There are all kinds of mistakes you can make in this crazy ride called life: embarrassing slip-ups, massive party fouls, and horrifying judgment calls. These Redditors have found themselves in sticky situations that are unbelievably chilling and cringeworthy. Dive in and take note. These mistakes aren't for the faint of heart.
My fraternity’s party house was over a century old. A long pipe ran down the wall from one end of the basement out the back wall. We’re finishing off the last of our kegs one night when one of the pledges wanted to do a reverse keg stand. While he chugged, he lost his footing and fell leaving the keg to smash the pipe. What happened next was so gruesome, it’s unforgettable.
The pipe immediately sprayed out raw sewage into the basement. Everyone ran to the stairs. But the stairs were only made to hold a person or two at the same time and collapsed. So, that left 30 of us stranded in the sewage-flooded basement. People were throwing up all around the room. It was horrible, and we needed a plan.
So, three other guys and I had to hold up the stairs to get everyone out. And then to get out, someone else had to pull us up to the first floor. It was the most disgusting experience of my life.
I’m gay and had an intense crush on my straight best friend in eighth grade. I just found him to be the cutest and sweetest person ever. I may have searched up his name on Google a few times to see the results. One day, we’re sitting in the movie theater waiting for the film to start. We’re just chilling and I show him a YouTube video of me that pops up if you Google my name.
He tells me that the Google result for his name is his old Twitter account. I guess I must have spaced out in that moment because I gave probably the stupidest and creepiest answer someone could give in that situation: “I know.” I very quickly realized what I had just said and tried to backtrack by claiming that I search up classmates’ names when I’m bored.
He must have noticed my extreme blushing and obvious lack of eye contact though because he just smiles and tells me not to lie to him because he isn’t stupid. At this point, I’m way too flustered to say anything else because I just confessed my feelings in the worst way possible, but he thankfully never told anyone else and kept being my friend with a few light teases here and there.
I was at dinner with my band section after a concert, so we were all out in fancy tuxes. Our waitress was walking up with our milkshakes, but she tripped and spilled 6 milkshakes on my chest, lap, phone, my open wallet, and in my shoes. But that’s not all. A glass hit the table, broke, and cut my hand. She started freaking out and kept apologizing, on the verge of tears.
She kept bringing more napkins and towels, trying to help more. After I was somewhat dried, she came back with her manager. They were both still apologizing and told us they would cover the bill. As we were leaving, she stopped me and apologized again, but then said, "I'd like to make up for this ruined dinner with another one," and handed me her number. All in all, ruined dinner, but a date with a cute waitress.
I was doing a C-section for this poor mom who’d been in labor for hours. The baby wouldn’t come out of the hole we’d made, so we applied more pressure—and suddenly whoooooosh, baby zooms out like a torpedo, covered in lubrication. She zips over the surgical sheeting, which has the texture of a Slip n’ Slide, and almost rockets straight off the table.
The nurse caught the baby’s foot and whipped her up in the air upside down like in old cartoons, but almost dropped her again. Thankfully, the midwife was ready with the towel and caught the baby to wrap her up. Mom and dad seemed to think this was normal practice and didn’t notice, but me and my colleague just stared at each other with a look of absolute horror.
It still makes me shudder to think how close the baby was to hitting the floor headfirst. Never happened before or since.
I used to work at a call center for a popular gift company. This one couple calls up and says "We need to cancel our order!" I look it up, and tell them UPS already has the order to deliver it. Then they tell me the horrific truth. They say, "You don't understand. We are sending this to our son and his wife. We accidentally put his ex wife's name on the card. It will ruin Christmas if they receive this gift!!!"
I was finally able to call UPS and get them to not deliver the package. Not my screw up, but dang.
During college, I was getting on with this girl at a funky electro club. I had noticed a pull-down projector screen on the wall right by me and at eight drinks, thought pulling the screen down was a great idea. So, I tugged at it, and up it went. As it did, one side of the big and heavy screen fell loose from the wall.
It was coming our way. I dodged, but it hit her right in the face. She grabbed her nose, and blood spurted all over my arms. We stopped the bleeding with paper towels and cleaned up in the washroom. The other guy in there almost freaked out when he saw all the blood on me. The girl was a good sport and decided to stay.
Plus, the owner promised her free bottle service for the rest of her college days. But the nightmare wasn’t over yet. We kept on dancing, but being hammered, I bumped into her nose again. There was a resurgence of blood spraying. She texted me the next morning from the hospital telling me that I owed her lunch and I was lucky her nose wasn’t broken.
With a 15-year-old boy in our house, my husband and I have grown used to the *knock knock* *laptop screen slam* "JUST A MINUTE!" *scramble scramble* "....Ok" dance. We have grown used to silently replenishing his room with tissues almost daily. We have grown used to herding the two younger ones to the downstairs bathroom while they wonder why their brother is taking so long in the shower.
We have even grown used to the occasional tightly bundled sheets or towels in the laundry hamper with a sticky note on top reading "wash separately." But there was one big thing we did not anticipate. We did not anticipate that the minute everyone else was out of the house, the living room would become fair game. Having driven halfway down the block without my phone, I decided to just walk back to my house because parking in my weird driveway takes more time than the walk.
I unlocked and opened the front door in the span of a couple of seconds. This was my mistake. How could I be so careless as to expect to be able to just open my own front door? What was I thinking? I should have knocked. I should have pointedly jangled my keys for 30 seconds before unlocking the door. I should have worn a cowbell.
Anything to prevent me from seeing my darling offspring, my beautiful baby boy, my only son, pants down, humping the couch through a strategically placed towel. WHY?
There was one time my family went out to eat at TGI Fridays. My father orders fish and chips, and the table across from us orders chicken fingers and fries. Their food comes out first and the guy bites into his chicken. It was actually fish. The chicken and fish strips looked similar. So, he complains to the waiter, who apologizes and takes the plate away, bringing back his chicken strips.
Not long after that, they bring out our entire table of food. My dad starts eating a fish strip—only to make a chilling discovery. One of them clearly had a bite missing. It was from the guy who was mistakenly served it across from us. That. Was. So. Gross. Ever since then I'm always leery of not eating all the bread at the table, drinking some of a fresh drink, or generally messing up something I barely touched just so it doesn't get taken back and served to someone else.
I was at a party in high school at my rich friend's house. She had a hot tub that a few of us noticed was being seriously under-utilized. My friend's widely-despised bumpkin girlfriend got in first, and after I grabbed a cold bottle, I took off everything except my boxers and walked across the back deck to the hot tub.
As I stepped in, my foot slipped on the smooth fiberglass then shot out to my side right between the bumpkin girl's legs. I actually felt my big toe penetrate her as I fell into the water while I managed to keep my bottle level and above water. As soon as I got my head back above water, I heard her screaming, "My cooter!"
I didn't stop laughing for a very long time and still yell that sometimes when I see that friend. I think I redeemed my hammered clumsiness by one, saving my fresh drink and two, eliciting such a ridiculous reaction.
Last summer, my boyfriend and I were on a road trip from New Mexico to Mexico. We have a Honda Element converted for living in, so I crawl in the back to nap while he's driving. He stops at a gas station in the desert of Arizona and while he's pumping, I get out to use the bathroom. Come back out, don't see him, and walk around the parking lot to have a look.
I jokingly think to myself that maybe he drove off, not knowing that I got out to use the restroom, but brush that off. I sit on a bench outside twiddling my thumbs, realizing this may now actually be the case. I reach for my phone to call him, but of course, my phone is in the car. I go back inside to ask the cashier to use their phone, but she says they don't have one.
Obviously, they do, but whatever. So I start asking random people in the store to use their phones, which makes people visibly uncomfortable because we're in the middle of nowhere and they think I'll take it I guess. I go back outside and continue asking strangers for their phones. I realize I don't know my boyfriend’s number by heart so I just call my phone repeatedly, hoping he'll answer.
He doesn't. I use one person's phone to log into my Facebook to find my boyfriend's number, but alas, his phone is out of battery when I call. I resort to explaining to everyone whose phone I ask to use my situation. Some don't believe me, others feel really bad, and one man offered to buy me a hotel room for the night in the next town over, thinking that my boyfriend left me on purpose and I was just being modest.
It's been about two hours now. The store clerks through the windows have been looking at me suspiciously for a while, I'm still sitting on this bench in the desert, and have no idea what to do and start bawling my eyes out. A patrol car pulls up and the officer comes to me and lets me know the store clerks called them because I’ve been loitering, haggling people for phones outside of their store, and crying.
Yep, that’s what I’m doing. I explain my situation and the officer is as confused and sympathetic as all the other people. She tells me I can't stay there so she can either take me to a truck rest stop in the town over or go to the station. I ask her to take me to the rest stop, although she’s not convinced that my boyfriend legitimately left me there on accident.
We're driving down the highway when on her radio, another officer says he's at the gas station and there's a guy there looking for his girlfriend. I just crack up and she does too. She flips the car around and takes me back. And there my boyfriend is standing outside of his car, banging on the windows and nearly crying because he couldn't believe he'd actually done that.
He said he was passing some really cool scenery far into the drive and went to wake me up to see it too when he realized I wasn't in the car. He flipped it around and drove faster than he's ever driven in his life to get back to the gas station. He said he wondered why so many people kept calling me but didn’t feel comfortable answering my phone.
He thought for sure that was the end of our relationship and the trip was ruined.
One morning, some eighth graders discovered a combination lock on one of the sprinklers. The boys thought it was a good idea to pull it off, so one got on the other’s shoulders and yanked it with all of his strength. The pipe broke. Water started spewing. It started to flood on the second floor right by the staircase and elevator.
When the water began pouring down the stairs, chaos ensued. They had to close half the floor, the lobby, stairs, and the elevator that had filled up with water. The water must have been in the pipes for years because it smelled disgusting. By the end of it, the other high school students called the eighth graders “sprinklers.”
Once I was in line for a Neil Gaiman book signing. As soon as it was my turn to get my book signed, I was so starstruck I blurted out the most backward thing ever: "You are my biggest fan!" I immediately realized my mistake and apologized profusely, and Neil just laughed it off and signed the book. I was so flustered I didn't pay attention to what he scribbled in.
Only after I left the area and opened up my copy of the book to realize he'd signed it with, "From your biggest fan, Neil Gaiman".
I went to high school with a girl who attempted to end her life unsuccessfully. One of the officers who responded had a daughter who was friends with the girl, and he showed her the photos. This was the worst possible thing he could've done. His daughter then spread the photos around to everyone in school. Then the girl made another attempt and was successful that time.
She’d sat next to me in first period. The day after it happened was the most somber day of my high school years. It was completely silent aside from the people crying. Oh, and not only did the officer not face any consequences, but he also ran for mayor one year. Luckily, he lost by a long shot. Screw that guy and his horrible daughter.
I was doing a corneal transplant when I had the "oh no" moment. During surgery, I cut off the patient's own cornea and replaced it with a new donor cornea. During that moment when the host cornea was off but before I could get the new one on, there's literally nothing on the front of the eye except a tear film. Anyway, the patient takes that moment to start vomiting.
The reason we tell everyone to skip food and drink is so they don't aspirate in case they throw up. This patient lied about eating breakfast and started throwing up everything. The eye is still "open sky" at this time. Everything inside of the eye can now become outside of the eye. And she's bucking and vomiting. It’s awful. I had to grab the new cornea and start stitching as fast as I could on a patient actively throwing up. Don't lie about eating breakfast before surgery, folks.
Today I messed up by pranking my office à la Jim from The Office. I thought it would be funny to put a Bluetooth speaker in the ceiling and play sounds of cats over it. I found an eight-hour video of cats meowing on YouTube that was perfect. I paired an old phone to the speaker, tossed the phone in a drawer of an empty desk, and tucked the speaker under a ceiling tile.
