Embarrassing Moment - Part VI

Something happened at dinner this evening that caused a repressed embarrassing moment to pop into my head. I have to share.

A few years ago, while living in NC, I dated a gentleman who enjoyed singing. Since I do, too, we frequently hit the karaoke clubs/bars. It seems that most people need to knock back a few drinks before they have the nerve to take the mike. But for others, they will embarrass themselves in front of a room of strangers with little to no encouragement. That would be me. A Patsy Cline wannabe.

My friend, whom I will call RJ, would bring the house down every time he did his excellent rendition of James Brown's "I Feel Good." It was always a crowd pleaser. We had a lot of fun and found one DJ in particular we loved to follow. Freddy and his wife were retired and they were booked several nights a week at various locations to bring in business. Freddy, a little wizard of a man, worked the crowd and his wife played the music. They were a great team and had a very appreciative audience including RJ and me.

For a time, Freddy was booked as a regular on a week night at an authentic Mexican restaurant. It was not a fancy place but the food was excellent and with the karaoke, the crowds were steadily increasing. RJ and I liked to go to the places where the karaoke was new because it meant the wait time was shorter between when we could sing. And, I always said, after the other diners heard me sing, they were less inhibited about trying it. I think it is a gift I have to make others feel better about themselves. Tee Hee

On this particular evening, RJ was once again in the queue to sing and I had to find the little girls' room. The restaurant was not large and the door was in close proximity to the counter. I made my way over and upon entering I determined it was a unisex bathroom. I stepped back out to check the door. Yep, I was in the right place. I then found the latch on the door would not work. I was not about to run the risk of someone opening the door and any bypassing customers having an unobstructed view.

I stepped back out and found the nearest table where four men sat drinking their beers. I asked if one of them could come guard the door since the latch was broken and quickly realized they did not speak English. With my broken Espanol and sign language I explained my need and this dude stood up. He must have been 6' 3" and he came over, turned his back to the bathroom door and crossed his arms. I went in with every confidence that I would be uninterrupted.

As I came back out, I thanked my new hero. RJ was singing and he shot me a quizzical look. I found it funny that he was jealous of my body guard. I made my way back to the table with our friends and when RJ returned he was full of questions. Why did I need to get some guy to stand by the door? And, why did I choose to use the men's restroom?

It turns out the women's restroom was across the room.

Good grief. I do not remember the Spanish word on the door but I obviously misinterpreted. Can you imagine what those guys must have thought when I was insisting on using their men's room and was motioning one of them to come with me??!! RJ, who did not speak Spanish any better than me, went over to try and explain. Not sure if anyone was able to translate but they kept grinning at me the rest of the evening.

Embarrassing Moments - Part V

Originally posted on my AOL journal.
Some years ago I worked in a high rise building. I happened to have an assigned parking place in the basement which had many advantages. It gave me quick and easy access to the underground elevator.

In the winter, the wind whipped through the parking garage with a vengeance and we found ourselves hurrying to the elevator bay to get out of the cold. Because of the pressure of the interior of the building against the outdoor suction of the wind, the door leading to the elevators did not always close properly. A notice was sent out to all the tenants of the building to take extra care to close the door and not allow the building's heat to escape into the garage.

One morning I found myself rushing into the building, trying not to be late. My arms were full of folders and pages of the current project assigned to me and my purse was hanging precariously on my shoulder. I entered the elevator bay by myself and realized I did not hear the heavy outside door close behind me. Without turning to look, I reached back with my free hand and gave the door handle a good pull. No, wait! I did not feel the metal of the door handle. I realized I was feeling material. Kind of a wool blend - like a suit.

I turned back and, to my horror, I saw the stricken look on the face of a very tall, handsomely dressed black man. I had grabbed him below the belt and all I could do was blurt out "Oh, I am so sorry. I was reaching for the door handle! I am sooo sorry." He didn't (or, more likely, couldn't) respond.

Awkward silence followed as we stood in the elevator bay waiting for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel my face was hot and I just prayed he would say something to break the tension. Nothing. We got on the elevator, just the two of us, and he no doubt moved to the furthermost part of the elevator from me. Silence.

