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    #51
    Embarrassing yourself in public

    Back at school there was a girl I had a huge crush on.

    One day the whole class was in a CDT (craft, design & technology, basically woodwork with an occasional computer) lesson. I was doing something manly with one of those big spinning sanders.

    Aforementioned girl approaches me (somewhat disdainfully, if I remember righly, at having to speak to one of the lower species) to ask where she finds some tool or other. Wanting to play it cool, I didn't even turn to acknowledge her, just jabbed a thumb behind me in the direction of the tool cupboard.

    And jabbed my thumb into her eye. Oops.

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      #52
      Embarrassing yourself in public

      My wife works as a nurse at an old folk’s home. Occasionally visitors bring their dogs in to see the residents – it cheers them up and gives them something to talk about. Well, let’s face it, the pace of life there is more than a little slow and excitement is hard to come by.

      On one occasion my wife entered the room of one female resident to find that she had two visitors – a middle-aged woman and an older man. Three if you count the small terrier that the woman had brought in, which was now determinedly sniffing around the man’s crotch. Its owner kept calling it away but after just a few moments it would return to what was clearly a more enticing prospect.

      “Oh,” said my wife brightly, “perhaps he thinks that you have some treats in your pocket.”

      “No,” replied the old chap with a mournful look. “I think he can smell my colostomy bag.”

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        #53
        Embarrassing yourself in public

        A bit reminiscent of the utterly fantastic "L" story. A female barrister friend of mine was on her way to visit a client in prison. It was a sunny day, so on the tube she re-applied suncream. Unbeknownst to her, there was something of a mishap with the tube, much of which ended up on her lap.

        She's an attractive girl, and caused quite a stir, she tells me, walking into a men's prison with what appeared to be a gigantic and fresh splurge of jism all down her skirt.

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          #54
          Embarrassing yourself in public

          It's not exactly a good theme for a blog, since it's only presented as spectacle, without context or analysis, (but then again, how much analysis do you need of such a subject?) but You - Drunk As Hell has some photos of epic drunkenness which should serve as cautionary tales for the rest of us. The 3-frame 'banner' pic in particular is equal parts stunning and tragic.

          This is the best 'drunkenness photo' I think I'd ever seen, although it is quite famous:

          -



          -

          In case you're wondering, I haven't got any stories of massive self-embarrassment and I'm almost disappointed about that! I once farted loudly in the library, here, but that's hardly on the scale of some of these mishaps. I'll let you know if I remember anything, don't worry.

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            #55
            Embarrassing yourself in public

            Back in the mid-Seventies my mates and I, being a bit too young for the pub, would often spend the latter part of a Saturday night at the house of one of our number. His parents liked a drink, always had a plentiful supply of booze in and either never noticed or never cared that we helped ourselves to a few cans. We’d quite happily knock back a couple of Hoffmeisters and watch ‘Match of The Day’, making sure that we left the house before the parents dragged themselves home from the local Social Club, usually the worst for wear. One night they came back earlier than expected but in the usual state of inebriation, and immediately retired upstairs for what turned out to be a very loud, bed-spring twanging, headboard-banging sex session. As the noise of their coupling threatened to drown out the MOTD commentary (“Christ, Fred, you’re like a bloody bulldozer,” being particularly memorable), our mate sunk lower and lower in his chair, his face crimson with embarrassment. His mum had saved the best until last though - “I dunno where you shot, Fred, but I’m fuckin’ layin’ in it.” became a catchphrase of our teenage years. Strangely, we were never invited back.

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              #56
              Embarrassing yourself in public

              Hahaha

              I refuse to believe all of these can be true, but they're very funny nonetheless.

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                #57
                Embarrassing yourself in public

                That second to last line . . . I laughed so hard I almost shat a kidney. Nice one gjw100.

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                  #58
                  Embarrassing yourself in public

                  Alright, you wrung it out of me in the end, you bastards. Might as well give yis something to laugh at, it being a slow week and all.

                  ===========================

                  The toilets in the building where yours truly works are located on each of the four floors, just between the entrances to the offices and the lifts. The toilets themselves boast four cubicles (each faced by a sink) leading to a wall with three urinals. A few months ago, while needing a piss, I opted to use one of the cubicles, suffering as I do from what I believe is termed "shycock". Generally speaking the toilets aren't in a particularly bad state. Nothing five star but you don't need to fight the urge to retch whenever you walk in there, mercifully. So there I am, in a standing position, finishing the end of a particularly satisfying slash when I reach for the chrome flush-handle.

                  The handle comes off.

                  The handle, due to my surprise, doesn't stay in my hand.

                  The handle falls directly where you think it's going to fall.

                  The toilet, needless to say, doesn't flush.

                  Fuck.

                  Fuck. Fuckitty-fuck.

                  Initial attempts to salvage the object by using a toilet brush to "scrape" it up the inside of the bowl are fruitless as the damn thing just will. not. stay. on. the. brush. What now? Well, I do what any reasonable person would do in that scenario. I bolt like a coward and hope someone else looks after it. The guilt pangs on that long, long walk back to my desk are overwhelming.

