We all have dirty little secrets: Those mortifying moments we’d rather forget even happened; the ones that very few people know. But every once in a while, it helps to just let them out and get them off our chests. Here, Redditors reveal the most embarrassing experiences they’re willing to admit.
The first time I ever spoke in public was a debate competition when I was 13. Welp, I peed myself in front of teachers, peers, opponents, other schools, judges, and any other descriptor for a person in that 200-person audience. I was embarrassed but decided that nothing more embarrassing would likely happen if I spoke in public again, and now I have no fear of public speaking.
When I was young, I didn't know the difference between “getting laid” and “getting laid off.” Had no idea that these things are completely different, and I would use them almost interchangeably. So, when my dad lost his job one year, the next day at school I went around explaining to all my classmates: "Yeah, things aren't going well at my house, my dad got laid yesterday."
I was at my best friend’s house, and in the middle of dinner with his family, his parents decided to announce to their children (and me) that they would be getting a divorce and splitting up the family. The most embarrassing and worst part was that I couldn't leave, because my parents were out of town and I was staying with them.
I once got two speeding tickets in one afternoon. One was in a boat, the other was in a car.
I was born missing one of my cuspid teeth, and I had a tooth implant done just a few years ago. In other words, they put a screw in my mouth. Not long after, my boyfriend's dad had a surgery where they put a few screws in his hip. Hearing this news, I immediately told him, in front of their whole family, "Hey, we can be screw buddies!!" They still won't let it go.
When I was in middle school, I was at a birthday party for a friend of mine who lived a couple of blocks down the street from me. In the middle of the party, I suddenly got the biggest urge to poop. My crush was at the party, and the only bathroom was right next to the living room where everyone was, so I knew I couldn't go there. This is where it all unraveled.
I told my friend I had to run home because my mom needed help with something. I tried calling her or my dad to come pick me up, but neither answered, so I had to walk. I wanted to run, but was afraid if I did it would let loose, so I determinedly sped-walk home. I got about three houses away from my house, and then it happened.
It became too much, and I pooped my pants. Then when I got home, no one was there and I realized I didn't have my keys, so I was locked out. I waddled around to my sister's window as it was always unlocked, pried it open, and very carefully maneuvered my poop-covered self into the bedroom. Oh wait, there’s more.
Unfortunately, her bed was under the window, and on my way down, I smeared poop all over one of her pillows. I went into the bathroom, cleaned up, changed my pants, threw out the poop-covered pillow, then headed back to the party. No one questioned me, and no one ever found out what happened. But I still know.
I didn’t know alpacas were animals until I was 27. I thought "alpaca" meant "made from llama hair," much like wool is “made from sheep hair.”
Until I was 25, I thought all apples tasted like Red Delicious. I tried a Red Delicious as a kid, hated it, and assumed that’s just what apples tasted like. I was pleasantly surprised when my wife introduced me to Honeycrisp apples...decades later.
I had the nickname “Blue” for a while. It was short for “blue-light special” because I got lost in a K-Mart on a boy scout trip when I was like 11...
Around Christmas when I was seven, I was watching a movie with my parents and heard the characters talk about adult movies and such, if you catch my drift. I asked my parents what it meant, and they didn't tell me, so I looked it up on our family computer. Well, once I saw what it was, I got terrified I wouldn’t get anything for Christmas from Santa.
So I wrote a letter to him apologizing. He wrote me back and said it was ok. The next year, I realized Santa was my parents. It still keeps me up at night.
Many years ago, there was a club in Toledo that had the bathrooms marked “Men” on the women's bathroom and “Women” on the men's bathroom...underneath the word, there was an arrow pointing the bathroom next to it. It was a hoot. I fell for it the first time I was there, just as everyone fell for it the first time they were there.
Years and years ago, I was at my friend’s parents’ place and couldn’t flush a bowel movement. Eventually, I flushed enough that it flooded the bowl to nearly overflowing levels, but it was still stuck. I heard my friend ask if I was OK through the door and I just said "yep,” hoping the terror wasn’t creeping out of my voice.
I had to get out of there, but I couldn't leave my poop-particled water to stagnate there. So I resorted to drastic measures. I did the only thing I could and stuck my hand in the bowl and punched that poop into pieces with my bare hands. It was single-handedly the worst thing that ever happened to me, but I got the problem fixed I guess, so that was good. Yep, my hand stunk afterward. Some say it still does to this day.