I prayed he would exit the elevator on one of the first floors ahead of me but instead we continued our ride together. Oh, please, Lord. Don't let him be a co-worker. I eventually got off at my designated stop and he continued on, never to be seen by me again.

Naturally, I had to share my story with my girlfriends in the office and as politically incorrect as it may have been, I reinforced a stereotype that day. He had made quite an impression on me, as I am sure I did on him as well.

Embarrassing Moments Part IV - with my sister

This is a repeat of an entry from my AOL journal. I am trying to get all my Embarrassing Moments in one place so I hope you enjoy the rerun. This is another opportunity for me to share a memory with my sister. Enjoy it, Laurie Green! (my pet name for her).

For most of the last 30 years, I have lived in Texas and my sister has lived in Florida. About 12 years ago, while I was single again, LG came to spend a week with me in Texas. I did not have the funds to travel much but we decided we would enjoy antiquing in a community not far from me, in Jefferson, Texas. It is a beautiful area and has many old homes refurbished into bed and breakfast inns.

LG and I decided to spend the 4th of July weekend in Jefferson and I made reservations for us to stay at the Azalea Inn. I spoke with Jo, the proprietor, about what kind of arrangements they had and how the rooms were styled. LG and I wanted to make sure we were going to be in an appropriate, antique setting and what Jo described sounded perfect. Since the rooms were typically used for romantic getaways I understood that we would be sharing a queen size bed. We would make due and I would try not to kick LG too much in my sleep.

On the way to Jefferson, LG and I stopped at an outlet mall and, among other purchases, we bought matching red, white and blue flag shoes and straw hats with patriotic scarves tied to them. Oh, yes, we were stylin'!!

By the time we arrived at the Inn, it was after dark. There was a note on the front door from Jo telling us she and her husband had gone to a Chamber of Commerce meeting in town and to make ourselves at home. Breakfast was to be served at 8:30 AM and we were in Room 1, the Victorian Room.

The room was lovely, with a brass four poster bed, delicate floral prints and lace curtains. LG and I brought in our suitcases and began to settle in. We were looking forward to a good night's sleep and a big day of sight-seeing and shopping the next day.

This was shortly after my sister had been diagnosed with MS and she was taking an experimental medication. That meant she had to receive an injection every five days and it was significantly more trouble than the daily insulin shots she already required. The MS shot had to be administered deep into the muscle and the medication, while painful, also had to go in slowly. This meant these injections were in that muscular part on the backside of her hip, too far back for LG to inject herself. Since her husband was not with us it was Big Sister to the rescue! I knew I could give her the shot and it was really not that big a deal for us. LG and I had been around syringes most of our lives, first with her Juvenile Diabetes and later with allergy shots that my parents gave to us at home. Of course, the syringe with this medicine was significantly larger than an insulin or allergy syringe but that would not stop me.

We got the shot ready and while I sat on the bed, she backed up to me and lowered her shorts. She asked me to find the mark from where her husband had given her the last injection. "Look for the red dot. That's where you need to give it to me. Do you see it?"

I believe she might have been a bit nervous, too. Ya, think??

I had to tell her, as I swabbed her backside with alcohol, "I don't see any red dot, Laurie Green. Just your very white hienie!" And, I patted her butt. I started to give her the shot and heard some noise on the front porch outside our window.

A few seconds later there was a knock on our door. I was still administering the medication, slowly, slowly .... so we called out, "Just a minute."

I finished the shot, LG pulled up her pants and we answered the door. There was sweet little Jo, who introduced herself and then suggested, "You girls need to close your curtains." We turned around and realized that since we had arrived after dark, we thought the lace curtains were the window coverings. But no, there were additional blinds that needed to be pulled down, BEHIND the lace drapes.

LG and I looked at each other and then at Jo and realized what had just happened. She said something about coming back from the Chamber meeting and our bedroom windows are on the front of the house ..... We started to try and tell her that I was giving my sister a shot but she stopped us. "That's okay, you don't have to explain anything."

