact with anything but their shoes.
<insert your favorite internally screaming gif here AGAIN>
Once they leave, my mother shoos me up toward the front of the plane to sit with 'the Italian ladies' that are on our tour, as she insists I escape the smoking section. (Yes, younguns, planes had those back then!)
Sitting between these women -- still entirely unsure if we were simply now en route direct to Cairo -- was like being immersed in an episode of The Golden Girls in real life.(2) Many a sentence actually began with 'Back in the old country... ' It was clearly not enough that I grew up with my own Italian grandmother every day of my life up to that point, she was not there and they clearly felt the vacuum. They had four hours to instill me with all of their old world wisdom and they were not going to shirk this sacred responsibility. There were recipes. Gardening tips. How to know if he's really a nice boy. How to tell if the olive oil has gone off.
I could mostly deal with this, even if it was a bit frenetic, until they got to the part about exercise.
"It is important!" the big, brawny one insisted, and she went on to detail how she had, as the girl among all the brothers, done all the same drills as her siblings since her father was some sort of military muckity-muck under Mussolini. It is at this point I begin dying inside with internal wincing, because she is half-deaf and thus quite loud.
"Is most important, so you boom-boom no droop!"
(Is she talking about... )
With great big Italian Granny arm gestures in the tiny-ass cramped plane, she hefts her boobs and lets them fall.
The entire plane is now staring at us.(3)
With even greater big Italian Granny arm gestures, she begins to demonstrate all of these exercises, and demands I follow suit so she can check my form.
(...can we maybe just have the sharks please oh please anything to make this end?)
Finally, satisfied, she settles back into her seat, nodding proudly. I have a thousand yard stare and my face feels like it's literally on fire, but... it's over!
"Oh," says the tiny Italian lady, "you should meet Bobby, he a nice boy!"
(Fine, fine, I'll meet your grandson, lady, whatever, just don't tell him any of THIS happened- )
She turns around, and tugs her seat forward a little. Sitting behind us is the most attractive man I've seen to this day, yes, prettier than the French male model by far, if he had kids with the woman I was seated beside earlier, I am convinced they'd take over the world with the force of combined gorgeousness and radiant charm. "Bobby, this is Dee! She is on our tour! Meet Bobby, Dee! Meet Dee, Bobby! You both so nice!"
They weren't totally wrong. I had a real connection with Bobby. Possibly the most real, honest and true connection I'd ever had with a man in my life until that moment, or since.
'HELP! Save me!' was written in precisely the same way across both of our faces.
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This was the beginning of my familial role as 'patron saint of vacation planning'. No, really. My luck in life is hot garbage in nearly every possible way except when it comes to 'pick a vacation/place to stay on vacation/vacation ideas/choice of vacation restaurant' and soforth. Dear Loki: I know you're listening, but couldn't you help with the cash to pay for the kickass wacky vacations, too?
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These two bickered like only lifelong friends could manage. They did not actually meet until the trip started. If this doesn't help you understand Italians better? Think about it a bit; it will.
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OK, probably not the entire plane, but it sure as fuck felt like it.
Oh fucking well.
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@TheOnceler I just died. Loudly, and squawking and clapping like a seal.
@surreality I love how this has a happy ending (you made it home safe physically... if not completely scarred for life mentally/emotionally) because I was literally bracing myself for sharks or war. I was thinking it might end with "... and that's how I got this here scar...."
The road to hell is paved with adverbs.
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@nyctophiliac Far, far more embarrassingly meek sea life has come close to killing me. I may have told that story recently here, though... if not I will add it later.
I think I only got a baffled reprieve from the sea gods because my husband and I saved a mantis shrimp once... which we didn't realize was a mantis shrimp, and probably also could have murderized us. (It wasn't one of the pretty rainbow ones, and we didn't know there were other kinds until after that.)Seriously, there's a reason I believe in signs and omens... all of my life is kinda like that. (Especially the part about Loki undoubtedly sitting back on high, scratching his chin, thinking, "This one, this one's fun to torment!")
Poor Bobby. He'd been trapped between the Italian ladies on the (longer) first leg of the flight. I can only imagine how many wallet photos of single granddaughters he was subjected to...