It was perfect. You could only hear the cats if you listened real close. It sounded like there was a cat in the ceiling, but you really couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. I went to my office, got busy with work, and forgot about it until I went to break. I walked into the break room and several people were talking about the cat that must be in the ventilation system.
I chuckled to myself while I grabbed my coffee and made a loop through the accounting department to see if there were any more people talking about the cats in the ceiling. What I saw made my blood run cold. To my horror, half the ceiling tiles were removed and there were two maintenance men on ladders looking for the cat. They were real close to the speaker but hadn't found it quite yet.
I just reversed out of there and went back to work. They eventually found the speaker, and shortly after everyone got an email from the big boss reprimanding the guilty party and asking for any information on the culprit. A conspiracy theory emerged by the end of the day: Several of them don't believe that it was a prank at all.
They think the maintenance people lied about it being a prank. That management made it up to get people back to work, and that maintenance is planning to set out traps and poison to kill it. One person claimed they absolutely heard the cat yesterday, and I kid you not, a couple of them claim they still hear it. This is completely my bad.
My date and I went to a Mexican restaurant and ordered nachos. The guy said he'd never had a jalapeño. I thought this was odd because this was in Texas and they’re everywhere. I asked him if he liked spicy food and he said no, so I told him he might want to pick them off the nachos before he ate them. He picked every jalapeño off the plate of nachos…and popped them into his mouth.
I could tell he was in pain, and I asked him if he was okay. He said he was. I excused myself to go to the washroom. When I got back, my water, his water, my iced tea, and his iced tea were all empty. He was too macho to admit the peppers were hot and he did not realize drinking water/tea only makes it worse. We did not go out again.
When I was a new nurse working in the ICU in a large teaching hospital, I came into work one morning to a patient who was admitted that night, sedated, intubated, and all. Long story short, by the end of the same shift his breathing tube was out and he was completely alert and oriented, so he was able to tell us what was going on.
He was an end-stage renal patient, meaning his kidneys didn't work and he needed dialysis, and he was only in his late 30s. He said he never made urine anymore and didn't need his catheter so he wanted it out because it was hurting. So I went to remove the catheter as I’d done about a thousand times on other patients. It was the start of a nightmare.
As soon as the catheter left, blood started pouring out of his you-know-what in a heavy stream. Turns out, the nurse who placed it on admission hadn't advanced it far enough, since there was no urine production to indicate correct placement. This had caused a massive amount of trauma. It would not stop bleeding. I had to hold this man's nether region "shut" to put pressure on it while my co-worker paged the resident.
The doctor came in, looked at me with pity, and told me to just keep holding this 30-something-year-old man's junk in my hands to staunch the blood flow until urology could get there to assess. It just kept gushing blood every time I eased up to check. For over an hour total, I held it and tried to make polite conversation until the urologist arrived.
Once, I was partying at an old fraternity house, and in the basement, there was a lone PVC water pipe that stretched from the floor to ceiling. This room also housed the heaviest pong table known to man. Later in the night after copious amounts of drinking, some dumb dude decided that this table needed to be relocated.
He pushed the big table against the wall with enough force to shatter the pipe. It was the middle of winter, so ice-cold water started spraying in a six-foot radius out of the pipe dousing nearly everyone in the room. Girls were crying about their hair and clothes while the guys were yelling to find the shut-off valve.
It took them about five minutes to find it. Meanwhile, I was standing bone dry on the other side of the room nursing my drinking and watching an impromptu wet t-shirt contest. It was a good night.
I had an amazing physics teacher who used the lab exhaustively. Everything we studied, he demonstrated: parabolic arcs, waves, momentum. He used strobe lights to freeze 3D oscillating waves on a soap bubble. He even rigged a sensor to take high-speed flash photography. But the most memorable day of all was when the teacher discussed liquid nitrogen...
He explained the properties of the gas that form on top of the nitrogen as a protective layer. This meant that a person could take sips of it then spit it out with no harm done. He described exactly how to do it as he’d done it over the years of teaching. What he didn’t consider was the senior who came to class stoned. He raised his hand, grabbed the beaker of liquid nitrogen, and asked what to do.
The teacher said, “bottoms up.” The kid downed the whole thing. It was a disaster. Emergency services were called and the kid ended up in the hospital. The school had to settle for an undisclosed amount, and the kid may have damaged his stomach lining.
To begin, my husband and I can get naughty in the bedroom. My husband often cuffs and spanks me, and on Wednesday we had a pretty intense session. He put these big leather cuffs on me, but failed to take off my Apple Watch. I didn't realize that if you hold the dial down, it automatically dials 9-1-1. So we get into it, and he's spanking me.
I'm pulling on my restraints, and the restraints hold down the button. Suddenly I hear from my watch, "Ma'am, I hear what appears to be hitting and screaming. We are sending someone to you. Hold tight." "Did you call 9-1-1???” My husband asked, "tell them it was an accident!!" So I tell the operator that it was just an accident, and she says is your name [She said my name here]? And I say yes...
She says "We have your address from our database, and we're sending someone over now. I’m sorry, but we hear a male voice telling you what to say, and this sounds like coercion on our end, so we are obligated to make sure you're safe.” I said okay thank you, and I hung up. Oh, heck no. I'm literally covered in bruises and welts, and the authorities are coming to check on my well-being.
Within a few minutes, there's a stern knock at the door. We put our clothes on and come to the door, and the officer takes my husband outside, separating us from communication. I calmly explain that it was an accident and we were just having intimacy. I didn't mention the spanking. Well, apparently my husband did. Another officer comes in and asks about our contract, which we use to make sure everything is consensual.
"He told you about our contract?" "He felt it best to come clean about your extracurricular activities tonight, and thought the contract would possibly show State of Mind." I go get our contract and showed it to the officers. After a mortifying few more minutes explaining that he was only smacking my butt and thighs, they believe us and tell us to disable the 9-1-1 feature on the Apple Watch if we're going to do that again.
My dad was pretty terrible to my mom when I was growing up, but for the sake of us kids, Mum used to invite him to stay with us when he had access visits here rather than us flying over there. One year, he brought his new girlfriend along. She, being a relatively lovely woman, decided to cook dinner for us to thank Mum for her hospitality.
She serves up a strange meat casserole full of bones. Mum says, "Oh, this looks nice." Girlfriend says, "Oh, I hope you don't mind, I used the bag of meat in the freezer." Mum pauses, kicks me under the table, and shakes her head fiercely at me. We don't eat the casserole, claiming not to be hungry. Mum watches intently as Dad eats the entire lot, including my serving.
Later, she told me the disturbing truth about what had been served that night. The bag of meat was actually dog food. She relished the opportunity to watch Dad eat dog food, whilst sparing me from the same fate.
I went to an all-girls prep school that was right by the boy’s school. A classmate wanted to lose her virginity to someone she trusted, so she asked a long-time friend. He was on one of the top lacrosse teams in the country. Well, his teammates told him to tape it so they could see. The obvious happened. It was leaked. But not just at our schools.
The whole debacle made the news and ended up on ESPN since the whole team was reprimanded, which impacted their season and future prospects. Unfortunately, the girl was dragged through the mud, and her family actually moved to escape the humiliation. Thankfully, she managed to bounce back, returning to our school to share her experience.
A hammered girl was standing in the middle of the room looking disoriented. She was showing all the signs that she was going to throw up. So, one guy decided to be a “hero” and scooped her up to take her to the bathroom. Except he didn’t think about it and grabbed her by her stomach, squeezing it too hard. Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for him.
This mess-up has been set up perfectly for disaster over the past few months and is continuing to destroy my life. This is a long one, but every detail counts in portraying one of the worst weeks of my life. Let me preface this by saying I love my cat more than anything, and while he is currently not sleeping anywhere near me, he's still getting a lot of cautious love.
Truly, I love him too much—too much love got us here today. In January, I adopted an 11 year old, 19 lbs chonker. I fell in love instantly. His last family returned him after six months with a bad case of fleas. He had been de-fleaed but came home with a slew of other health issues. By the end of January after a lot of vet visits, he seemed to be on the mend.
I knew what I was signing up for when I adopted a senior cat, but just didn't realize the endless possibilities. Truly, I tell him every night before bed how much I love him, and that's about to be tested with this saga of the greatest love story ever told. Early February, he starts coughing and stops pooping in his litterbox, despite me cleaning it daily.
He's still peeing in there, but seems cautious and runs out immediately. Even when he started pooping on the floor (thank God for wood floors), he'd run under my bed from it. That was the only time he'd go under my bed, otherwise, he was cuddled up on or next to me. His medical chart from when I adopted him said he had issues with litterbox pooping.
They suspected he was afraid of his last family's other cat and it was behavioral, but something didn't add up. He was fine with pooping in the litterbox for the first month after his kitty enema. I cleaned up his poop every other day and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was starting to lose weight, which was good because as cute of a chonker as he is, it's not healthy.
I stopped free-feeding him, started feeding him scheduled wet food meals, and we had daily playtime to get him to a healthy weight. I bring him in to the vet in February for the sixth time in a month and a half. He had half of his teeth removed before I adopted him. This resulted in an incision infection and an enema due to opioid constipation.
This visit was for his cough. I even ask if he could have worms. The vet tells me, "I know you're trying to be a good pet owner, but he likely has allergies and it's a behavioral issue. This might be something he has to live with. Come see me if his mucus turns brown." I had been right about every single Dr. Google diagnosis up until this point, but whatever.
I buy an air purifier, vacuum and clean regularly, change the bedding weekly. I already have an obsessive cleaning schedule. Ask any of my previous roommates and I am the cleanest person you'll ever live with. Despite the cleaning, some coughing days were better than others. All of a sudden end of last week, he starts coughing a lot less, and I start feeling like absolute garbage.
My best friend even makes a joke that I caught whatever my cat had. Sick, sick foreshadowing. My chest was tight, frequent bathroom runs, just pure exhaustion, losing weight rapidly despite not really exercising, and malnourished to the point that my hair is falling out. I'm a mess. I guess it's a good thing I got laid off two weeks ago because the bathroom and I are very close friends these days.
I wake up Monday morning to the pungent smell of my cat's usual poop surprise on the wood floor. He's such a kind cat to poop where it's easy cleanup. That's when I see them. Worms crawling around EVERYWHERE. I'm gagging, take a little sample for the vet, and flush the rest. I Dr. Google the heck out of it and it is for SURE tapeworms.
Then I read about the eggs. Let me remind you I change my sheets and wash my duvet cover weekly. I make my bed the second I get out of it and even vacuum my duvet cover. I RUN to inspect my bed. There are eggs EVERYWHERE. Little rice demons that have been dropping from my poor cat's bum for three months. I'm dry heaving at this point.
I live in an old studio apartment and my bed is against a brick wall, so I get little grout crumble patches that I have to vacuum up pretty regularly. I remember feeling little patches of what I assumed one night was grout in my sheets, but fell asleep and ignored it. When I tell you they were everywhere, I mean they were everywhere.
My pillow, under my pillow—my cat and I fall asleep cuddling every night. Again, I love this cat too much. I call the vet and it is undoubtedly tapeworm. We suspect he's had it since I adopted him. His prescription gets to me within a few hours. I also get flea medication and spray. I check him for flea dirt regularly and hadn't seen anything, but better to be cautious.
I bag all of my bedding, throw out half of what I own, vacuum every inch of this place for an hour, I'm on the freaking floor with my flashlight, and find a tapeworm corpse under my couch. Swiffer, disinfect my couch, flip my mattress—like total mental breakdown. I give him his medication and his cough stops instantly. He hasn't coughed once since Monday.
This has been one of my childhood phobias since I read that urban legend about the guy who starved himself then put a burger patty on his tongue and lured the tapeworm out until he could grab it from his mouth. I'm thinking about this story after giving my cat his medications when holy moly diarrhea. I look in the toilet bowl…and nearly puke.