If I have even one drink before going to sleep, I’m going to wet the bed. I’m a 25-year-old woman with the bladder of a 3-year-old, apparently.
I had a tendency to get super obsessive over my crushes growing up. Total lovesick "I will straight-up marry you right now" obsessive. I went the whole nine yards: extravagant love letters, angsty writing in my journal, weird photos and music video montages, dreaming and daydreaming...yeah, all the cringey, creepy stuff.
I was a lonely kid with a lot of feelings and an emotionally painful home life. I didn't stop until one girl legitimately thought of me as her "stalker" in a quasi-endearing way. That's when it hit home for me that my idea of love was wrong, and you have to get to know someone to have a relationship with them. Haven’t looked back since, but it’s cringey to think of.
I once sat on a red pastel crayon in middle school. I was wearing white pants.
When I was in elementary school, the popular girl in my class was having a birthday party. Somehow, I got invited. My parents dropped me off at her house and they were all playing with Barbies. I didn't know we were supposed to bring them. So, feeling awkward, I went to the bathroom and hung out there for a bit.
When I came out, all the other girls were gone. Like, the house was almost completely empty and quiet. Then the mom came around the corner and asked why I didn't go to the movies with the rest of the girls...The mom had to call my parents and explain that I got ditched and they needed to come pick me up. That one hurt.
When I was in third grade, I had to walk from one side of the room to the other to line up for something. Every other step I took was a toot. Like a loud and obvious one. The class cracked up and were as brutal as third graders are expected to be. That is also the year I called my teacher “mom.” Third grade me was a confused and gassy hot mess.
When I was 13, I wrote a pretty detailed fan fiction about my favorite anime. That wouldn't be so embarrassing, except for the fact that the details included me and a character who was 26 playing strip poker, among other dirty things my 13-year-old mind came up with. But here’s where I really screwed myself over.
I THEN decided to print the story out so I could read it later and make edits. However, I decided to bring it into the bathroom to read while I took a bath, and left it in there when I was done. My dad found it and read it, and let's just say he was not happy with the writing content his daughter decided to pick.
During a rec baseball game when I was 7 or 8, I had to pee really badly. I even told my coach, but he said I was up to bat and couldn’t run off now. I should’ve struck out on purpose, but I wasn’t that clever and couldn’t think anyway. When I got on base, I couldn’t hold it any longer…and peed my pants on the diamond.
I always used to volunteer to help out with first-day registration at my middle school. All my friends gave me heck for being a suck-up. But, well, the real reason I did it was if you volunteered, you got to pick your locker rather than having one randomly assigned. And see, I had a gigantic crush on my English teacher.
So both 7th and 8th grade years of middle school, I wound up with a locker directly across from his classroom so I could see him every day. And I found the most ridiculous excuses possible to have to go to my locker. I may have also sent him the world's most cringe-inducing anonymous valentine my 8th-grade year.
I'm pretty sure he knew it was me, but I didn't care, I was completely smitten. So it was kind of like that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa gets a crush on Mr. Bergstrom. Except it wasn't charming in any way. It was awkward and terrible and a wee bit stalkerish. Not having the chance to apologize to him for being such a weirdo is among my biggest regrets in life—unfortunately he passed unexpectedly just after I started high school.
When I was a little kid, I used to go to the ladies’ washroom in my school. They were much cleaner than the boys’ bathrooms and I hate going to the bathroom outside of the stalls, so I figured why not? But one day, I saw the toilet water was filled with blood and ever since that moment, I stopped using ladies washroom.
I have smacked my face on our glass door and the side window of vehicles so many times, my husband thinks I need a helmet. How it happens: something will catch my attention—my dogs barking, my husband pointing at something as we drive by—and I'll overly-excitedly go to press my face against the glass to see. Every darn time.
While I was visiting my girlfriend’s family’s home one summer during college, I had to use the bathroom. I had been there a couple of days and had to go “el numero dos.” So I went, it was huge, and it clogged the toilet horribly. Now, this was no ordinary bathroom, either: It’s a makeshift bathroom in the basement that’s half finished.