No, really. This is my sister and I was just giving her a shot!!

I will never forget the pained look on her face. By now LG and I are laughing, thinking back to what had been witnessed through the lace curtains in the seconds before the knock on our door. Jo was really trying to back away but we were laughing so hard and insisting we had to explain.

As it turns out, just as I was patting my sister's rear end, Jo, her husband and the couple that owned the B&B next door were coming up the front walk and onto the porch. The couple next door decided to go on home.

As we got ready for bed we could not stop laughing. For hours, just as we would wind down from our conversations in the dark, one of us would start to giggle and then we could not calm down. The next morning at breakfast we learned that Jo had already shared the story with the other guests. Her husband, she said, was so embarrassed he was hiding out. We never did meet him the whole weekend!

As we shopped at the various stores in town, in our matching shoes and hats, everyone was in a festive holiday mood. They were so friendly and people would talk to us and often ask where we were staying. When we said, The Azalea Inn, they would smile, nod, pause and then say, with a knowing look "Ooohhhhh ... you're at Jo's place."

We're sisters! We did not know the blinds were up!

It turns out Jo had been on the phone to friends in town, sharing the story. She told everyone it was the first time she had ever been mooned by a guest!

Embarrassing Moments Part III - It's funny now.

Sitting in church next to FH (First Husband). The children were spending the weekend with their grandparents so it was just hubby and me. Where we attended church, communion trays are passed down each row, like you may have seen in the movie "Places in the Heart." FH had his arm around my shoulders and when we were passing the wine, from one person to the next, I thought he had a hold of the tray.... and he thought I had a hold of the tray. And, about the time we realized the tray was suspended in mid-air, we both lunged for it.

BLAM! We slammed the tray into the back of the pew in front of us. Little cups of grape juice popped out and flew everywhere! In the hair of the woman in front of me, on the seat, in our laps ... streams of grape juice ran down my leg.

We repositioned what was left of the communion cups and passed the sticky tray on to the next person. Was there any left? Not likely. The usher carried the tray on out.

FH and I were frozen. Maybe if we sat rrrrreal still, no one would notice. A few minutes later an usher came back to our row and passed over a handful of paper towels.

Just so you know, Folks. Yes, in case you missed it. The mess is over here. Right in the middle of the auditorium. Remain calm. Everything is under control.

I remember two things very clearly. The woman sitting next to us was the most immaculate woman at church and she was the one who handed me the paper towels.

And, I remember feeling that I would burst into giggles like Mary Tyler Moore in that classic funeral scene, if I moved a muscle.

Too bad the kids were not with us. We could have blamed them!

Embarrassing Moments Part II - in my twenties

When our children were young, FH (First Husband) and I lived on a very tight budget. FH took a second job as the cashier, one night a week, at a large, local auction. This auction house specialized in costly antiques, primarily shipped from England. FH would tell me, week after week, of all the interesting and beautiful pieces that passed through the doors and the high prices people were willing to pay for quality items. He encouraged me to come by some evening and see what it was like.

So one night, I arranged with a friend to watch the little ones and I headed to the auction. I was thrilled at the prospect of being around other adults for a bit and, even though I knew I would not buy anything, it was going to be fun to watch.

When I arrived, FH was seated at the cashier's station in the foyer. There was already a line of people paying for the items they had just purchased so I just waved and went into the main auction area. I sat close to the back and observed for a few minutes. I longingly eyed the large pieces of furniture that lined the walls.

About three items after my arrival, the auctioneer began to describe a lovely leaded-glass window composed of 9 panes and a weathered frame. I thought of how it might look decorating my country-styled home. $3... $3.50 .... $4 ... The auctioneer was talking so fast, describing the worth. I perked up. $5 .... now that was an item I could afford!! The bidding slowed down at $6.50.... my hand shot up - $7

SOLD! It was mine!

"What's your number?" asked the auctioneer.

Number? I didn't have a number -

"Your paddle number."

Oops.