Three long strings floating on the sides that normally I would have flushed to sewage heaven without a second thought, but they are undoubtedly tapeworms. My grown self calls my mom and sobs while still sitting on the toilet in all of my wormy glory. I call and embarrassingly show the doctor, the doctor undoubtedly tells me I too have tapeworm and writes me a prescription.
He asks me if I want just tapeworm or a full deworming? I'm like what does that mean? He's like, "You'd be surprised how many parasites are living in you regularly. Just wait and see what you're about to poop out." I honestly just want to expire at this point. My cat and I are prescribed the same medication, obviously just different doses and different price tags.
His was $13 for two doses. Mine? $130 for one dose, two pills. That's WITH my last month of insurance from my previous employer. I immediately receive a text that my prescription is on backorder. I'm trying to fall asleep that night on my couch without any blankets, when would you guessed it—my heat stops working. So now I'm just shivering on a small couch knowing there are worms crawling around inside of me and eggs everywhere.
I don't sleep. I call the pharmacy when they open in tears, asking when my meds are going to get there. Lucky me, they had just arrived. He asks me, "Did you know your prescription is $130?" I'm like, "Uh no, I've never had tapeworms, but I guess the price is irrelevant." We both nervously laugh. This is trying on soooo many levels.
I order delivery for a bi meal from my favorite restaurant because first, I have no appetite because the thought of feeding the worms makes me want to retch, and I was hoping ordering from my favorite restaurant would entice me to eat. Second, the medication has to be taken with food. Third, I realize this is the last day the calories don't matter. Might as well enjoy it.
I pick up my prescription, light a candle, call my best friend, we have a little virtual funeral for my worms, and try to make light of the situation. I play the song I want played at my funeral. But it just keeps getting worse, y'all. My best friend hesitantly tells me he was telling his physical therapist about my worm saga. She recommended buying clove oil and rubbing it on my, er, pink starfish.
I'm like why? Apparently, worms like to bite your butt on the way out, and clove oil prevents that. I hate everything at this moment. It's like the different levels of a nightmare. I take the pills and am reading the prescription pamphlet. It notes that you'll experience random aches and pains while the worms are expiring. Let me tell you, I felt every worm as I lay blanketless on my couch in the fetal position.
All of a sudden, I'm thinking about the worms and I can't breathe. My throat is kind of itchy, and I'm thinking there are worms in my tonsils at this point. I'm laying there in the fetal position, telling myself it's just a panic attack. My cat decides to go pee at 2 am and jumps out startled, trailing pee all over the apartment. I know the medication says to limit your alcoholic beverages, but I say screw it and make a drink.
I clean the pee and finally fall asleep for about three hours. I wake up bright and early to the smell of cat poop. Still half asleep, I searched his normal spots and couldn't find any poops. He left it in the tub for me—a new spot—thanks, cat. Easy cleanup and no worms, I take it as a win. I flush it down the toilet, bleach the tub, and obsessively wash my hands.
Let me tell you, my hands are bleeding from the number of times I wash them in wormageddon. I look at myself in the mirror while scrubbing my raw hands and oh my god. My face is swollen to the point I'm still surprised I can see out of my eyes. My tongue is flopping all over the place. I am having a severe allergic reaction to the tapeworm medication.
That panic attack while falling asleep was actually an allergic reaction. I immediately video chat my doctor, and he tells me to go get Benadryl immediately and writes me a steroid prescription. I get a call from their finance department on the brief walk to the pharmacy: $140 for that five-minute virtual visit. I try to dispute the charge, but she can't do anything.
I just flat out ask her: "Can I just tell you about my awful life then for $140?" We talk for five minutes about how much my life sucks and she agrees. She was very nice about it, but still $140. She basically tells me that if I had waited a month to get tapeworm and almost die from the medication, the virtual visit would have been cheaper without insurance.
I cut my losses go back to the same pharmacy from the day before and they ask me what's wrong. I lift up my glasses and they were like "Ooooof—did you know you were allergic to this medication?" At this point, I'm like "WHY DO ANY OF YOU THINK I'VE HAD TAPEWORMS BEFORE?" Truly, complete mental breakdown. I buy my medication, 12-pack, and $20 worth of candy to ease the pain.
So folks, here I am. Unemployed, clenching my butt like never before, still haven't pooped because I'm terrified of worm kisses on the way out, face still swollen shut, but I'm breathing fine. My cat is a new cat, so for that? I am grateful. I am 100% sure I will have PTSD from this experience. It is going to be a long, long, time before my cat and I snuggle regularly again, but I know we'll get there and I still love him.
Adopt senior pets regardless of this story, because 10/10, would still get worms again for him. Wormageddon 2020 will not soon be forgotten.
When I was in med school, there was an "Oh God" moment for everyone. They were prepping a patient for surgery and put him under and the nurse said "Ok, he's out" before they were about to start slicing him open. The patient just had enough strength to move his head from side to side and said "No, I'm not out yet." Everyone laughed it off, but if the patient didn't do that, it could have ended badly.
This morning I was feeling frisky and really wanted to hook up with a local guy. So I got to talking with a guy and even though he was a lot older (like late 30s-mid 40s), he had a great body, So I said what the heck invited him to my hotel room. After 45 minutes to an hour of fun, I thought I’d never see this dude again because I’m flying home this afternoon (right now).
Wrong. I went to the gate when they started boarding. Guess who was pre-boarding with his wife and children? You guessed it. To make matters worse, they are just a couple of rows from me and I can hear all their conversations. I’m on the plane right now and he keeps texting. I am saving screenshots in case I need them in the future.
I’m sitting here wondering how he was able to get away from his family that long...he was staying at the same hotel, which now just dawned on me because he made it to my room super fast. This is so uncomfortable.
One New Year’s, we had bottles and bottles of some cheap stuff and drank it. We were sitting in a first-floor apartment and about to leave for another party. But the host decided that he needed to relieve himself and he was going to do it out his window. I missed all of this getting something, and was on my way back.
I watched one of my friends by the front door with his head tilted back, thinking that someone was pouring him a drink from above. But it wasn’t a drink. It was the host relieving himself, but my friend was too gone to realize it.
When my parents were in college, my father took my mom to the fanciest restaurant he could afford while they were both broke. They had a wonderful time, very romantic, and he got out of the booth to go down on one knee and propose…At which point a waiter who was walking backward with two trays of drinks while chatting with his friend tripped over him.
He spilled both trays of drinks on the two of them. In the middle of his romantic proposal. The manager came out, saw what happened, clocked out of work, and went home. No comped meal. No cleaned clothes. No apology from either of the waiters.
I went to high school with a guy whose house was due to be knocked down. So, he had a party knowing full well that it would be messy. It started innocent enough with flicking paint at each other or looking the other way if someone spat on the floor. That was until my friend “accidentally" pulled a kitchen cupboard off.
After a brief pause, the pandemonium broke loose. It got so bad that one guy punched through a window cutting his hand, so someone had called for an ambulance, and officers came to shut the whole party down. I suspect the host was the one who called them making him a bad host, but I still enjoyed our hour of fun at his house.
This weekend, I was at one of my best friend’s weddings. The bride, my friend, is diabetic and forgot her insulin when we went to the church, so technically, diabetes is the villain of this story. No problem. I volunteered to go back to her house to pick it up. I like a mission. Me against diabetes. After a morning of bridal stuff, my adrenal glands were more than happy to kick some dust off.
The bride says the back door is unlocked, so I dash to her house, drifting the corners (in my mind), finding the apex in the road. The back door is not unlocked. No doors are opened, but I am NOT taking the L on this. All of us bridesmaids had gotten ready at her house earlier, and one of the other bridesmaids was leaning out her window on the second floor at the time.
I gaze up at her window, praying that it’s still unlocked. I know this house. I went to high school with the bride, snuck out of that window onto the roof, and clambered down the tree beside the house many times. Only this time, I am in a strapless, tight, mermaid-style dress. Driving a stick in this constricting skirt was challenge enough. There is no way on God’s green Earth that I can climb a tree.
It’s barely above freezing, but this is a DefCon 2 situation. I’m in the backyard, and there is only one house that can see me. I accept the crazy-low odds that the grandparents that live next door will notice me. Decidedly incorrect assumption. Because apparently, Gramps has assigned himself the position of overwatch. I kick off my heels, sling off my jacket, and toss the Morticia Addams-style bridesmaid dress over the fence.
I pat my old friend, the tree, and begin to climb. I’m sure I sloth-climbed it, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins has me convinced that I ninja warriored it. The window is unlocked **Oorah**! Once I open it, I ungracefully fall into the room from the roof. I don’t care because the distinctly male movie announcer voice in my head is sexily broadcasting the trailer for the movie I’m acting out.
The crowd cheers when my icicle toes hit the hardwood floors. The room looks like a girl’s purse exploded. Curlers, hairdryers, make-up bags, and clothes cover every square inch of the carpet. I super kung fu hop over the piles to the dresser where she said her insulin bag would be. It’s not there. I look through the piles, shaking like a scared dog from the cold.
Nope. To the bathroom. Nope. A massive rock drops into my stomach when I can’t find her insulin. The clock is ticking. I launch down the stairs, two at a time, and run through the house as my eyes scan every surface. I find it on the kitchen counter, a full floor away from where she thought she left it. Booyow! I’m back in the game. I pump my arm and grab the bag.
I make sure I can lock the kitchen door from the inside. I mentally check—yep, I left all of my stuff outside. I step into the garage, shutting the door behind me. As I’m jiggling the locked doorknob, I hear the Woop Woop of a patrol. I slowly turn and do some weird half raise of my hands. There are two…TWO officers in the driveway.
All official and stern-looking. In a split second, I flash on images. I’m in the back of the car, handcuffed, search warrants are getting issued. I see the courtroom, a stern judge, and an unforgiving jury. In a moment of catastrophic cognitive dissonance, I swear I heard my brain misfire. The only thing that zaps me back to reality is that, I kid you not, my breasts are two frozen ice-cones.
I’m going to have the pleasure of explaining this to the officers while wearing nothing but my fancy thong and lacy, strapless bra because genius me didn’t want panty lines. I could have vaporized on the spot from the humiliation as the officers approach me. I don’t even know what I said. I virtually shoved the bag of insulin at the older officer and vomited out the preposterous details of this Texas-sized oof that landed me in my skivvies, coming out of a house that I technically broke into.
They try to keep a straight face, but then I start to laugh. It begins as a small embarrassed chuckle, but then it takes on a life of its own, commandeering all of my self-control and flinging it into the icy wind with the ashes of my dignity. I howl. Tears run down my face and I shoot inhuman sounds at them. I can make no sound other than drawn-out vowels.
God, it’s embarrassing. They are trying to ask me questions, and instead, they get Mutley the dog. All I can do is wheeze, or tear and shake from the cold. Finally, I beg them to let me put my clothes on. One gallantly swings his arm to tell me to proceed to the backyard to recover my assortment of clothing cringingly clinging to the fence.
They are gentlemen about it as I jump and shimmy into this contraption of a bridesmaid’s dress. They ask me if there is anyone that I can call from the family to confirm the story. I call the bride. She doesn’t pick up. I call the bride’s mom. She doesn’t pick up. I call the love of my life. He picks up on the first ring. God, I love that man. He doesn’t know why I left the church but immediately goes into solve-this-fast mode.
He gets the bride’s dad. It gets sorted. My guy is waiting in the parking lot when I pull up. Panic rolls across his face when he sees me, thinking I have been crying. I laugh the rest of my make-up off with him when I tell him the story. We’re getting married soon, and I think the bride should have to perform a commensurate task of climbing a tree in freezing weather in her underwear.
I’m definitely taking suggestions. This all happened in a decently small town. This story has ripped through the gossip mill like Taco Bell through the colon. My oldest brother is apparently friends with the “young” officer that I could never make myself look in the eye. Yep, never living this down, and I’m never more grateful to have moved away.