Panicking, I looked around to find a plunger. There wasn’t one. So, I found a sort of barbecue knife thing, and I tried to stab and cut the poop up, didn’t work. It smelled so horrible, you could smell it up to the kitchen. Freaking out at this point, I asked my girlfriend what to do. Her response was somehow more embarrassing.
She was crying laughing at me, and then told me to just go home—a three hour drive—and flee the scene. Thing is, I actually did it. I got my stuff, headed home, and never ever spoke about it again. Her dad apparently had to try and fix it over the course of three full days. I NEVER EVER will go poop at that house EVER again.
I’m a 39-year-old dude, and I talk to my cat in baby voice. I also make up baby-voice poems for him on the fly. My most recent creation goes a little something like this: His name is Gunz / An he is bad / Wen he is naughty / It makes me mad / But he is cute / And liks to snuggle / n dat is why / I giv him huggles.
I was on vacation somewhere in Spain. I was religiously working out back then, so I even got a contract for this local gym for this one month. While there, I met this local girl who only spoke Spanish. First we only did small talk, then we went on some dates. First going to the pool with her brothers, later going out alone.
I really liked her, but I didn't dare to talk much, since my Spanish was...poor. I figured we were just friends. We were out on a date, playing pool, when suddenly she puts some egg-shaped plastic container into my hand. It looks like one of those containers that contain small prizes you get from those carnival machines.
So we were there playing pool, and she pushes this plastic egg container into my hand. I smile and say something like “muchas gracias” and pocket the egg, preparing for my next shot. She shakes her head in protest. She gestures at my pocket. She also says something—well, a lot—in Spanish. Mostly, I understand "No." I'm lost. When I figured out what she meant, I went red.
Finally, she loses her patience, face palms, and shoves her hand down my pocket, where I put the egg. Pulls it out. Opens it. It contains a condom. I finally understand. I'm such an idiot.
Yesterday, I was playing a trivia game. When they asked "What is the longest key on the keyboard?” I answered “The ‘Shift’ key.”
I got my first iPhone about 7 or 8 years ago, and it was the first to have Siri. I was listening to a lot of hip hop at the time, and the phrase I chose to say to Siri was “I love it when you call me Big Papa” like the Notorious BIG song. Siri asked me if I wanted her to call me Big Papa. Why the heck not, I thought.
So this event totally left my memory until about two years later, when iI was looking for an email I had sent from my phone. I found it, and was horrified to learn that it had been signed off from “Big Papa.” Everything I had sent from my phone in those two years, including job related emails and even applications, had been signed off from “Big Papa.”
This is one of the cringiest stories from my past. It was probably the most embarrassed I have ever been. Back when I was in high school, I went out with a girl I had a huge crush on. We went to the zoo and then grabbed some food. It was great and I had an amazing time, but we had to split up in order to get our trains that were going in opposite directions.
As we said goodbye, I awkwardly tried to lean in for a kiss while she went in to hug me. I ended up head-butting her in the face and her nose started bleeding. I was so embarrassed that I asked, "Are you okay" and when she said, "I think so," I just waved goodbye and ran into the train station. I avoided her for weeks after and never went on a date with her again.
In physical education at school, we had to do this thing where you lie on your back with your legs in the air. You then move your legs in a pedalling motion. I was chosen for a demonstration. This turned into an utter disaster. I was wearing boxer shorts, and imagine how embarrassed 12-year-old me felt when some of my junk popped out to say hello.
As discretely as I could, with about 30 people watching, I tucked it away. When it was mentioned afterwards, I just denied that it had happened. Denied it repeatedly in the hope that everybody present might just decide they were mistaken about what they believed they saw. I don’t think it worked in the slightest.
The other day, I took a poop in a shared office bathroom, not knowing that the toilet was out of order. I chose this bathroom because it has a window that you can open. Upon flushing, the toilet wouldn't flush. Okay, I think to myself, we got ourselves a situation. This bathroom was right off of the break room, and there were quite a few people who saw me go into it.
I was in there for long enough that it was clear to anyone paying attention that I was probably pooping. After a few flushes and waiting, my heart rate up at this point, most of it went down. But there was a stubborn piece that broke off and would not go down. Waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally, I had to come to a decision.
