I love avoiding potentially humiliating situations.
The other day the nearly-new washer began making a terrible death-rattle. Our old front-loader sounded like a rocket lifting off in our laundry room. Guests would duck and yell, “What’s that?” But the new washer was advertised as quiet—we made sure of it. I would nip this right in the bud, call service and get someone out here pronto to turn the washer back into a non-conversation piece.
I went to see exactly at what point in the cycle the washer was going into spasms—and realized that a handful of hangers were bumping against a jumbo bottle of Tide on top of the hi-rise washer. And rattling.
Last month I received a postcard from the dentist reminding me of my appointment on the 26th. My husband was going to the dentist on the 25th, and I said, “I’m going the next day.” On the 25th when he got home he said, “I checked your postcard. Your appointment is the 26th of next month, not tomorrow.” (Why the dentist sends out reminders six weeks before an appointment, I cannot imagine. Gives you time to forget all over again. Or misread the month.) John said, “I screwed up and went in a day early. If you went in a month early they’d think we were both losing it.” Thanks for taking one for the team, honey.
And then there was the time the grocery bagger pushed the cart out to my car and the back hatch wouldn’t unlock, either with the button or the key. I was getting upset when I realized the car had an out-of-state license plate. And a Sarah Palin bumper sticker.
How about you? Any near-miss humiliation moments? Leave your humbling story. I promised I won’t repeat it. Much.
The other day the nearly-new washer began making a terrible death-rattle. Our old front-loader sounded like a rocket lifting off in our laundry room. Guests would duck and yell, “What’s that?” But the new washer was advertised as quiet—we made sure of it. I would nip this right in the bud, call service and get someone out here pronto to turn the washer back into a non-conversation piece.
I went to see exactly at what point in the cycle the washer was going into spasms—and realized that a handful of hangers were bumping against a jumbo bottle of Tide on top of the hi-rise washer. And rattling.
Last month I received a postcard from the dentist reminding me of my appointment on the 26th. My husband was going to the dentist on the 25th, and I said, “I’m going the next day.” On the 25th when he got home he said, “I checked your postcard. Your appointment is the 26th of next month, not tomorrow.” (Why the dentist sends out reminders six weeks before an appointment, I cannot imagine. Gives you time to forget all over again. Or misread the month.) John said, “I screwed up and went in a day early. If you went in a month early they’d think we were both losing it.” Thanks for taking one for the team, honey.
And then there was the time the grocery bagger pushed the cart out to my car and the back hatch wouldn’t unlock, either with the button or the key. I was getting upset when I realized the car had an out-of-state license plate. And a Sarah Palin bumper sticker.
How about you? Any near-miss humiliation moments? Leave your humbling story. I promised I won’t repeat it. Much.
Well, there was the time recently when I argued with my banker about whether I had a money market account or not. I mean, you'd think I'd know if I had one, right? He was right. It's the one I pay all my non-recurring monthly expenses from. I've only had it four or five years and use it all the time.
ReplyDeleteI only wish my humiliating moments were near-miss. They've unfortunately always hit the bullseye. If there is a way for me to do something that makes me wish the floor would open up and swallow me, you can be assured I'll find it. The first episode I remember was when I was 8 years old. It was summer, and I took the bus downtown to the YMCA to swim in their indoor pool. I had worn my bathing suit under my clothes, and it was not until after my swim that I realized I had forgotten to bring underwear, so I had to ride all the way home holding on to the sides of my little dress and hoping it would not rise up and expose me. The next episode was when I was a freshman in high school. I had a crush on a cute boy, but hadn't had the nerve to speak to him. He was crossing in front of the stairs when I was coming down, and I got so nervous that I fell over my own feet, hurtled down the stairs, and landed square on his toes on my knees. He calmly removed his toes from under me and kept walking. The worst and most humiliating episode of my life happened when I was 29. Again it was summer and I was at the outdoor pool. I was not wearing my glasses because I wanted to swim, and I'm blind as a bat without them. I had on a bikini, and when I dived off the diving board, the bikini top slipped, exposing my entire left breast. Not realizing what had happened, I walked to one of the tables and sat down. A man who also lived at the apartments left his table, sat down at the table with me and struck up a conversation. I chattered away for several minutes before I noticed something odd. I couldn't see him very well, but he didn't seem to be looking at my face, so I looked down at myself. Talk about embarrassed! One good thing, though, about all these incidents - it has left me with very little left to get embarrassed about. Been there, done that!
ReplyDeleteLocked my keys in my car today. I won't elaborate because I'll just get mad again.
ReplyDeleteHere's on: My husband & I are at City Range celebrating our anniversary. Coming back from the bathroom in my "favorite" (i.e., only) good black pants, I notice several folks staring at me smiling. I've had a glass (or 2) of wine, so I figure I must really look hot. I start walking a little sassy, humming "Staying Alive" in my head. When I get to the table & sit down, Nick leans over to me & says, "Honey....your zipper's down...I can clearly see your orange underwear."
ReplyDeleteI walked into my Greenville bank intending to put my writing backup cd in my safe-deposit box. (Yes I'm totally paranoid about backups.) I also wanted to move my box to their closer Simpsonville branch.
ReplyDeleteAfter a search, the teller told me I didn't have a box. I argued forcefully, knowing how incompetent banks are, I even waved the little red envelope holding my key. After a computer check, they informed my that I had moved my box to their Simpsonville bank a year earlier.
FYI: There is no way to successfully slink out of a bank after making a scene...
Ha! Val, I wish I had new material for you, but I always post my humiliation on my blog. It's my biggest source of material. You are not alone. :)
ReplyDelete