I was sending an "adult" link to my girlfriend and accidentally shared it to my facebook feed instead of in a message. I don't know how, I must have been tired or something. We're talking some really bad stuff here. I didn't even realize I'd done it until the following day. I woke up to a message from Facebook telling me they'd auto-removed my post.
I don't think anybody saw it, thank god. I've never been so grateful to a robot in my entire life.
I have a college friend from a very wealthy Indian family. His family was having a party for his sister, so my friend invited some of us to keep him company. When we got to his house, it was gorgeous with an open bar! The party consisted of a lot of sober high school kids, older Indian relatives, and our college group.
Our group hit the open bar like it was our job, and soon, we’d achieved the desired effects. I was two to three times worse than my friends. I proceeded to make a complete fool of myself. After throwing back what felt like my 40th drink, I noticed a high school girl who I thought was cute. So, I started chatting her up.
I thought I was being quite suave for my altered state. Except I mentioned something inappropriate that made perfect sense in my head. Then I complimented her shoes and walked away. That was the last thing that I remembered. I only found out what happened later. My friends found me sitting at the dining room table looking sick, tired, and miserable.
One of my friends sat on my lap pretending I was Santa. I moaned and leaned my head against his chest. He responded with a joke at the same time that I threw up all over his chest and lap. It got everywhere—the gorgeous rug underneath the table and then on the family’s pants from cleaning it up. I woke up hours later alone.
I felt fine but noticed how terrible I smelled. When I looked down, my suit was covered. I looked at the clock and saw it was 4 in the morning, and all the guests were gone. It was quite an awkward morning, and my friend thought it was funny. His friend’s dad just said, “it isn’t a party till somebody pukes.”
I was walking into a dorm building with a friend one time, and she saw one of our friends coming into the dorm a few hundred feet behind us. She decided to scare him, so she hid behind a big pillar right near the entrance. The guy walked through the door, and she jumped onto his back, grabbed him around the neck, and started smacking his butt, yelling "Giddyup, Cowboy!"
The guy flipped out and got my friend off of his back. At that moment, we realized her huge mistake. It was not our friend, it was just some random, strange guy. My friend turned bright red and ran up the stairs without saying a word. From then on, that guy would see her sometimes in the halls and say "Hi, Cowgirl" and she was always way too shy to reply.
In tenth grade, the teacher answered a phone call. After she hung up, the whole school was put on lockdown, and no one was allowed to leave or come into the classroom. Later we learned the disturbing truth. Apparently, a student from the middle school brought what looked like a pipe explosive to the elementary school to ask someone to identify it.
He had left the device in the back of his truck bed then parked right by the entrance, which was what caused the lockdown. Then we heard that he had intellectual disabilities and just thought the school was where the smart people were who could tell him what it was. He had meant no harm, but it was not a good decision.
I’ve been living in this house for the past 11 years. In my bedroom, there’s a ceiling fan that I always have on to try and make my room colder. My room has always been insanely hot compared to the rest of the house and I never understood why. Flash forward to today when I’m talking to a friend that said they found out their fan can switch directions to heat the room in the winter. I immediately realized my screw-up.
When I got home I took a closer look at the fan, and hiding by the light is a little black switch. I hit the switch and what do you know, my room is about 10 degrees colder in minutes. I’ve been sleeping in a sauna for the past 11 years and had no idea. Every day in the summer waking up sweaty was because of a tiny black switch.
I was the patient. I had a liver transplant and was having surgery to get a new bile duct stent. Well apparently, my anatomy is different than normal, and my lungs go more down my sides. So the doctor accidentally caused a nick. It had devastating consequences. When I woke up, I couldn't breathe. They did an X-ray and had to do a chest tube.
Apparently, he cried he felt so bad about it all. But it wasn't him being malicious or negligent, it was simply an accident.
When I was a freshman in college, two friends and I were eating, and some other college girls were seated at the next table. One of my friends was kinda checking out one of them. About 10 minutes, we were in some discussion about something, and I tend to be quite animated with my hands when talking. I smacked my plastic glass of coke quite hard apparently and it managed to fly over to the other table where the girls were sitting and spill over the front of two of them. I was totally mortified.
I was the only friend of one kid in the class who everyone thought was weird. One day, he forgot to take his medication, which made him hungry. So, he tried to sneak something out of my lunchbox that didn’t have much in it. He managed to find a very old chocolate bar. I warned him not to eat it because it looked moldy. Nope.
He shoved the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed. After lunch, we went back to class, but a few minutes in, he had to run to the washroom holding onto his behind.
My friend brought his girlfriend to my wedding and got smashed. So much so that he crashed another wedding at our hotel and met a random chick. But that’s not all he did. He also slept with her in his room. His girlfriend walked in on them and flipped out. His girlfriend was so wasted that my wife and I had to coddle her all night until she was asleep. On our wedding night.
So this took place maybe half an hour ago, and to be honest there's still a chance there will be some kickback for this today. I work in a call center to make ends meet currently. It’s no career but it’s a pretty nice job with some decent people and it’s easy. All we do really is facilitate switches for people looking for better deals on household stuff, usually their internet provider or supplier of gas/electricity, etc.
We have agents in the field who make sales, then call us for verification with the customer, simple right? Not today. See, usually it’s company policy not to do call-backs. Nobody wants annoying call-center calls right? So unless the customer specifically requests a scheduled call-back, we just don't do them for that reason and others.
I had a customer two days ago looking for a pretty pricey internet switch, going from some basic setup to a full TV/Phone/Internet package, the works, all the channels, anytime calls to numbers including international, 500+ mbps wifi, and it came to over £100 a month. I inform the customer, who's an impatient-sounding guy, that because of the price increase he'll need to have a quick credit check run on him and it'll mean the call takes a little longer.
The guy gets all annoyed about being busy and says he "can't waste all afternoon on the phone to some call-centre" so would it be alright if I called him after the weekend to go through it then. Seemed straightforward enough...This is pretty common, people are always up for the sale until they realize they'll need to spend more than one whole minute on the phone.
But I scheduled the call anyway and asked if there was a specific time he wanted me to call. He says any time is fine and follows with "If Emily answers, just ask her for me, she'll make sure I get the phone" and gave me a home phone number. Fast forward to today, and I make a grave error. See, the application I had from the customer had his home phone number already filled in.
It turns out this was NOT the same number he'd given me for today's call back. I called the number I thought was correct, and a woman answers. I say without thinking; "Oh hi, I'm calling for Steve to confirm his broadband switch, we spoke the other day? You must be Emily!" .....cue uncomfortable pause. She says, "This is Steve's wife, Amanda. What do you mean I ‘must’ be Emily?"
I apologized, and said, "I'm so sorry, when I spoke to him the other day he said if Emily answered to just ask for Steve?" And she just goes, “I knew it, I freaking KNEW IT" and slammed the phone down. After checking the application against the post-it note I'd jotted some info down on the other day, I realized Steve must have given me the number for where he was going to be today, and I'd instead called his unsuspecting wife at home.
Nobody's called into my workplace yet, but if they do I don't think they'll be happy.
When my husband and I were dating, we went to the aquarium restaurant at the mall. Living in a state fairly far from the ocean or any clean rivers, I've always been skeptical about fish. My husband, on the other hand, dove right into his plate of mahi-mahi with no second thoughts. I was becoming more and more upset with the evening as I don't like seafood and I am terrified of eels.
The big as heck aquarium in the middle of the restaurant had a nine-foot-long, electric green eel that kept staring at me. After an overpriced dinner and being terrified by the local fauna, we went to go see King Kong at the movie theater where I worked. Halfway through the film, my date runs to the bathroom and apparently becomes violently ill all over the bathroom.
He returns and tells me I should tell someone about the mess in the bathroom. I tell him that I'd rather not tell my coworkers that my date had just screwed up their nights and made him go do it. Turns out, he had scombrotoxin poisoning from spoiled fish.
At a frat party on the dance floor, one of my friends informed me that she was going to vomit. We took her to the next room and couldn't find a trash can anywhere. By then, she was doing everything in her power to keep the vomit from spewing out of her mouth. So, we grabbed the empty cooler used to hold the jungle juice.
We put it in front of her and watched her while she puked for 20 minutes. Then a trashed frat boy came in to see what was going on, found a trash can for her, and put the cooler back on the counter before leaving again. I’ll never forget what happened next. I was too busy dealing with my friend to mind the vomit-filled cooler until a girl came to fill her cup.
I told her to not, under any circumstances, drink the jungle juice. This girl just rolled her eyes, swore at me, and took a big swig of fresh puke.
At work, I accidentally knocked over two aisles filled with wine glasses. Lucky for me, everyone was too busy freaking out—there was apparently a customer nearby who also got a few cuts on his legs—that they didn't notice me slowly slipping away and reappearing a few seconds later to ask what happened like I was totally innocent.
No one ever suspected it was me, but I still felt horrible because it was over a few thousand dollars worth of stuff that I broke, which may not sound like much, but when you're 15 years old working on $11/hr, five hours a week...
My mom had to have a kidney removed due to her waiting for almost two years to go to the doctor about her pain in her back. The doctors found out it was a large kidney stone and that her kidney was infected and had lots of gross pus shutting it down. After draining the fluids through tubes, she was finally ready for surgery.
Cue last Wednesday, the day of the surgery, and she was ready to finally be done with it. They removed the stent and put in the tubes no problem, next was the kidney. Here comes the “Oh God” moment. As they get ready to remove the kidney, they realized the kidney’s infection had spread to a portion of her lung and a major artery, making them fragile as toilet paper.
As the surgeon removed the kidney, he tore a hole in the lung, and even worse, he severed the artery. At that point, it was a race to save her life and stabilize her. I don’t remember much about how they fixed her up there, but they had to fly her to a different hospital and have a heart surgeon fix the severed artery in a more permanent fashion.
Anyway, the heart doctor saw the grave situation and said she’s got a 1% chance to make it. But he did such an excellent job that my mom is still alive and getting stronger each day. The moral of this story is: If you have insurance and are experiencing pain, go to a doctor as soon as you realize it. You may save your life, and also save some doctors from an “Oh God” moment like this.
Today I messed up so bad. For context, my dad was hired to work an IT job at the school I attend around two years ago. I am a third-year college student. While he was doing this job, he became friends with some of the other IT people, and through this, he has been invited to go to a club where they listen to music and appreciate it. Some of my teachers are in this club, especially one of my favorite teachers, horrifying I know.
They have moved their meetings online through video calls, and here is where the mess-up begins. To join these calls, my dad uses the family computer in the living room. My room is adjacent to the living room and if my door is open, I can directly see the computer from my doorway. Last night, I was hanging out in my room wearing headphones and watching some Netflix.
As I am playing, I spill some salsa on my white shirt, meaning if I want to salvage the shirt I have to soak it immediately. So I get off my bed and take off my shirt. Oh, and I’m not wearing a bra. Why I took off my shirt before I left my room I don't know. The stars must have lined up for this to happen because 1. I did not know my dad was attending this video conference,
2. My dad had left the living room to go to the bathroom, and 3. I am in clear view of the video camera on the family computer in the living room and didn't think about it at all. So, I leave my room, tiddies out and all, and walk to the laundry room to get the stain out of my shirt, done easy no problem. As I walk back to my room, I get a craving for some soda and decide to go get one.
The kitchen is adjacent to the living room, right next to the family computer. I walk by the computer and into the kitchen, open the fridge, and behind me, I hear "Uhmmm?” and I immediately recognize my teacher's voice. I stop in my tracks. You know that feeling when your stomach drops and your entire body just freezes? Yeah, that.
In my panic, I was so shocked and I was just putting 2 and 2 together and just go "no" and drop to the floor. I sit on the floor, my back against the kitchen island with my knees to my chest and I have no idea what to do, there is no way I can get back into my room without going past the camera. Luckily, my dad came to the rescue and came back to the room shortly after.