Do I take the poop and throw it in the garbage? Do I wrap it in toilet paper hoping nobody notices? Do I take the toilet paper wrapped doodoo and take it to the other bathroom and flush it? Do I throw it out the window? I took a wad of TP, fished the poop out of the toilet, wrapped it in more toilet paper, and I started to put it in the garbage… But then a little voice in my head told me, no. Under no circumstances are you throwing your own poop in the garbage can at work. This is your place of employment. You are respected here. You'll never sleep at night again if you do this. So I then took the poop and shoved it down the toilet as far as I could. I couldn't see it anymore.
I went to wash my hands in scalding hot water. More people can be heard in the break room. At this point, I must let go, and let God take over. I went back to my desk, praying to God that no one suspected anything, and that the poop didn't just flow back. A few minutes later when the coast was clear, I checked.
The poop was gone. Panic attack over. It was kind of hard to accept the fact that I had stood there holding my own poop, in my work clothes and everything.
I'm a straight male. When the Transformers movie first came out, I didn't realize that Shia LaBeouf and Megan Fox were different performers. I knew there was a "hot girl" in it, and I also knew that a person named Shia LaBeouf was in it, who I thought was female. Every time someone talked about the Transformers movie for a 6 month period, I always commented on how hot Shia LaBeouf was.
I always got weird looks and never knew why. Finally, I saw some trailer or something that made me realize my mistake. Not one of my friends could have corrected me!?!
When I was writing the SAT, I finished a section early, and because it was an early morning test, I decided to take a quick 15-minute nap before the next section. While semi-asleep, I tooted and startled myself awake in a silent classroom, surrounded by 20 kids from my school. Looks of shock and terror, as well as muffled laughter, quickly filled the room. There was still over an hour to go in the test.
I can't read analog clocks. I was sick the day we learned how to in grade 3, and I was too scared to ask anyone after that. I'm also really dyslexic and used to get really embarrassed by how slow I was at learning new things compared to other kids, so I never tried. Maybe I'll give it a go some time, but for now it’s my embarrassing secret.
For a period of almost a year when I was around 20 and living alone, I forgot how fridge lights worked. One day, I was getting something from the top shelf of the fridge and noticed how warm the bulb was. It was a new apartment, and my fridge there didn’t have a cover on the light; it was just a bare bulb. I reacted in the dumbest way possible.
My first thought was, "Oh my God, how can my food stay cold next to this?!" From then on, I was very careful of how I put food in, always keeping the area near the light free of food. I'd awkwardly stack stuff on the sides of the fridge so that the space on the shelf below the bulb (the "warm spot") was clear.
About eight-nine months later, I was moving things around in the fridge and accidentally hit the door sensor switch. The light turned off. That’s when I remembered how fridges actually work, and that the bulb isn’t’ just warming up my food all the time when the door is closed. Thankfully, no one knew about it. Until now, I guess.
My freshman year of college, I went to a pre-Halloween-party hangout at a friend from high school’s apartment. He was a junior, and the first friend I ever had with his own place. I also had an enormous, elementary school-style crush on him. I would like to reiterate that this was a pregame, and we were planning on going to an actual party soon.
Not knowing my limits, I immediately drank a bottle of something, took several shots, and ate a bunch of Halloween candy. I was rolling around on the floor in a short skirt, completely unable to be a person. Meanwhile, another freshman was throwing up in the bathroom. At this point, I am laying across several people who are sitting on the couch, and I suddenly realize I have to throw up, too.
I run to the bathroom, but I don’t make it. By the way, where I’m standing in the hallway, I am completely visible from the living room. I lean back, and proceed to projectile vomit all over the kid who was already laying on the bathroom floor. Suddenly, I lose control of my bladder. I am now peeing on the floor, and still vomiting all over my poor classmate’s pants.
I cleaned it up, and went back to the party. I am now dating the person whose apartment it was. I want to add that I was dressed as Velma from Scooby-Doo.
Back when I was young and before YouTube, I looked up “How to Kiss” on the Internet. It was a Yahoo answers page that usually came up. There wasn't much useful information, it was all "just do what comes naturally," but the idea of kissing was unnatural to me at the time. When I finally came to my first kiss…I screwed it up so bad.
I spent so much time trying to process everything I had read and put it into my mouth and tongue that I sort of just became completely and utterly frozen for the entire time. She was trying to do something fun and I was just "WHERE DOES MY MOUTH GO IF SHE GOES LEFT HELP ME INTERNET" But the Internet couldn't help.