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I wish I could upvote this more than once.
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@surreality I'm going to be late for work after reading that, but it was worth it.
Since you didn't continue with further craziness over a many-hours flight and navigating Cairo, is it safe to assume that you were set down in Bangkok?
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@Otrere Eep! Sorry about that!
...and, yep, we made it safely, about 12 hours later than originally planned. I then spent the next three days in utter heaven (OK, super humid heaven) because I was average height for the first time anywhere, ever, in my whole life.
(The hotel also had the best fresh Italian food ever. Don't ask me to explain how this was so; I can't.)
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@TheOnceler This. This one. This one is my favorite so far and they're all pretty fucking glorious oh my god.
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This really is the best thread in MSB history. Thank you, @nyctophiliac!
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It is known that I am not the most coherent person before 10am. My speech center, especially, tends to be jumbled. I usually train coworkers into this.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeell.
I left my first 'adult' job for another job. Year and a half later, I got laid off, and went back to the first job. Instead of full training, I got sat with someone for a refresher. One of the first days back, I'm riding the elevator up with some of my old buddies. I'm leaned up against the wall, completely out of it.
"So, <Auspice>, who did they sit you with this week?"
Me, mumbling: "Ryan Seacrest."
The whole of the elevator breaks out in laughter.
Me, eyes still barely open: "What?"
"Do you mean Ryan <guy's actual name>?"
Me: "Isn't that what I said?"
Cue more laughter.
It became a game to talk to me first thing in the morning after that.
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Here's another one.
Now, I love Durban. I went there on my honeymoon. If anyone out there has ever visited (or has plans to visit) South Africa, it's by far my #1 recommended tourist destination. The clubs there are amazing. The Indian Ocean is warm. The surfing is spectacular. The weather is perfect, hardly ever falling below 18° C /64° F. They have the 5th biggest aquarium in the world with a pool where the only thing separating you from their shark tank is a big ole piece of glass. The people there are fucking awesome. There are game reserves. They have mountains. They have cheaper prices on practically everything compared to Jo'burg or Cape Town. But what I remember the best is that the food is just... yes. We went out to eat every night - sea food on a boat in the harbor, Korean food (hard to find in SA), sushi, and Indian food.
Oh yes, the Indian food.
Durban is known for it's Indian population and its amazing Indian food. For a great reason. It's the most amazing stuff ever.
Now, being born and raised in North Carolina and Virginia USA, this was such a different experience. You can't get proper curry where I'm from - not that I had ever even had the bad curry. But, for noobs to curry like myself, I really recommend the samoosa. It's a little triangle piece of crispy pastry stuffed with savory filling. My favorite being the beef mince curry or mutton curry (there aren't a ton of vegetarian Hindu Indians here, they are mostly Muslim). They're cheap too, at about R5-10 each, they are less than a dollar.
I might have had upwards of about 40 of them during the last few days of my visit there.
Anyway, it was a long drive home. About 8 to 10 hours, depending on traffic.
I didn't even see it coming. I mean, in retrospect, maybe I should have.
Hour three of our drive, I sneezed.
"Oh shit, I shat."
Not only that, it had the distinct qualities of a samoosa. Oily and burny and with a distinct curry smell - expelled from my anus at the speed of sound. I think I might have discovered the real brown note, if you know what I mean.
Cue about 4 or 5 hours of my husband giggling, with our car windows down and him hanging out of the window as he drove.
We couldn't stop. We were out in the middle of the fucking African bush. Ain't no gas stations in the middle of the African bush. You know what's in the middle of the African bush? Hijackers, murderers, and fucking lions. And I surely didn't want to fucking die with shit in my pants.
And I didn't want my husband to die because I had shat my pants.
I couldn't reach my bag to do anything about it, either. I managed to get a towel to sit on to spare our car seat, but... it was the most disgusting ~4 hours of my LIFE and it was even more awks when we got home and had to greet family. He had to distract them while cackling like a hyena as I slipped in and made a direct path to the bathroom.
And that is definitely the reason why we are still together. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.