This was the conversation that followed. Teacher: "Hey, I believe your daughter might be in hiding, you might want to hang up so she can safely return to her room." Dad: "You there?" (He can't see me because of how I am sitting). Me: “…...yes" Dad: "Do I want to know?" Me: "No" Dad: "Should I disconnect from the call?" Me: "Yes...can you also close your eyes until I tell you to open them?"
Dad, very confused at this point: "Ok?" My dad proceeds to turn off his camera and tells me I can leave. I then fled the scene, locked my door, and immediately put on a shirt. I called out for my dad that it was safe, and a few minutes later I could hear him laugh with everyone in the call. We have yet to discuss this. For personal reasons, I will now be expiring, thank you.
The group of the school’s “rejects” egged the side of our school that was all windows on a hot day. So, the eggs dried up quickly and ruined the glass. The school district had to spend thousands to clean and repair the damage. And the school had been only a few years old and newly built. They never got caught for that. But one time, after pulling the fire alarm every day for two weeks, one was caught.
They’d made it so that a person pulling the arm would get inked. All the other days they avoided it somehow, but that day they didn’t. So, they all fessed up. They were almost banned from graduation for costing the school so much money. They didn’t get banned because before the incident they were squares with clean records. So, the school became tight on hall pass rules after that so no other class could do it again.
In my freshman year, I was at a frat party watching a game of pong between seniors and freshmen. The seniors trashed talked the freshmen, made fun of them, and told them that they weren’t “worthy” to play because they were only freshmen and had zero chance of winning. Well, the freshmen proved them wrong by a longshot.
One of the seniors punched a window in his rage and embarrassment. The window shattered, and the glass cut a big deep gash from his hand to elbow. He ran through the room to the bathroom spraying blood everywhere – including the group of girls that had just arrived.
This happened a couple of hours ago. I proposed to my long-term girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, due to the nature of my work we have to move soon and having a real wedding before then would be impossible. I got off work early today and after getting home, my fiancée asked if we could go get some paperwork notarized for the courthouse wedding that we planned to have in a month or two.
We hopped in the car with a form we printed off the county website and drove to the closest UPS. The notary checked our IDs and had us sign and then she signed, notarized the form, and said congratulations. Cool, now all we have to do is go to the courthouse on a day of our choosing to be wed. My fiancée called the courthouse afterward, double-checking to see if we needed to bring anything else.
After calling me her boyfriend, the lady on the phone corrected her by saying “husband.” She then told my fiancée our state no longer requires a ceremony with the judge at the courthouse. That form is literally the marriage certificate and she is now married. Whoops! We had a honeymoon picnic at a park near a lake. I’m married, I guess?
There were bushes at my bus stop where I found a plastic piece. So, I showed my friend, and he grabbed it and started pointing it at traffic. One of those people called officers, and the swat team was called. I was none the wiser until they called us into the assembly hall later in the day to tell us what had happened. This was only a few years after Columbine.
My friend wasn’t a bad kid. He just didn't think things through. Unfortunately, his inappropriate antics didn't end there. He also brought the head of a lighter into school, playing with it during science class, and accidentally lighting a jar of rubber cement on fire.
Some kid decided to pleasure himself in class since he thought everyone had gone home. Our classroom faced the hall with the windows facing out. So, he thought he was covered by sitting in a swivel chair facing away from the door. He took off his shirt, his pants were at his ankles, and he used his sock to do the deed. He was just about to finish when everyone came to pick up their bags after a group seminar.
Everyone saw and immediately cracked up. I've never seen anyone so shocked. I felt sorry for that kid. He didn’t come to the school after that. I think the school may have felt awkward about it, and he was just “asked to leave.”
It was my wisdom teeth removal. All four were impacted, and they had to break out the heavy hardware. I'm knocked out, don't even know the dentist entered the room. I wake up, but not able to move, just eyes open awake but my limbs won't react to my brain. I can feel the dentist hammering a chisel into my tooth to break it for extraction.
My jaw is just coming undone on every hit. My eyes are wide open, jaw even wider with some evil metal contraption. I'm staring at the assistant begging for her to see me, and after about a dozen hammers to my jaw, she glances over and drops the suction, jumps up and shrieks. The dentist stops to look at her, then looks at me and I see him say "Oh God.” Next thing I know, I'm waking up post-surgery. What nightmares are made of.
As a professional photographer, I have showcases for my work. One night before a showcase, I had a small party at my house with pong, music, the usual. A guy came with a really pretty girl, and after some time, I realized that she wasn’t interested in him. So, I went up to her with my drink and started chatting her up.
She asked me what I did, and I told her. I offered to take her upstairs to my room to see more of my prints. So, she was looking through all of them, getting excited, complimenting me, and becoming more and more flirty. When she brushed up on me enough times, we started making out hard. But there was one thing we’d forgotten.
Her date burst into the room, but he didn’t realize what was happening. He decided to surprise her by tickling her. She gasped and vomited—but that’s not the worst part. It was all over my unprotected prints. I was livid, she was embarrassed, and we were both upset with the friend. They argued, and he left. She ended up staying and sleeping with me.
She called in sick the next day and helped fix my prints in time for the show.
One time, my husband called me at work, "Babe, you're going to be so mad! I made a mess but don't worry, I'll fix it!" I just sighed because he is basically Lucy from I Love Lucy. I wasn't prepared for what I saw when I got home. Our living room was COVERED in grey powder. Meanwhile, my husband was completely filthy with a trash bag, a broom, and a super panicked look on his face.
Turned out, he'd decided to help around the house and wanted to clean the fireplace. He just decided the best way to clean it would be to stand in front of it with a trash bag and use the leaf blower to blow the ashes in. Spoiler alert: that doesn’t work. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but I laughed so hard at him. He deserved it.
During our Christmas concert during freshman year, everything was going smoothly. And when we were about to go on stage to bow to the audience, we were lining up waiting to be called. In line, some of the kids started making fun of a flute player. Bad idea. Suddenly, the taunted flautist slammed his instrument down and stormed into the band room.
He then started to scream out threats and really scared some of the other kids. He stayed in the room while we all went on stage, and the teachers heard what happened and checked on him. At school the next day, there was an announcement about it and officers were going to be patrolling the school. Band kids are crazy.
My boyfriend suffers from pretty low self-esteem. Like it's not like he's too bothered about his looks, but he rates himself a 5 out of 10 at best. Obviously, I think he's gorgeous and handsome, but even though I've been saying this for years, he does not believe me. I came up with the stupidest plan to prove him wrong. For some reason, I decided to show him that other girls would find him attractive by making him a tinder account.
I set him up an account, make him a bio, and just start swiping right. After a day, he got around a dozen matches on tinder. After I showed this to him, I saw how he immediately became more confident and thanked me for the whole gesture. Cue my surprise when a couple of days later, I check the tinder account I had basically forgotten after 24 hours, and I could see lots of messages sent to lots of the girls my boyfriend had matched with.
I confronted him and he denied it, but I mean these messages even included promises to meet each other. Obviously, we broke up and out of curiosity I checked the tinder account again after a week and this breakup has clearly not slowed him down one bit. So now the tinder I made for him not only broke us up but is now helping him navigate his newly single life. Wow. I played myself.
I went to Thanksgiving several years ago at the in-laws. My wife's aunt is super wannabe Martha Stewart and always spouting new recipes and ideas like she's the queen of cooking. Frankly, she is really bad at it. Anyhow, she says she'll take care of the turkey. Sure, why not, right? How can you mess up a whole turkey?
Well, she bought one of those new electric turkey roasters. You throw the turkey in, close the lid, and let it roast. It's time for dinner, she opens the roaster, and... The turkey is maybe half done. Apparently, the roaster tripped the circuit breaker it was on maybe an hour or two into cooking, nobody checked said turkey to see the roaster was now off, and voila! Pink turkey.
She has her husband carve the danged thing anyhow and try to serve it. I was the guy in the room who said, "No, this is not safe to eat. Nobody, and I mean, nobody eats this. It has to be finished.” And my wife and I took everyone's plates, dumped all the carved and practically neon-pink turkey into one of those aluminum roasting pans, and blasted it on broil for a bit until it was done. It still sucked, but at least it wasn't lethal.
Our middle school had a huge common room area with lockers freestanding at one end in a chevron formation. They were set in something thick and rubbery on the floor and not just placed there, but someone discovered that the lockers at one end of the formation were a little loose. It was a recipe for disaster. One of the students had the idea to kick them.
In the middle of our noisy lunch hour, he took a running start and jump-kicked the lockers. It was a success! The lockers slowly fell over causing a domino effect that was almost slow motion-like. Four rows of lockers ended up falling, which meant that dozens of students were not able to access any of their belongings. No one was hurt since it happened slowly and people had plenty of time to get away.
I didn’t see who actually kicked it, but I could tell by looking at the kid’s face. The school closed off the area, and everyone had to share textbooks until everything was fixed.
My first job when I was 16 was at PetSmart. I had been working there for a few months when one night I was cleaning out the bird/small animal habitat. The procedure was to haul a ShopVac into the little room and vacuum up the spilled bird food/seeds/litter. Easy peasy. So, I'm cleaning out the cage with the cockatiels in it, when one of them decides to investigate the loud sucking machine. FWOOMP. The bird is gone.
I opened up the canister, no bird. I take the hose off the tank and, bird. I used a box cutter to rip the hose in half so I could get him out. So, this freaking bird is missing feathers and is bleeding and I am in tears. I run to my boss crying and say "IJUSTSUCKEDABIRDUPINTHESHOPVACHESGOINGTODIEIAMAHORRIBLEPERSON." He takes one look at me, then the bird, and starts laughing.
I ended up driving him to another PetSmart that had a Banfield vet in it; he laughed and gave the bird some fluids. My coworkers named him Hoover and he lived in quarantine in the back of the store for months until his feathers came back.
We were operating on the carotid artery of a patient. Mid-surgery, there was a gaping hole in his neck, and suddenly the patient woke up. “Easy fix,” I think to myself, and I start shouting at the anesthesiologist to put him back under…only he’d gone out for a moment. I had to hold the guy’s head with my elbow so he wouldn't move too much and hurt himself until the guy came back.
Some of the cool kids found an old service tunnel that ran under the music room and out to the parking lot. But the door at the end was sealed up, and we could never find one on the outside of the building. It was a crawlspace that opened into what looked like a maintenance room that was empty with nothing interesting. There was nothing in there, but they used to sneak down there to skip their lessons and stuff.
One day, I went along because I wanted to be a cool kid, got stuck in the crawlspace, and had to be rescued by the fire brigade. The hatch got sealed properly, and we all got detention. I wasn't allowed to be a cool kid again.
This happened six years ago and was deeply repressed by shame. I only remembered it in a conversation with my wife when she asked, “What was your most embarrassing moment?” So I was at a work party, and my girlfriend at the time (not currently my wife) offered to pick me up and drive me home, knowing I would get fully sloshed at the party.
She was right. On the way home, I ask her to pull into a gas station. She pulls her light blue Jeep into the parking lot, I stumble out of the Jeep, go in, and complete my purchase. I over aggressively yank open the passenger door to the blue Jeep, plop myself down on the seat, and say to my girlfriend, “I can’t wait to get home and rail you.” I was not expecting what came next. Which was…to get hit in the face.
I also did not expect the loudest screaming I’ve ever heard in my life. Instinctively, I covered up my face and wondered what the heck I said wrong, as it was not uncommon for either of us to say something like that to each other. The screaming was intense and sounded very scared, so I couldn’t really make out what my girlfriend was yelling.
That is until between punch three or four, when I heard, clear as a bell, “Get the heck out of my car!” WHOA WHOA WHOA instant sobriety. I uncovered my face and looked up, and it’s finally dawning on me that although I was in a blue Jeep, it was not my girlfriend’s blue Jeep. Her identical blue Jeep was parked next to—and blocked by—this random woman’s blue Jeep.