I grew up in a landlocked state, and my brother had seafood allergies, so my family pretty much never ate seafood. I didn’t find out that shrimp have legs until I was 18. I was totally astonished. I really thought shrimp just sort of...shrimped along the bottom of the sea.
One day at school, I accidentally jumped into a random person's car thinking it was my friend's. Absolutely terrified a mother and her son. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I then quickly got out and watched them speed off, and I never felt my face heat up so fast. To make it worse, the son ran up to me a week later and chatted away while I was too embarrassed to say anything return.
When I was about four years old, I liked to be naked a lot in my house. I don’t know why, but I had an ice cream scooper, the kind with a wire on it, and for some reason I had it around my “private area.” I was pushing the trigger on it, and my junk got caught into it. I was screaming, and it wouldn’t come off.
Apparently, I had also recently watched the movie Independence Day. Remember that scene where the alien has a hold of that guy and he keeps saying “Releeeeaaaassseee meeeeeeeee”? I kept saying that over and over again in the same tone. My mom finally saw and helped get it off. My parents tell this story all the time, and I still get anxiety whenever I see an ice cream scooper. My wife also bought me one for my birthday as a joke.
Growing up in a very religious household, we would participate in nearly everything the church offered or planned. Every year, we would go to a training thing in Little Rock, Arkansas, where we would stay at a VERY nice hotel for three days while competing in various events like chorus, puppets, bible quiz, etc.
The last year I participated was my senior year of high school, and I was 18 years old. March madness has just begun and my family went to a sports bar for dinner to watch the first round of playoffs. When we got back, my parents and sister went to the ballroom for a worship service while me and my brother stayed in the room.
He was sitting on the sectional couch with his head toward the extended end, playing on his phone. I was rolling around the room in the office chair that was in there, also playing on my phone. I felt the urge to toot, so naturally I roll to where my brother is laying down and kick my legs up so as to go directly into his face.
In the process of kicking my legs up, I accidentally let it go. I think to myself, "Darn it. Maybe I have another one ready." Now I'm sitting in the chair while my butt is hanging off the end, holding my legs in the air, butt aimed at my brother’s face. I pushed and a nice loud slap comes out. “Nice" I think as I put my legs down.
As soon as my feet hit the floor, I feel a distinctly warm, wet feeling in my lower region. I jump up while exclaiming "Ipoopedmypants!" My brother looks up at me running to the bathroom and asks what the heck I just said. "I JUST POOPED MY PANTS" I yell while sitting on the toilet and let the rest go. I hear him hit the ground and screech with laughter.
Now, as anyone who has pooped their pants before can tell you, you have to inspect the damage. So I kick off my shorts and boxers and hold them up to check it out, while my brother calls my mom to help us out of this situation. However, he’s laughing so hard that through the phone it sounds like he’s crying and all my mom can understand is "help" through what she assumes is tears.
She naturally immediately sends my dad up to the room. Meanwhile, I'm in the bathroom trying to figure out if I'm holding my underwear inside out, because there's poop on both the inside and the out. "Ok those are done," I think, and I throw them away and move to the shorts. But it was the same thing there; they’re done for.
My dad has now entered the room and panickedly asks my brother what's happening, while he’s still on the ground in tears laughing because I've been giving him updates on how bad the poop stains are. Once he gets the story, he calls my mom and tells her to calm down and nobody is hurt, their sons are just idiots. But it got so much worse.
I finally finish in the bathroom and finish up, having my dad bring me undergarments. I go to flush the toilet and…nothing happens. I try again, and the water rises to the top of the bowl, where it stops moving. I let my dad know and he calls the front desk, who sends a maintenance guy to unclog it. The poor sap shows up to fix the toilet with nothing but a plunger.
He walks in the bathroom, comes out 30 seconds later, and says "I'll be right back." He comes back a minute later with what looks like a roto rooter to cram my poop down this toilet. He works for about 15 minutes before the pile is gone and my dad gives him a hefty tip before he leaves. I then spend the next 30 minutes attempting to explain what happened to my parents.
I went out to eat with my family once. After we were seated, I glanced at the table next to me and noticed some girl staring at me. I thought it was weird, but continued chatting with my family. I looked over again and she was still staring! After checking a third time, I noticed she was giving me a nasty mug.