                  "It's alright, CV", I say to myself, "The cleaners have dealt with far worse than that. They have implements for that sort of thing."

                  "What? What implements, CV?! What could they possibly have that would fix the problem?!"

                  "Y'know... things... Hooks... Clamp-y things."

                  "You're talking shite again, CV."

                  I spend the rest of the day cautiously peering over my desk on the lookout for anyone returning from the jacks with a puzzled expression. There's no such thing and I leave work that day unmolested. The next day I see that that cubicle has been locked from the outside. Nervous relief.

                  But that's not where the story ends.

                  A few weeks later, one of the regular company-wide emails from top brass lands in everyone's inbox. In addition to the usual nonsense about what a great three months it's been for the company, an addendum to the email goes something as follows:

                  "A quick note to the 'gentlemen' using the toilets on the X floor: Could you please refrain from vandalising them? We have received numerous reports from the cleaning staff as to the state of disrepair and this will not be tolerated. Vandalism of company property is considered a serious offence."

                  Fuck.

                  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

                  FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!!!

                  I literally break into a cold sweat.

                  That lunchtime in the canteen conversation turns to the subject of the email.

                  "Yeah", my boss says laughing through his coffee, "That was a really weird email alright. Wonder what it was about."

                  "Well", I say in the hope that someone will empathise with my tale and offer words of support or recount a similar experience, "The jacks here are in a dreadful state. A couple of weeks back the flush-handle came off when I was using one of them."

                  "What? It didn't fall into the..."

                  "Oh Nonononono! Christ no!" "But, y'know, it's probably not... vandalism that's the problem."

                  A few laughs at my expense but no major damage done. I didn't get what I wanted but I didn't make a fool of myself either.

                  But that's not where the story ends.

                  Two weeks later my boss is leaving and we're at his leaving party in a lovely pub.

                  It's Friday night. About 10:30. We've all had a few drinks.

                  The place is jammed with employees from the company - the outgoing boss is a popular guy.

                  I'm in a group consisting of all the members on our team and a supervisor from one of the other teams. We all love her but she's a bit of a "character". Conversation, again, turns to the subject of a now-famous email warning from the top brass that went out a couple of weeks ago. As one of my colleagues is about to publicly prompt me to tell my story, our friend, let's call her "Maggie", interjects:

                  "Oh, did you not hear the story why it was sent out? I heard it from one of the senior managers. Apparently someone ripped the handle off the wall, threw it down into the toilet and then shit on top of it!"

                  If life was a sitcom at that point the frame would freeze on everyone turning, slack-jawed, to face me while I start to raise my hands in order to perform a Tyler Durden-esque "WHOA! WAIT! A! MINUTE!" gesture with a look of unmitigated horror on my face.

                  Death row inmates.

                  Chilean miners.

                  Henry VIII's concubines.

                  I would have gladly traded places with any of them in that instant. The uproar of laughter was enough to drown out a 747 on take off. My protestations, which would have been along the lines of "I did not shit on top of that flush handle! I am NOT a Toilet Terrorist!!!", are drowned out by the now-numerous outbreaks of "Hey! C'mere and hear this!!!" from my colleagues.

                  An hour of faking smiles and utter, abject humiliation later, I leave.

                  Monday morning. I'm first in. Everyone else arrives with the usual "Mornings". No laughter. No mention of Friday night. I get up to go get a glass of water. I'm moving out of my bay.

                  "Maybe they all got so pissed after I left that none of them remember it", I think to myself, "Maybe I got away with it!"

                  My hand touches the door.

                  "Careful with the handle, yeah CV?"

                  As I will no doubt discover all over again as a result of posting this, honesty is NEVER the best policy.

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                    #59
                    Embarrassing yourself in public

                    I've got too many drunk ones I just want to forget all of them.
                    My sober one I'd like to forget though was after an interview one freezing cold winters day , the pavements were a sheet of ice the full winter scene.Anyway after said interview the manager said he would walk me to the security gate to see me out .
                    After walking about 30 yards I slipped on the ice but not wanting to fall alone decided to grab hold of the manager for all my life was worth, he came crashing down faster and far harder than me and had a lump on his head the size of a golf ball.
                    I still got the job bit I wish I would of sued the bastards.

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                      #60
                      May as well post this here rather than start a new thread as it’s where I first documented our friend L’s condom on the bus story. Last week, whilst returning some laundered clothes to her 26-year-old son’s bedroom, L was startled to see two used condoms hanging over the edge of the wastepaper bin by the side of his bed. When he returned from work that evening she gave him a full-on bollocking about his disgusting behaviour, how she wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing in her house, etc, etc. Bemused, the lad followed her to his room where she pointed to the offending objects. He then picked them up to reveal two latex gloves that she had used the day before when cleaning the adjacent toilet.

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                        #61
                        Reading back through this thread has been a stark reminder that you haven't posted nearly enough in the nearly ten years since your arrival, gjw.

