Babeled On: Your Most Embarrassing Experience

A letter from Andrew to the Babelonians.

On the first Tuesday of every month the six founding Babelers host a Babeled On virtual sit-down where a lone Babeler must enter the Fortress of Solitude to decide upon a topic worthy of Babeledom.

This month I am calling on my fellow Babelers to answer one simple question: What is your most embarrassing experience?

Jeff Ruemeli

My most embarrassing moment is only overshadowed by my most embarrassing life. Many moments in my life qualify and none stand out as the leader of this pack.  However, for the sake of those interested I will recall a most humbling defeat at the hands of Mother Nature…

It was a rather beautiful September day as I drove my 6’2” short board to the beach.  I was going surfing.  The 5′ waves were barreling and the lineup was packed.  My friends, already past the breakers, were awaiting my arrival.  I walked up to the beach and sat for five minutes to prepare my plan of attack for the paddle out. (Gotta avoid the impact zone and wait for a lull in between sets).

The time appeared and I made my plunge.  This however was to prove an exercise in futility.  As I paddled out, the waves pushed me back – not unusual for most days – but this day every step forward was to a wave two steps back.  I tried to paddle out for about fifteen minutes until my body gave out. That’s when another surfer paddled next to me on his way out to give me a little encouragement.  Although well received, his advice was a little too late. I was DONE.  Best I could do at this point was to keep myself afloat back to shore. I dragged my sorry excuse for a carcass outta the water.

Of course I looked like an ass out there.  Of course there were onlookers on the beach. Of course there were attractive females…I am awesome…ladies…

Not to worry though. The next day I went back with my 9’2” long board and made it out in no time. I had to show myself I was better than that. Embarrassment = Motivation.

Gregory Rineberg

Freshman year of high school I was of course a horny little toad, so I would sneak on my computer and look at naked pictures of models and actresses – usually on Playboy.com. Well anyway, one night I ventured into a chat room with this girl and she wanted to talk dirty, so I jumped at the opportunity and told her that I was well endowed and very mature.

Well, everything was going great until this girl told me that she was this kid I knew in high school.

I was completely embarrassed and he said he was going to tell everyone, but not by word of mouth – nope, instead he printed out the chat and taped it to the walls and handed it out.  People asked me if it was me and I of course denied – lying was never one of my strong suits.

Talk about embarrassing! No one knew this except a handful of people until now. I hope everyone enjoyed.

Jason Morgan

The setting: Walt Disney World, near Orlando, FL

The circumstances: High School Senior Class Trip

The crux of the matter:

While at the Rainforest Cafe in the Animal Kingdom, I thought it wise to order the coconut chicken for lunch.  Delicious, coconutty, and…a little pink on the inside. Whatever, I was seventeen and I didn’t care much about paying attention to food safety. Later that evening, deep inside of Epcot’s signature sphere, I began to feel…….uncomfortable.  Suddenly, swallowing whatever was presenting itself from the depths of my stomach, I sprinted for the nearest restroom.

About twenty paces from the door I flung out my arms to warn my friends and spilled the beans right there in front of a couple of old ladies sitting on a bench enjoying the warm evening breeze, which no longer wafted scents of flowers, but rather something far more acrid and unfortunately recognizable.  Recovering, quite admirably if I may say so, I strutted into the restroom and continued the savage onslaught brought forth by the coconut chicken on a poor, unsuspecting toilet.

Whew, there was nothing left, or so I thought…

I decided that it was time for me to head back to the hotel and get some rest. Not wanting to interfere with my compatriots’ good time, I hoofed it over to the buses alone.  Sitting in line waiting for my turn on a bus I began to regain some composure.  Maybe I could finish out the night in Epcot. I proceeded back into the park to look for some friendly faces.  As I meandered around the countries, I noticed that I was being passed by everyone, including the Geriatric Club with canes.  By the time I made it to Morocco, the destination of my group, I virtually fell down into the restaurant booth laying my head in a female friend’s lap.  Poor girl. I felt good, like maybe the situation was over and I could move on with my evening after resting.  But then, it got really interesting…

Suddenly, I ran from the booth and into the restaurant’s bathroom.  There was one stall (occupied), one sink (also occupied), and one urinal (unoccupied).  The trash was built into the wall with no room for a man’s head to hang over.  That left one available receptacle: Oh yes, and it came forth all over the pink mint.

It has to be over, I thought to myself. The exodus from the park was uneventful, fortunately for all of those around me.  One more small hurdle to jump and I would be back in my hotel room: the bus ride home.  On a bus full of my classmates back to the hotel, I was one of the privileged few who had to stand. No one was ready to relinquish a seat to an otherwise seemingly able-bodied young man. Fools. Within sight of the hotel, the cookies were tossed all over the bus with a good 40 people from my senior class watching, waiting, and smelling.  It was glorious.

Greg Molyneux

Considering I have already babeled on about the time I was oh so cleverly duped into drinking piss, I guess I need to come up with another embarrassing moment. Sure I would elaborate on adult bed-wetting, but I need to digress from the urine theme for a moment…

It was second grade, there was an assembly, and I was pantsed.

That’s right folks, as the presentation ended and the crowd of soon-to-be juvenile delinquents began to disperse, the X-man was had. My Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities were exposed for what seemed like an eternal five seconds of horror.  It is a good thing that by seven years old, the Era of Underroos had passed so as to spare a lifetime of shame and anguish.  Somehow most people failed to notice my temporary absence of jeans, but I was still mortified.  All in all it is a moment I can now look back on with great fondness.

Jack Gamble

My most embarrassing experience was when I was arrested in a little out of the way town called El Dorado, Texas.  Yes, that is the same El Dorado, Texas that was host to a little compound of 600 or so polygamists who liked to marry ten-year-old girls – nice quiet little town.

You see folks, I was a sucker for all those “saved a bunch of money on my car insurance” commercials for an Insurer that will remain nameless (it rhymes with Pieco).  When I switched to said company, my previous insurer sent a letter to the state erroneously declaring that I was without insurance. In the great state of NJ that means your license gets suspended. But since I moved about four times over the course of three years, I never got the letter in the mail.

So when I got pulled over for speeding in dear old El Dorado, they didn’t hesitate to cuff me and throw me in the country jail (which was also the fire house, the town hall, the municipal court, the office of sanitation, and the local Elks Lodge). It seems that in Texas, driving with a suspended license is a Misdemeanor Offense.

What a wonderful perfect storm of lousy state laws come together in this little melting pot otherwise referred to as Jack’s luck.

The following day I was let out of jail after a wonderful night of clutching a blue pen as my only means of self defense from the unknown behemoth in the rack above me. I now had to get my rental car out of the impound lot that was in the backyard of the town mechanic (who was also the mayor, the deputy sheriff, the fire marshall, the country clerk, the health inspector, and the chairman of the Elks Lodge).

Best of all, I now get to report this event to any and all potential employers when I check “YES” in the box next to “Have you ever been arrested?”. Awesome!

The stars at night are big and bright (unless you are in jail and then you can’t see sh!^)…deep in the heart of Texaaaaas!

Next Month…

Tag, you’re it, Puer.