I finally tumbled out of the car, went to my girlfriend’s car, and told her what happened. She convinced the woman not to call the authorities to tell them about some crazy guy breaking into her car and telling her he was gonna rail her. I did not sleep with anyone that night.
One week at school, there were a lot of fights—at least one a day. It was getting out of hand, and the faculty didn’t know what was going on or what was causing it. They took all our privileges: no breaks, lunch was done per class, and we had to be escorted from room to room when we came back to class the next week. Our principal had body-slammed one of the kids during a fight the week before.
He came over the intercom during last period and announced that he had a “hit list” for problem students. And he was going to personally ruin their academic career. It was quite sinister. I don't why he thought this was a good idea—and he definitely paid the price. He was fired two days later for threatening students.
At a make-your-own drink office party, a novice drinker went to make himself a mixed drink. He poured everything into a shaker, picked it up awkwardly, and went to shake. My boss noticed his hesitation and took the shaker. Then he shook it really hard. So hard that it exploded everywhere. I almost peed myself laughing.
My friend went out to dinner with his girlfriend last year and went to a really fancy restaurant. You know, the ones with dimmed lights and long candelabras with lit candles. The waiter served them wine, and he reached for his cup. He did it a little too fast and knocked over the candelabra. The thing fell over and set fire to the tablecloth.
The waiter came soon after that, and he was probably a guy not trained in handling fire extinguishers. He squeezed the trigger, and a mass of foam enveloped the table, including my friend and his girlfriend. Needless to say, the dinner was ruined. No one was injured though.
I was an airline Duty Manager in the Operation Control Centre. I was like the Maytag repairman: I only worked when there were problems, and my job description was to save the operation, meaning: find solutions where there aren't any. One September, Air Canada crews went on strike, so my airline lent two aircraft with full crews to operate Air Canada flights.
That's minus two aircraft for my fleet. On Sept. 2, a terrible tragedy occurred: Swissair 111 went down off the coast of Peggy's Cove. Less than eight hours later, one of our flights en route to London did an emergency landing in Halifax because there was smoke in the cockpit—same thing that had happened to SR111, except ours was a different aircraft type and only a minor technical problem.
Because of all the media attention, the aircraft had to be grounded for over 36 hours to make sure everything was all right. That's a total of three aircraft that I can't use. From that point on, we went into full crisis management. My phones were constantly ringing and I had to solve each and every single problem. When a crisis like that occurs, we're bound to forget certain things.
For operational purposes, the crew that was supposed to fly the aircraft back from London to Toronto was sent to Lisbon to fly dead-head onto Toronto. Only, the Lisbon flight was subsequently canceled and it was the Lisbon World Fair...there wasn't a single hotel room in the whole city and around. The crew purser, Marie, kept calling me asking me what to do.
I kept telling her that I was trying to find a solution. To this day, I can still hear her sweet little voice: "Berg, it's Marie, We're stuck in our uniforms, sleeping on the floor of a McDonald's. I'm a bridesmaid on Saturday. I have to get back. Please Berg, I have to get back." But I made things so much worse. I was so busy, this one got by me.
The crew came back the following Wednesday and she missed the wedding. I still feel extremely bad about it, especially because she was so nice about it. She never freaked out and she kept her crew calm and they just waited...
I once saw a med student suck up a skin graft with a suction device. The skin graft is a very thin piece of tissue that was being carefully laid onto the wound where it was then to be sewed on, carefully, like a patch. The med student was using the suction to clean up the wound and accidentally sucked up the carefully-prepared graft entirely. Gone instantaneously.
I was working on one of those TV shows where you do stupid things in public and film people’s reactions. In the skit we were doing, a man would be jogging with a stroller containing a life-like baby doll, and I was going to hit him with a car. The jogger was wearing bright green—they dress funny on these shows so that you don't mix up the cast with pedestrians. So, I'm cruising up to the stop sign in a beat-up old ford, my adrenaline is really pumping.
This was my first time actually being involved in a skit. I see the bright green jumpsuit, and I rev it. But when I realized what was happening, it was too late. I hit the wrong guy. It was just some dude jogging with his kid. I realized what happened when the guy I hit didn't jump onto the hood the way you're supposed to in these stunts.
I honestly don't remember anything about the incident after that, I was in shock. The dad had a few broken bones, the baby was fine. Needless to say, there was a huge settlement paid out. I'm currently pursuing an unrelated career.
My roommate of two years was my partner for pong at a party. Except he was just trashed. He found an empty box and wore it on his head. And then he found another. He decided to use his discoveries to distract the other team. So, he threw one but missed entirely. So, he went to throw the second box. But it wasn’t empty.
It had six bottles inside, and he still threw it. The box hit one guy on the other team who fell and knocked over the table. The box then ricocheted to another table and knocked all ten cups. We had to forfeit.
Everyone was smashed at a party at my house. One big girl was at the front door talking with someone, and someone else thought it would be funny to lock her out. Except she really needed to use the washroom. But instead of walking to one of the other doors close by, she decided that she was going to kick down the door.
She lifted her leg and went for the door. The lock went through the door frame and opened the door. She was really embarrassed after and left.
I went to brunch at a fairly nice restaurant with some friends one afternoon. Everything was going swimmingly until my turn to order rolled around. For some unfathomable reason, I tried to take a sip of my large coke in the middle of ordering an omelet. My impeccable timing and poor coordination resulted in my pouring the entire drink down my face and shirt, while still trying to order through a mouthful of ice and soda.
After an amused "I'm sorry?" from the server, I had to repeat my order, now utterly drenched in soda. Needless to say, I felt pretty silly.
I was passing through rural Iowa on my way to service a cell site and stopped at a diner for breakfast. Nature called, and I went and did the deed in the bathroom, proceeded to eat a good meal, and left. Drove to the site, climbed the cell tower, and got it fixed just in time for dinner. Diving back through I stopped at the same diner.
But when I go in, the waitress yells "OH HECK NO" and the manager comes out and says, "YOU’D BETTER GET OUT OF HERE!" Turns out I had somehow clogged the pipes and they ended up having to shut down the water treatment system for the whole village to fix whatever was damaged by the clog. I apologized, but they had none of it and informed me I was banned for life.
That's how I got banned from State Center, Iowa for life for taking a dump so big it shut down their water treatment plant.
In freshman year, I was with my girlfriend and her two friends who were blacked out and stumbling to the dorms to hang out after a party. We were meeting my best friend from home and my roommate who were playing video games. Well, my roommate and I had started lighting our shots on fire before taking them while wasted.
Then the stunts got even stupider—and more dangerous. My girlfriend started getting it all over, including my hands. My best friend turned then whispered, “for science.” So, my girlfriend’s friend lit it, and flames engulfed my hands and got on the carpet. I was waving my hands frantically while no one did anything other than stare.
My roommate saw my predicament. He grabbed a pair of jeans and placed it over the carpet blaze without a word. We’re lucky the whole dorm didn’t catch fire.
So last Thursday night, I saw everyone tagging their stepdads in this Budweiser commercial. Without watching it, I sent it to my stepdad. About an hour later, my stepdad and mom call me and ask if I’m hinting at something. My stepdad is like, I know you had intent. I’m like HUH??? Then it hits me. IN THE COMMERCIAL THE ADULT CHILDREN ARE ASKING THEIR STEPDADS TO ADOPT THEM.
So he starts crying, thinking I want this. Now I can’t tell him that I didn’t mean to. Friday he squeezed me so tight and said he wants me to take his name and make it official. All I can think is wow, that sounds like a huge hassle. But I can never say anything about it being an accident. So now I’m being adopted and changing my name. I’m 31!
Gastroenterologist here. I was removing a large polyp during a colonoscopy. I put the snare around the polyp, and it took an unusually long time to sever the base of the polyp—until, all of a sudden, blood started squirting from where it was removed. The screen quickly turned red with blood, and I couldn’t see a single thing.
The patient’s blood pressure started to drop. The patient, who was a dark-skinned Middle Eastern man, turned pale white on the stretcher in front of me. That’s when I felt like I was going to faint and empty my own bowels...the only thing I could think was “Oh God.” I gave myself a moment to breathe and control my emotions.
Once I cleared my head, I let my instincts kick in. We gave him fluids to bring up his blood pressure and put him a safe position to maintain blood flow of his brain, lungs, and heart while reducing the blood flow to his gut, where the polyp was. I then turned on the water jet and diluted the blood with as much water as I could, hoping to see more on the screen and eventually clip or cauterize the blood vessel.
As it turned out, the patient's blood pressure dropped just enough to stop the bleeding automatically. That gave me a short window to identify the vessel and clip it. The man lost 1/3 of his blood volume in less than 60 seconds. He was admitted, transfused, and discharged the next day. These days, if I anticipate a similar situation, I just refer them for surgery. I am not interested in being a hero like that again.
One of my frat brothers peed on an officer’s leg thinking he was a pledge in costume. He was cool about it and wrote him a ticket—but there was a catch. It was on the condition that he could come back and pee on his leg after he got off duty. The officer never showed, but that didn't stop my friend from sobbing uncontrollably for two hours in wait.
I had an employee who was working night audit (hotel). I was the manager, so he called me when I was on-call and told me that a guest complained about water dripping from the ceiling in his room on the first floor. Uhhhh did you go up to check on the room above it? "No"... How long ago was this? "Like a couple hours ago."
I've never flown out of bed faster. I threw on some clothes and made it to the hotel in record time. By the time I got to the second floor, I could hear a WATERFALL. The source of the water was, in fact, not the second floor. Nor was it the third floor. No, no... it was the FOURTH FLOOR. We had the water shut off earlier in the day for work that was being done on the pipes.
A guest got angry and checked out because it took too long for the water to come back on. Apparently, they had tried to turn on the bath and didn't think to freaking turn it off. So, the bathtub overflowed for god knows how long, flooded the room, and the room underneath it, and the room underneath that, and finally the room underneath that.
As it turns out, my idiot employee had moved someone from the room on the third floor for the same thing, but he didn't think to check on it. Instead, he decided to call me when a second guest, now on the first floor, complained of the same thing. THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of dollars of damage.
I was once at a restaurant where I noticed a mid-20s couple that was on a date. I assumed it was a first or near-first date in their relationship because they were dressed sort of nice for a restaurant that was pretty casual. Anyways, the girl got up to go to the bathroom. While she was gone, their pizza came, and it was set up on a little stand thing on the table.
The guy was trying to adjust it or something, and he knocked the entire pizza onto the floor. The girl came back, but I’m not really sure what happened after that. Figured he'd be pretty mortified.
One night, my friends were hammered in my friend’s basement. He thought it would be fun to smash our empty bottles against the walls. And it was. When it was one of my turns, I did the worst thing possible. The bottle slipped as I chucked it then hit the natural gas regulator just so that it punctured the aluminum casing. The sound of gas seeped out.
We panicked and yelled at each other to turn everything off while one of our friends stood there with his thumb covering the hole. We called the power company for help but also wanted to cover our tracks. We duct-taped the hole and cleaned up the broken glass from our earlier smashing activity that got us in this mess.
Once we thought we’d done enough, we went outside. But the last person out who’d spent the most time in the basement thought it would be a good idea to take a nap on the stairs. None of us noticed he was gone. The power company man used his detector to get a reading of the gas concentration. And he was quite surprised.
He told us that in his two decades of working, he had never seen a reading that high. And he was standing on the sidewalk. He went inside to fix it and found our friend sleeping on the stairs. After getting him outside, he fixed the regulator and charged us $1,500. He told us that we’d been smart turning everything off.
If we hadn’t, then the whole house could’ve gone up in flames. I split the cost with my friend because even though I made the hole, it was his idea to do it in the first place.