                        And I was a little confused as to why L was so horrified to see her 26-year-old son was using condoms even before I re-read everything. Now I have done it just seems downright hypocritical. I'd also like to know whether this is the same son who told the comedian about his mum's affair.

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                          #62
                          Originally posted by gjw100 View Post
                          May as well post this here rather than start a new thread as it’s where I first documented our friend L’s condom on the bus story. Last week, whilst returning some laundered clothes to her 26-year-old son’s bedroom, L was startled to see two used condoms hanging over the edge of the wastepaper bin by the side of his bed. When he returned from work that evening she gave him a full-on bollocking about his disgusting behaviour, how she wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing in her house, etc, etc. Bemused, the lad followed her to his room where she pointed to the offending objects. He then picked them up to reveal two latex gloves that she had used the day before when cleaning the adjacent toilet.
                          Were the gloves bunched up? Because those would either be some small gloves, or would have to be some massively wide condoms to be confused with latex gloves.

                          Comment


                            #63
                            I'm assuming that they weren't Marigolds.

                            "Coloured johnnies!!! Not in this house, my lad!!!"

                            Then again, they would have looked like they had ribbing, "for her pleasure".*

                            * Not his mum's!
                            Last edited by Nocturnal Submission; 16-05-2019, 13:11.

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                              #64
                              I once puked my hungover guts up at London Bridge station in front of a horrified crowd of fellow travellers waiting to get through the ticket barrier gates. I was comforted by a city guy in a suit who said "hey, don't worry, buddy, we've all done that". Every time I think about going all Daenarys on the City of London I hope he's doing well.

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                                #65
                                Before eschewing animal products, I used to wear a black leather jacket during the colder months. On one occasion, said item was worn to a post-work drink-up at which a good few of us were perched around a table on those small, circular stools ('mushrooms', as I believe they're known). Lacking a back to my chair, I, like others, placed my jacket on the stool and sat on it. When it came to my round, I rose, picked up the jacket and removed my wallet from a pocket, before sitting back down to fish out some cash.

                                Okay, you're way ahead of me: I promptly 'sat' on thin air - my jacket having attached itself to the stool, which I'd somehow picked up with it. The inevitable Laurel & Hardy-style pratfall ensued, complete with dead-fly legs up in the air, causing the by-now full room to erupt into laughter. This included a fairly hifalutin' exec from the BBC who'd briefly stopped to say hello to us. I shook his hand from my new position on the floor as he departed.

                                Originally posted by Incandenza View Post
                                Were the gloves bunched up? Because those would either be some small gloves, or would have to be some massively wide condoms to be confused with latex gloves.
                                Speak for yourself. (Etc.)

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                                  #66
                                  (mine is) Minor in scale but that reminds me - me and my mate went to watch St Mirren for a day out, had a couple on the train and a few in the Horsehoe in Glasgow before getting the train to Paisley. We were sat on those flip up seats on the train, next to the toilet and mate was attempting to make conversation with some bemused local women before giving up and going for a piss. He exited and left the door open not realising you had to press a button to close it, so I chuckled, gave the women a rolly eyes, look at my daft mate look, leant forward to close it while forgetting I was in a flip up seat, sat back down on thin air and landed on my arse on the train floor to the hilarity of all assembled.

                                  Comment


                                    #67
                                    Thanks for the kind words, Sam. I wander in here fairly regularly for a quick catch up but rarely feel the need to post anything. No doubt a sign of our troubled times, but these days there seems to be a dearth of the sort of light-hearted, anecdotal thread that I might be tempted to contribute to. Shallow, I know.

                                    Turning to more interesting matters, I think L's objection wasn't the use of condoms per se, but the fact that they had been so carelessly discarded. Although given her experience on the bus one could forgive her for being traumatized by even the sight of one. They were indeed latex gloves with elasticated cuffs of the kind worn by surgeons etc. In the interests of science I've just conducted a small experiment and yes, bunched up and hanging over the edge of a bin, they could in a certain light and without close inspection be mistaken for something else. Of course for a properly rigorous comparison I should have placed them alongside a condom. An empty one, naturally. Anything more than that would have been taking the experiment a little too far and may have led to some awkward questions from my wife. As it was she raised a quizzical eyebrow when I asked her whether she had any of the latex gloves that she occasionally brings home from work.

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                                      #68
                                      Originally posted by hobbes View Post
                                      Embarrassing yourself in public

                                      This is an oft-repeated story on OTF and it's not exactly "in public" although we were in a group of people. It is however, fcuking embarrassing so it bears repeating.
                                      I was at 6th form, trying to be winningly obnoxious chatting to a girl.
                                      I asked her name to which she replied "Beatrice."
                                      "Beatrice?! I spluttered. "Your parents must have hated you."
                                      "Presumably so" she said coldly. "I'm adopted."
                                      God, Hobbes, if that had happened to me it would still reappear in my mind during sleepless night hours and cause me to flush with shame. (Because a number of faux pas in the past still do that to me)

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