I finally stood up to say something, and quickly realized it was a mirror...I was about to have an argument with my reflection.
A pretty girl at work arrived one day with a little brass kitten pin, pinned to her chest. Of course, your eyes are attracted to this little piece of glitter, then you get caught looking at her breasts, and as a defensive move you say "nice pin,” as if to say “I was totally not looking at your breasts, honest, I was looking at the pin.”
So this happened to her five or six times before lunch, and at lunch after yet another person commented on her "nice pin," she leaned forward to me—we were sitting at the same table—and asked "What's with everyone commenting on my pin today?" I decided to fess up, and told her the truth. Her response was perfect.
"Ah" she said, then looked down to my crotch, kept her gaze there for a good two-three seconds, looked back up slowly to my face, and said "nice belt buckle."
When I was about six or seven, we had a house fire, and because of this we had to stay with my parents’ friends for a couple months. It was tense; my parents were stressed so I was stressed. One day, I got in trouble for playing a Gameboy because my parents thought video games rotted brains or something. I got so mad, I plotted a ridiculous revenge.
I convinced my brother to "suit up" and run away. To us, that meant “dress as superheroes.” We had toy superhero tools on our belt and everything, as well as a Ninja costume from a past Halloween. But when we went to leave through the front door, we got scared to go through with it because my mom was on the couch.
She saw us and burst out laughing. Which only enraged me more. So we decided to jump off the two-storey balcony instead of going through the door. I decided to wrap a sheet around my wrists and ankles, thinking it would let me glide like those squirrels. I just decided that we should jump together, but my brother was like, "No, you go first to see if it was safe."
My dumb self was chill with it, so I jumped down and felt like I was flying…for like, two seconds. And then I hit the driveway on my legs. Sprained my ankles, knees, back, and neck. But I didn't break a single bon. My brother had to stand in time-out for a couple of days while I rested in bed. My back hurt for two weeks, and I couldn't walk for the first week. Then my mom took all my toys away and made us stay in our room.
I met my future wife by almost accidentally breaking her nose. We were at a summer camp, and they had some sort of activity where a large group of us had to walk around in a small space. I suddenly took a sharp turn in that small space, and my shoulder hit her nose. She fell down to the ground, holding her nose and screaming.
I said I was really sorry a few times, and then other people crowded around her. Out of awkwardness, I tried to disappear back into the crowd, which didn't really work because I was taller than most other people there. Later, she tracked me down and asked if I was the guy who hit her on the nose and then ran away, and somehow that was a good enough first impression to start dating.
I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover, and I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I open the door…and there is his mom shaving her parts “down there” with an electric razor. I stood for what felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been more than five or six seconds, simply staring at this and trying to comprehend what was happening.
She said my name really quietly, half as a gasp. Then she flicked the switch off, yet held the flamingo stance over the sink she’d been in when I entered. I said "Uhhhhh" and ran back to my sleeping bag, pulled it over my head, and tried to go to sleep. The next morning, she never left her room and said she was ill. I was never allowed to stay at his place again.
In 7th grade, I was sitting in French class when I got the overwhelming urge to poop. I raised my hand to excuse myself to the bathroom, but as soon as I got in the hallway, my bowels got a mind of their own and I pooped my pants. I then decided the best course of action was to waddle to the nurse’s office and hope she had spare pants.
I burst into the office, and she was in the middle of tending to another kid, who I knew. I started to mumble about needing to use her bathroom…right when the poop fell out of my shorts and down my leg, smearing all the way to the floor. The other kid and I locked eyes before he just burst out laughing. I quickly ran into the nurse’s bathroom.
She handled the situation pretty well and called my mom, and I got to go home for the rest of the day. Luckily, for my middle school dignity, the kid never told anyone about what happened. Thanks, Joey.
When I was in basic training, we all marched to the clinic to take our urinalysis. It was a real hot summer, and because I had lost my driver’s license right before, I had a temporary paper one. They make you put all your identification in a necklace ID holder made of canvas. When I went in, I had sweat so much that all the ink on the temporary driver’s license was illegible.