"Go to the back of the room and register. They will give you a number to claim your purchase."
What was that other thing he just said to me? Something about 7 and 9 panes ... I headed to the registration table. Funny I had not seen it in my haste when I arrived.

The gentleman carrying the window followed me and so did the owner of the auction. The big man himself. The guy the auction was named after ... my husband's boss. He and I had never met and as he approached me, I did not feel this was the appropriate time for introductions.

"What's going on here?" he asked. (It seemed more like a bellow to me.)

"She's not registered, Sir. It is not a problem. We are getting her registered right now."

Okay. I had my number and was then directed to the table where I could claim my recent purchase. The Big Boss followed me.

"Alright. That will be $7 times nine panes ... $63.00." GULP!

I felt my stomach doing somersaults. The clerk might as well have said, $63,000. I could not afford an old window for $63 no matter what cute decorating ideas had filled my head. My husband was sitting out there working a second job! I had gone out on a limb with even the $7 purchase. I mumbled something to the effect that I thought the total purchase price was $7. I could not afford it. I did not have $63. By now I was whispering and could feel my face turning scarlet.

Big Boss exploded. "Then why were you bidding? ... People come in here and don't know what they are doing ... now we will have to put it back up again!"

All I could do was apologize over and over. As he escorted me toward the foyer, he made himself clear.

"I want you to leave!"

Yes, Sir.

"I do not want you to come back here. You've got no business being here."

No, Sir ... I won't. I promise.

We were now in the lobby and FH looked up to see me, red-faced, being guided toward the door.

He started to get up but I motioned to him in a short-hand as if to say, "Don't. You don't know me." He froze. I'm pretty sure I also saw a look of relief.

I apologized again and headed to the parking lot. About a minute later FH joined me, standing next to the car. I explained what had happened. Big Boss did not know who I was.

"Please don't tell him I'm your wife."

"Don't worry. I won't."

FH then assured me that his boss had a reputation for his outbursts. He consoled me as the floodgates opened and the tears came.

I lived through that night but for over 10 years, my hands would sweat and my heart would race if I even saw an auction on television. When I finally did attend another auction, as a fund raiser for a civic event, I literally sat on my hands. Who knew what I might buy otherwise??

Embarrassing Moments Part I - the college years

Something triggered my memory this week of an embarrassing moment and even though it happened over 30 years ago, it still made me laugh. Unfortunately, I have now been mentally rehashing ALL of my most embarrassing moments.

When I was a freshman in college, I was invited to go to a fraternity banquet with someone I did not know very well. He was a member of the university’s award winning track team and many of the other members of his club were as well. I knew some of the upperclassmen and their dates and was very excited to be included in this group’s inner circle, even if it was just for one night.

This was in the late 70s and I chose to wear a long dress with a gathered white bodice with a scooped neck, a tightly fitted waist and a flowing black skirt. I was grateful for the gathers through the bust line since I felt woefully inadequate in that area. From the looks of the upper-class girls, I just knew the next couple of years were going to be times of significant physical change for me. A girl could dream, right?

On this evening I decided to give nature a little help so I took a couple of handfuls of cotton balls and stuffed them into the bottom of each side of my bra to give me the extra oomph I so desired. Perfecto! (Keep in mind this was decades before the water-filled Wonder Bra so I thought I had been rather ingenious.) With a big smile I was off to the ball.

Imagine my horror, when half way through the evening I went to the restroom and saw myself in the mirror under the unforgiving florescent lights. Beneath the white gathers, were numerous round lumps creating a subtle polka dot effect next to my skin. The cotton balls had worked their way out of my bra and were headed north. Why not? There was nothing holding them back!!

I can still see my shocked reflection in the mirror and feel my cheeks getting hot. A couple of the upper-class girls were in the restroom and were so sweet, reassuring me that probably no one had even noticed between the dimmed lighting in the banquet, my shawl wrap and the gathers. God bless them!

To be honest, I cannot remember another thing about that evening. My brain has protected me. I daresay, I was so traumatized I probably split personalities at that moment and “Penelope” enjoyed the rest of the night!


originally posted on AOL 9/17/05