Three years ago, my grandmother was in the hospital to get her brain tumor removed. Nine hours later, we got to see her—only for the surgeon to say, “It went well, for the most part, dropped the top of her skull though.” Just like that, he walked away eating his apple. We were all just standing there like ???????
One of my dad's colleagues was doing a hip replacement way back in the day. Hip replacements aren't fun: They have to pretty much butterfly you like a boneless roast to get the top of the thigh bone clear of the ball-and-socket joint of the hip. They then saw off the ball end and attach the new stainless steel one, which is on a long stem they insert down the middle of the bone to keep it in place.
So the doctor has got to that stage, tapping the stem down the femur, when it jams halfway. Won't go down any further. Won't come out again. Can't saw it off, because bone saws won't touch hardened steel. Can't close up the patient and come back to it, because there's a foot-long spear stuck out the top end of his leg. Meanwhile, the anesthetist is saying they can't keep him under much longer. It was not a “successful” surgery.
On my first date with my wife, we started talking about tattoos. I have a rule that if I have an idea for a tattoo, I sit on it for a while to see if it’s something I truly want. I mentioned this to her and explained how glad I am that I do this because otherwise I'd be covered in Tool (the band) tattoos or some, "other dumb stuff."
Little did I know, I'd just messed up big-time. She rolled up her sleeve to show me that she had the lyrics to one of their songs tattooed across her arm. Oops!
I was very interested in this girl at a party, and the feeling went both ways. Even though we had not come together as a date, we attracted each other and made all kinds of eye contact. The night started with a couple of shots, and with our underaged stomachs, light statures, and intolerance, we were prone to disaster.
So, after five more shots, Alberta and I were feeling excited, and youthful. Flirting occurred, and I wanted to impress her by bringing us more drinks – to show her how “manly” I was because I could consume excessively. We were drinking Rolling Rock in the basement sitting around a table covered with our empty bottles.
We were smashed after our fourth. What happened next will never leave my mind for the rest of my life. Alberta turned ashen then, like a chameleon camouflaging itself in a tree, her skin transformed into a green color. She spewed a fountain of projectile vomit all over me, the table, and herself in a matter of seconds.
I still remember the taste and smell of her lunch on my face—I guessed corned beef on rye. Then in her embarrassment and after drinking so much, she stumbled onto the table causing an eruption of glass to shatter. So, her legs were not only all cut up from falling onto the broken glass, but she was also covered in blood and vomit.
I was standing there sporting her lunch without a clue of what to do next. Everyone's eyes were on her. It was not over. Alberta was extremely sensitive to blood—even mentioning it made her queasy. So, it didn't help that a river of blood was running down her legs either. She fainted where she fell then started trembling.
That's when the worst happened. She dispersed a chocolate mudslide out of her bum that dripped down her legs and onto the ground like a fondue fountain. So, here was this girl covered in vomit, bleeding like a fiend, and pooping herself on the floor of my buddy's house. Luckily, my brain turned on, and I helped her up.
Then I grabbed her some paper towels and a water bottle, made sure she was conscious and going to survive, and dipped the scene faster than Colton Harris Moore evaded the FBI. Years have passed, and I have not seen or heard from her since.
At my small liberal arts college on Halloween, there was a dance that a fair number of scantily-clad ladies attended. One in particular was a roommate of mine. She was an “officer.” Her costume wasn’t very inspired but accented her derriere nicely. Some of us at the dance decided to head back to the room to drink more. Big mistake.
My roommate ran through the common room and had an accident as she ran to the bathroom. She showered off and, against her better judgment, put the dirty outfit back on and then returned to the dance. She dropped out of school the next day.
I invited this guy over to my place for dinner after we'd been casually seeing each other for three weeks or so. Things were going pretty well - we were chatting, getting along like a house on fire, and he was helping me cook dinner—when I started to feel extremely intestinally unwell. I've always been kind of a private pooper, and I could tell that this one wasn't going to be fun.
To get him out, I asked him if he'd pop down to the shop at the end of the road to grab a bottle of wine for dinner. He agreed and toddled off down the street, and as soon as he was gone, I raced to the bathroom and relieved myself with something roughly akin to the force of a...well, you can use your imagination here.
I took a minute to catch my breath, reached over to the toilet roll holder, and came back empty. Well, darn. No matter. I had a full nine-pack of toilet paper in the back room - I didn't have space to keep it in my tiny bathroom; it was a very small apartment, so I usually just grabbed a roll or two. Plus, he'd only just gone.
I had plenty of time. Cut to me, thirty seconds later, pants around my ankles and my poop-caked bunghole shimmying my way down the central hallway of my flat when I hear a still, small voice from behind me. "Erm... what are you doing?" Turns out he'd managed to get to the shop and back in record time, and was sitting on my couch in my living room with a perfect, perfect view of my little burlesque.
I was framed in the doorway like an unholy Renaissance painting. It was as though I was presenting myself to him in the worst possible, “You like?” come-on in the history of dating. It's very difficult to have a civilized dinner after that.
I was the patient, and I'm pretty sure it was an "Oh God” moment for my OB-GYN. I was at the end of my labor and my daughter was stuck. I’d had two epidurals, both of which wore off. My doctor used forceps to try to get her out. I don't think she knew my epidural was as ineffective as it was, otherwise I don't think she would have shoved the forceps in like she did.
I obviously felt the forceps and started thrashing in pain. The doctor got scared and tried to take them out…but they got stuck. She had to wait for the next contraction to push them out. Then blood went everywhere. Most unsettling of all, she was on the phone with her lawyer while wheeling me in for my emergency C-section.
I was drinking at a friend’s house when his girlfriend's sister came over. She’s gorgeous, and to make everything better, we had all decided to party sans pants that evening as we had a habit of doing. With some encouragement from her sister, this girl was all over me, and it looked like I’d round the bases that night.
But one of my friends sitting across from me in the living room made some dumb joke. I responded by gently tossing an empty can at him. So, he picked up the can and whipped it. He was way off, and the can hit the girl on my lap right in the forehead. Her forehead was split to the bone. What ensued was a lot of yelling.
She called her dad to come and pick her up even though I tried convincing her that some butterfly bandages would be fine and we could continue the evening.
This morning, I decided to surprise my girlfriend with a proposal in bed. Not the most original or romantic approach, I know. Initially, the plan was to pop the question over dinner last night, but alas, the build-up towards the big moment got the better of me. However, today I woke up determined to do what needed to be done.
So, there I was, on one knee next to my girlfriend's side of the bed, waiting for her to open her eyes and see me holding the ring. The moment I attempted to wake her up she groaned and rolled over, leaving me with nothing to look at but the back of her head. My heart was beating hard enough to hear. I leaned over my girlfriend and gently tapped her on the shoulder.
Instead of waking up like a normal person, she hissed in her sleep like a vampire before elbowing me in the face. I stumbled back and dropped the ring. My girlfriend woke up during the commotion and the first thing she saw was me bleeding from my nose. Not gonna lie, when she rushed over to comfort me, I flinched. The hissing thing she did scared the heck out of me.
After all the drama calmed down, I managed to recover the ring without her noticing. Speaking of recovery, my nose still hurts. Tonight I'll try again. This time I'll make sure to propose while my girlfriend is wide awake and still human.
Right off the bat, I want to say that I am in no way shape or form making light of suicide. This was not a prank gone wrong, or something I did on purpose, but rather a very unfortunate series of usually perfectly benign activities that led to me accidentally terrifying and mortifying my wife. This happened a couple of weeks ago. I tripped and sprained my ankle.
It's been bothering me enough that I've been taking Epsom salt baths in the evenings after work. In addition to helping with the sprain and swelling, I also find it incredibly relaxing. Say what you want about a grown man taking a bath, I enjoy a good soak. I also deal with a condition called angiokeratoma. It's basically blood vessels that have expanded and cause a few small (albeit slightly unsightly) dark spots in a rather sensitive area.
I call them old man spots. They're harmless, and most of the time I don't even notice, BUT every once in a while...I'll irritate one of these small bumps and it bleeds a ton. Additionally, it takes FOREVERRR to get the bleeding to stop. It’s not like I can elevate my balls, let alone put a band-aid on. Well, on the day in question, I get a text from my wife that she's going to be working late.
So I get home and decide to soak my ankle and enjoy a little peace and quiet. It's not really important how I did it, but I ended up nicking one of those spots. After cursing a reasonable amount, I start the lengthy ritual of holding toilet paper against it and checking every so often to see if it's stopped. Even after the bleeding stops I have to be very careful for the next few minutes to not get it started again, almost like scratching off a very fresh scab.
I finally get it stopped and a short time later proceed with my bath. I put on my headphones, closed my eyes and relax. I wasn't asleep but I was really zoned out and relaxed...until I was snapped out of it by my wife screaming in absolute terror. I've never ever, ever heard her or anyone scream like that. It scared the living daylights out of me, and I jolted awake and nearly flew out of the tub.
I shouted "HONEY? WHAT?? She didn't answer me. She was in a heap on the floor, bawling. It took me a second to figure out what was going on before shouting "Jesus Christ!” I could see what it must look like to her. I had apparently NOT stopped the bleeding as well as I thought I had, and my wife walked in on me eyes closed, slouched over in a bathtub full of very bloody water.
It took me a long time to calm her down, and I don't think that's something you just get over. Hopefully one day we can laugh about it, but it won't be any time soon.
My mom decided to surprise my dad by coming to his work at the end of the day and taking him to a fancy steakhouse. She had brought an old suit of his that she found so that he would have something nice to wear, but he hadn't worn it in a long time and had gained a lot of weight since then. Regardless, he changed and they went to the restaurant.
After they ate, my dad’s pants felt too tight, and he discreetly unbuttoned them just to be a bit more comfortable. If he’d known what was about to happen, he never would’ve taken that chance. Suddenly, someone at the restaurant started choking and my dad, being an EMT at the time, decided to get up and help. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about his unbuttoned pants, and they fell down to the floor as he stood!
He saw that someone else was helping the choking man and realized it would probably be best to just sit down.
For background, I usually make the bed in the mornings, but I didn't yesterday morning because I was running late. I went to see my dad yesterday, but my wife wasn't feeling well so she stayed home. I got back at around 8:30 and couldn't find her anywhere. I checked the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, everywhere, and I just couldn't find her.
Her wallet was there so I figured she just went out for a walk, which is normal since we live in a big city that's active into the night. I started getting worried at around 9:30 because she also wasn't answering her phone. I called a few of her friends and asked if they'd seen her, but none had. I called her parents and asked them if they knew where she was, which led to them freaking out because no one could find her.
My father-in-law told me to track her phone, so I went into her Apple account and it told me that her phone was in our apartment. I turn on the find my iPhone sound and start running through the apartment thinking I should call the authorities. I hear the sound coming from our bedroom, so I go in and start tearing the room up…when suddenly my wife pops up from the bed and asks me what the heck I'm doing.
Turns out the small lump that I thought was just a pile of blankets since I didn't make the bed that morning was actually my wife, who went to sleep early because she didn't feel well. She sleeps with earplugs in so she didn't hear me in the apartment. I had to sheepishly call her entire family, own up to my stupidity, and apologize for terrifying them.
I’m a biomedical scientist, and my officemate was a medical doctor working on his PhD. He once did an appendectomy and cut into this person’s abdomen—only to find no appendix. He started freaking out. The support nurses in the room, however, started snickering at him because they knew right away what the problem really was.
Occasionally, they see someone with a rare genetic disorder where all their left-right asymmetries are reversed. This patient’s appendix was on the other side.
This happened a couple of weeks ago. So I sometimes drive for rideshare companies to make extra cash and keep me off of the couch. I live in a touristy area that booms during summer months and vacation rental homes are common. So common that I sometimes do pick-ups and drop-offs at the same homes for different people week to week and family/friend groups of people renting the homes are the norm.