They wouldn’t let me take the test. Instead, the doctor told me to go to the bathroom and fill up my canteen, then wait outside. Confused and stressed, I peed in my own canteen and waited outside. The rest of my fellow recruits came out while I was still waiting for the doctor to come get my sample. Then my drill sergeant came back out and started marching us back to the dorm.
It being over 100 degrees, he stopped us twice and ordered us all to chug our water. This is when I realized I shouldn't have peed in my own canteen. I pretended to chug it and just hoped that my drill sergeant wouldn't notice. Luckily, I got away with it. When I got back to the dorm, I tried to rinse it out. I washed that thing 10+ times, and the smell would never go away.
So I have polycystic ovarian syndrome, and I was bleeding particularly heavy one day, but still wanted to go to Michael’s because I had a coupon and it was about to expire. I had a fresh tampon, a pad, and period panties. I thought I was good to go, and I wasn’t going to be there that long. Turns out, I never made a bigger mistake in my life.
I was in the scrapbooking aisle when I felt something on my leg, I looked down, and sure enough blood was trickling down it past my shorts. I was so embarrassed. It had never been this bad before. I didn’t know what to do. Should I run? Where will I run? To my car or the bathroom? But little did I know, the worst was yet to come. I should say here that I look much younger than I am.
As I was preparing what to do next, an older woman who worked there walked by. I wasn’t sure if I should ask her for help, but before I knew it I heard myself saying “Excuse me” in a kind of panicky high-pitched voice. She looked confused, saw the blood…and then congratulated me on becoming a woman. She assured me that it was nothing to be ashamed of and that I should be proud. Uh….thanks?
I was standing in line at Wal-Mart, and the guy’s dentures in front of me fell out onto the ground. I didn’t realize what he dropped, so I bent down to get them…and saw it was a full set of teeth. I then decided not to touch them, thinking he wouldn’t want me to because he had to put them back in his mouth. Turns out, that was just the beginning of my nightmare.
Then after standing back up, I felt like that was rude and he might think I didn’t touch them because they are “gross.” So I changed my mind yet again and bent back down to grab them, but as my hand was like three inches away, I thought to myself that he definitely doesn’t want me to touch them, so I stood back up.
The entire time, this guy was standing there watching me bend down and stand up several times. The final time I stood up, he locked eyes, gave me a weird look, then snatched them aggressively and walked away. I still have no idea if I should have grabbed them or not. It was just embarrassing having him watch me be indecisive about his teeth.
About a year or so ago, I was standing in line at the grocery store, waiting to pay for my small grouping of items. The man in front of me is elderly, maybe late 80s or early 90s. He has finished his transaction and is trying to get his wallet out of his pants to pay. Now, this guy’s clothes are about two sizes too big for him, so everything is kind of hanging off of him.
Because of his advanced age and loose clothing, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve said wallet is proving to be extremely difficult. He seems to lack the strength and coordination to both maintain his reach and grab the wallet from the very deep and loose back pocket of his old man pants. This goes on for, without exaggeration, five solid minutes.
Picture a grocery store with lots of people trying to get dinner and whatnot, and everyone is basically on hold while this guy tries and tries to get his wallet out, to no avail. Now, here comes the horror. Old man, WITHOUT A WORD TO ME, points his rear end at me and just looks into my eyes. I realize that HE WANTS ME TO GET HIS WALLET OUT FOR HIM.
The realization hits me and I am frozen. There are like 10 people in line behind me all watching this happen, and who want to get home in time for Jeopardy. I start to do nothing, but then realize that this dude is genuinely looking for help. So, I reach into his back pocket to try and retrieve the wallet as quickly as possible. This is when I realize what the real problem was.
The dude has a Costanza wallet x 10. It’s huge. And heavy. I am trying to get a grip on the thing and I cannot get it past the loose fabric of the deep pocket, and more folds of what I realize are HIS OLD MAN FLOPPY BUTT FLESH. I swear I tried for like 30 seconds to get the thing, and couldn’t. But it wasn’t even over.
At this point, I turn around and see the horror on some people’s faces, because to the untrained eye, I am a dude sticking his hand down a poor old man’s pants. In a grocery store. In broad daylight. It’s at this point that I give up and tell the guy "Sir, it’s all good your stuff is on me." I cram my card into the machine and pay for his stuff, which is only like $12.
He thanks me and shuffles out of the store while I pay for my stuff and slide off to my new life as a predator of the elderly.
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