One particular day, I dropped a guy off at a beautiful home near the beach that I had just picked a guy up from just an hour or two prior. So as we arrive I mention this to the rider: “Hey, I just picked one of your buddies up from here about an hour ago.” Rider: “No, must be the wrong house.” Me: “Nope, he walked right out of that side door. I dropped him off at a bar. His girlfriend is still in there though, she stayed behind.”
I had seen her kiss him goodbye at the door but didn't mention this to the rider. “You guys having a vacation?” Rider: “This is a family-owned home, it's been in my family for years and we don't rent it out. Nobody lives here but my wife and I and I've been in New York for work for the past four days.” Awkward silence as we both come to the realization.
He got out and I drove away, scolding myself for having such a big mouth.
A foxy older woman executive happened to be walking by the front of my office, and I recognized her as a contact for my regional president. So, I wanted to be polite and said, “Can I take your clothes off,” instead of, “Can I take your coat.” I turned beet red and started stammering and apologizing immediately. I am so glad that she laughed and literally patted my head, teased me, and said, “Maybe if you were my age or older, I’d give you a shot.”
I'm a nurse, but I was working in the ER when a guy came in for a scratch on his neck and "feeling drowsy." We start the usual workups and this dude's blood pressure TANKED. We scrambled, but he was dead within ten minutes of walking through the door. Turns out the "scratch" was an exit wound of a .22 caliber rifle round.
The guy didn't even know he'd been shot. When the coroner's report came back, we found that he'd been shot in the leg and the bullet tracked through his torso, shredding everything in between. There was really nothing we could've done, but that was a serious "what the heck just happened" moment, and for a good while we thought we had made a fatal error.
So, I work in a cnc workshop, and we often engrave stuff. This particular guy wanted a nice wooden jewelry box for their wedding anniversary with a custom message he emailed me. For some reason, he chose to give the box to his wife at the workshop (not the most romantic place I can think of but whatever).
The guy's wife starts to look confused and tear up: "you don't remember the date?" Guy turns pale, looks at me, says: "no, I'm sure it's a mistake." Me: "no, I've copied it straight, can't be wrooon...waaait a minute, omg, it's my fault, I'm so sorry, I will redo it right away, no need to pay, please accept it as a gift..."
Wife gets angry a bit at me, but they leave with a different box and the correct date. Guy comes back next day and pays triple the original price without a word.
When I was 10 or so, I woke up before everyone in the house (it was like 7 am) and decided I would sneak into the pool. I was waist deep in the water before I saw the alligator on the other side of the pool.
At our local Red Lobster, someone once grabbed the "manager" to tell him that his shrimp was cold and that he wanted a free beer as compensation. He even went as far as to exclaim that he could get better fish by fishing. This "manager" was actually just my dad, who was there to pick me up from work, but apparently looked like an authority figure since he had a tie on.
My dad replied, "That's cocktail shrimp, you moron!"
When she responded to a “Hi” on Tinder with something like “hey cutie, want to come to my parents’ house?” We chatted for a bit, and according to her she wasn’t looking for anything serious but she wanted me to pick her up, take her out to dinner, and maybe get it on afterwards. Very transactional, which kind of stung but whatever she was hot.
I looked up the address she gave me. When I read it, I got a small, dark feeling. I was surprised to find a neighborhood I did some work in, and that the house was one I knew was for sale. Specifically, the owner passed and it was being gutted to be resold by his kids. At this point I was 100% convinced this was a scam, but somewhat curious, I decided to drive by and see if anyone was there.
I texted her I was coming, but in a different type of car. It was a really expensive neighborhood on a sea-cliff, and it felt like an adventure. I took my work truck. I drove by and some huge dude comes out of the house, stares at my truck, and goes back in. I could see other people inside. I noped out of there super fast. Pretty convinced it was a phishing scam to mug me, or a prank. Didn’t feel like finding out.
Ever since I was a kid, I loved to fiddle around with staplers. Playing with the automatic ones and doing dumb stuff like any child would, opening the manual ones and swinging it around, stuff like that. One of my favorite things to do was to open up a new strip of staples and break them apart before putting them in. Running my fingers through the staples, counting them, and breaking them apart...I loved it.
There are 210 staples in a standard strip and sometimes I’d break off each individual one until my fingers hurt. I’ve even found strips with 209 and 211 a few times. This progressed from me messing around with staples in Ms. Grady’s second-grade class, to buying a box of staples every other payday to play with, to literally having a collection of different brands and sizes of staples in my college dorm to break apart.
I had a problem, but no one was hurt, so who cares? Well...Fast forward to present day. I am a functioning middle-class adult with a wife and two children. I have a home, a normal car, and an office job. I am by all accounts a normal human being, and I still love staples. Working in an office with a supply room full of staples was a problem.
I’d spend my lunch break in the room opening boxes and breaking apart staples to get my fix before returning to work. It got so bad over the course of a couple years that my boss changed our supplier because the boxes all had broken apart staples and were sometimes ripped. So I had to stop doing that...I turned to Amazon first, buying 10 boxes of staples at a time for about 20 bucks a pop. It wasn’t enough. I went to 20, then 40.
My wife got curious then and asked, “Why are you buying all of these boxes of staples,” but I brushed it off as a work issue that I’d get reimbursed for and knew I had to change my methods. Over the course of a few months I enabled myself. I started using cash only at different office supply stores around my town and neighboring towns.
I would sit in my car and break apart staples before going to the next store. I began to stay out late and tell my wife I would be home soon, so I could go buy more staples from different stores. I opened up a new credit card to put online so she wouldn’t know, but she caught it in the mail. She then got suspicious because things weren't adding up.
This past Thursday after one of my “late nights,” I get home with a trunk full of broken staples and 10 freshly broken boxes in my passenger seat to see my parents’ cars at my house. I walked in and everyone is sitting around like it’s an intervention. Because it is. My wife asked if there was anything I wanted to tell them, and to tell the truth about my problem.
I sat down and kept saying, “What are you talking about?” until my mom said, “Honey, we saw the pictures.” Then my wife tells me that my late nights, excuses, and general weirdness about the credit card, and some other little things made her hire a private investigator. This man followed me around to office supply stores and watched me “do something” with what I had in the bag from multiple stores.
It basically looked like I was a drug runner for Office Depot who was using some of the product for myself. At this point, my wife started to cry and my dad shook his head. I had to come clean and all I could muster was, "I...I like staples." The “what the heck” looks I got afterward turned into disbelief, then concern, then fits of laughter when I showed them my car.
I came clean. I backed this up by showing my secret stash of used staples in my attic and explained the purchases on the card to my wife. Right now, my only concern is my dad. He didn’t laugh—just kind of shook his head continually in disappointment without saying a word. Believe it or not, I think therapy or addiction meetings may help, as my wife gave me these suggestions the day after. I was told that although the addiction is not typical in its damage regarding my mental or physical well-being, I do need help.
I am going to go through addiction counseling like any other addict would. Just tailored to my specific issue. Apparently, part of fixing my brain is to know that it is not okay to continue this level of staplephilia. That included cleaning out my car, attic, and not garnering more attention through memorializing pictures, and stuff like that.
My wife initially thought I was having an affair. She didn’t think I was doing substances until she got the pictures. The PI just told her what he saw, and she deduced that I had an undercover type distribution thing going with someone in the office supply business. She admitted that she didn’t think it all through, but her mind was racing and conclusions came as they did.
I do not have autism or any diagnosed mental disability. I am just an addict, and an idiot. I know how stupid the addiction is and so I tried to hide it. It’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things I guess, but my embarrassing white lie just spiraled out of control.
My mother-in-law killed her grandchild, my daughter. She was two years old at the time. My husband and I let her babysit the baby while we were busy with job-related things. It was summertime and they were staying in the mother-in-law’s house that has a pond next to it. My daughter loved water; bath-time was her favorite time of day.
They were playing at the edge of the pond and then the mother-in-law remembered she had to take clothes out of the dryer, so she left a two-year-old alone next to the quite a large body of water. My daughter’s childlike curiosity plus her love of water resulted in her getting into the deep part of the pond and drowning. All because she considered clothes in the dryer an important enough reason to leave a toddler unsupervised.
When she realized what happened, she started to panic and call for help. Her neighbor heard her, they got into the pond and called an ambulance, but it was too late. Imagine what it’s like for a parent to come home to the person you trusted your child with and they tell you your child is gone. Somehow though, it got worse than all that.
Throughout it all, she was begging us not to involve the authorities into this. She kept repeating it was an accident and she “doesn’t know how it could have happened,” “was only gone for a moment,” ”feels even worse than we do” and “calling the authorities won’t bring her back.” We did call them, of course, and she was charged with negligence and sentenced to three years behind bars, which, in my opinion, was too light of a punishment.
Now recently she was released, and my husband was the first person she looked for contact with. He never once visited her while she was behind bars. It doesn’t matter that she served her sentence, neither I or my husband will ever forgive her for this. Besides, she hasn’t asked for forgiveness; all she gave us were excuses and more excuses.
In the courtroom, my husband told her she’s not his mother anymore and that he never wants to see her face again. Our marriage was damaged too, we were depressed, we fought a lot, and there were times when we were on the brink of divorce. We separated for a while, and I left for another country thinking that this was it for us. However, my husband came to look for me and we managed to save our family and continue our life together.
I couldn’t bring myself to have any more children for a long time but eventually, I got pregnant again and last summer we welcomed our son. He’s nine months old now. Obviously, we weren’t going to tell my mother-in-law we’re parents again, but then my nightmare happened. She saw us walking with a baby stroller and realized that once more she has a grandchild.
So she tried to get in the contact with my husband. First, she reproached him for not visiting her, cried about how hard it was for her to spend all those years behind bars, that she shouldn’t have been there because she’s too old for that, how could he do this to his own mother, how could he abandon her, etc. Then she was like, “But I saw you have a new baby, I’m so glad I have a grandchild again!”
Then she went on about is it a boy or a girl, when will she be able to see them and meet them because she wants to take care of them so much. My husband told her immediately that she doesn’t have anything, this is our child, and ours only. Our son doesn’t have a grandmother, we’ll be telling him this as he grows up, and he will never ever in a million years be anywhere around her.
We’re 100% on the same page about this. The loss of our daughter still hurts and we’re going to do everything we can to protect our son from her. He doesn’t need an irresponsible grandmother who would likely endanger his life just like she did with his sister. My mother-in-law was shocked to hear this and began to wail about us being so evil and cruel towards her, that we’re going to hold that against her forever even though she paid for it and we cannot be so heartless to prevent her from seeing her grandchild.
But what was she thinking? What was she hoping for? That we’re really going to let her around our baby? That we’ll ever trust her with babysitting again? Honestly, I’m not sure if I can leave my son with any babysitter. I don’t trust babysitters anymore, because if a grandmother can be careless enough to let a child perish, who knows what an unrelated person could do.
So my husband told her firmly that she’ll have no access to the baby and he doesn’t want to talk to her either so she should do something useful with her life and leave us alone. My mother-in-law wasn’t having it. That evening, she came to our house, asking to see her grandchild again. We didn’t let her come in, obviously, and she got mad, claiming that as a grandmother, she has rights to meet her grandchild.
We told her that she lost all her rights to our children when she let our daughter drown. If a trust is broken, it cannot be repaired and there are some things that just cannot be forgiven. She escalated it from that point. She told us that she’ll go to court and she’ll demand permission to meet the baby. I’m not sure if there is such a thing but if it’s true, I highly doubt she’ll get it considering her record.
If we need to go to court and prove she’s not the type of grandmother you should let around your child, we’ll do it. If she comes back again, we’ll call the authorities. If we need to leave this country and go live somewhere else just to be away from her, we’ll do it too. Nothing’s impossible. I’m amazed at her lack of shame. She knows very well she tore apart our lives three years ago.
No parent should bury their child, but we had to because of her, and now she comes to us as if she’s the best relative ever, as if nothing ever happened.
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