On . . . embarrassment

Since Kristie and KoKo have gotten me hooked on American Idol, we devoted our last two nights to watching it. The question for this week that the participants have to answer in order to reveal more about themselves to the public was “What is your most embarrassing moment?”

I used to use this as a prompt. I used it because people could come up with some good narratives. If they ever came up blank, I just said, “think of that one story your mom always tells when relatives are over” and that worked well. If all else failed, I advised them to write about someone else’s most embarrassing moment. And we all can do that.

One of my favorite “other person’s embarrassing moments” occurred while I was at BSU. I was walking to class one morning a few weeks before finals. It was one of those early May morning where you’re still getting used to early morning sun and the freedom of not having to grab a jacket. I was working my way up Birchmont toward Hagg-Sauer for my first class of the day when a student whizzed by me on her mountain bike.

I turned left to cut through the courtyard. Just as I turned I saw the biker approach a truck. It was one of those with those extravagant side mirrors on it that allowed you to see behind you from every possible angle.

It was then that I noted the girl’s backpack had a strap flailing in the breeze. It’s flapping enough that it could get caught . . . and then it did. It looped around one of the mirrors. However, her mountain bike kept going. She was yanked right off and dangled a moment before the small mirror attachment bet and then broke. She plopped flat on the ground. Her bike spilled itself onto the pavement in front of the graphic design building.

It would have been funnier had I not had the distinct feeling that it could easily have happened to me had I not been so lazy and carried my bike down from my dorm.

Now I am in no way exempt from making a fool of myself. I think one of my most embarrassing moments occurred in fifth grade music class.

We were singing a song from our songbooks (well, I was lipsyncing) when suddenly I had to sneeze. My eyes instinctively shut and my nose began to rise and that pressure built up in my nasal cavity. I was ready for a real humdinger of a sneeze. And it was almost there when suddenly – out of nowhere – I also belched (choir was after lunch). I was caught of guard and didn’t get my palm over my nose in time. The compound force caused me to expel a large amount of mucus into the songbook.

My eyes darted from side to side to see if anyone noticed. My classmates were all focused either on the teacher, seated behind the piano, or their songbooks.

I got away with it! This never happens! Whenever I screw up, there are always ten witnesses! Finally!

I shook my head in disbelief. Then I realized something was wrong. As I shook my head, I felt a tug at my nostrils and a wetness on my upper lip. My eyes then darted down.

Uh-oh.

Unfortunately, the snot wedged into the spine still had a greenish, yellow tendril reaching up toward my nose. It reminded me of one of those “Wall Walkers” I had gotten as part of a prize from my Frosted Flakes. It was a red octopus of incredibly adhesive plastic. I could throw it at any wall and watch it plop there for a second until gravity took over. Then it would begin to ‘walk’ down the wall as it’s body was tugged toward the floor and each tendril would snag the wall, pull free, snag the wall, pull free, and so on until it reached the floor.

Well, gravity wasn’t working too well for me. That was fixed by a quick swipe of my right hand. Just before I could pile the mucus into the songbook, kind of like putting a long necklace into a jewelry box where the chain just spills into a pile, and before I could snap it shut without anyone noticing, Lance, one of my best friends, who also happened to be sitting next to me, began having a seizure.

Or at least that is what I thought was going on.

He was flopping around on his brown folding chair until he seemed to slink right off of it. Then he was up on his feet, his arms flailing wildly, like he was a puppet being orchestrated by a drunk.

There was a divider that separated our music room from the media room. We had been seated right next to it. This was good since we were off to the right of the classroom. It appeared that only a handful of students had noticed Lance’s odd behavior.

Perfect, I thought, this is the perfect cover.

A few more students began to point and giggle as Lance frolicked in front of his chair.

By this time I had slammed my songbook shut. I was trying to nudge Lance’s songbook, which had spilled onto the floor in front of me when his seizure hit, with my foot. If I could just get it close enough, I could switch mine with his and all would be forgotten.

Our music teacher was still pounding away at the piano, oblivious that fewer and fewer kids were singing along.

Lance is a dead man.

But then he began to try to speak. “He . . .” “He . . .” “He . . . sneezed” “He . . . book . . . snot . . . sneeze” he choked out in between great mouthfuls of laughter.

Shit. I was busted. That little bastard had seen me. Worse yet, this was no seizure. It was his reaction to my half sneeze, half belch.

Damn it! Now everyone is going to want to know why he is laughing! I could feel my armpits begin to soil. Beads of sweat popped out across my forehead and across the nape of my neck.

Now nearly everyone had stopped singing. Even the teacher took not that something was amiss and let the notes hang in the air – far too briefly – before they died completely.

Leaving only Lance gasping for all he was worth “He . . sneezed . . . burped . . . snot . . . He . . . book . . . snot” all the while his arms flailed. Then I noticed that while everyone was pointing at him, he was pointing directly at me.

I tried to work that damn songbook of his over with my right sneaker but then Lance suddenly stepped on it in a fit of laughter – his face turning an alarming red – “Snot . . . sneeze . . . book . . .”

Get off that book you little shit.

It was no use. Every eye in the place was riveted on Lance. And since I was right next to him, they were on me too. I shot my foot back under my chair.

Right when it couldn’t get any worse, Lance’s seizure got the best of him and he lost his balance and fell against the patrician.

I couldn’t take anymore. I asked to go to the bathroom. I need not have bothered. The teacher was in shock to register my request. She just nodded her head and continued nodding, her eyes fixed on Lance against the patrician, still laughing and trying to speak in one full sentence.

Thank God he didn’t say my name.

I had to get out of there and headed to the bathroom. I splashed cold water in my face, hoping to wake up back in bed. No such luck. This was real.

Damage control, damage control.

I was formulating my plan as I was grabbing a paper towel when the bathroom door opened.

It was Lance.

Surprisingly, when he saw me, he didn’t launch himself into another seizure.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I puked and the teacher sent me here,” he said matter of factly. It all clicked for me then. Lance had a penchant for puking every time he laughed excessively hard. Since he was my next-door neighbor, I had witnessed this on several occasions. In this way, we shared a curse – he puked when he laughed hard and I tended to piss my pants. I guess this was one reason I was glad when winter rolled around in elementary school. I could always cover up any embarrassing spots with a tumble through a snow bank.

“Where’d you puke?”

“Right on that damn partitian.”

Then we both broke out into fits of near pants pissing laughter. Fortunately, it was in a completely safe environment. I was able to dash to a urinal and work my zipper down quickly enough to let out a steady stream that matched my laughter. Lance too scrambled to a sink and began to dry heave in between fits of giggles. We both must have realized how lucky we were to be in the bathroom when this fit broke out – kind of like getting sick while you were in the hospital visiting your grandmother or something. This realization made it all the more hilarious and it was a good ten minutes before we could compose ourselves enough to head back to the hallway.

“That was the biggest loogie I have ever seen!” Lance said, still red in the face as we headed back to class, which, mercifully, was almost over.

The class was in the middle of another song, but as soon as we walked in, at least half of the class stopped singing and began talking and pointing. I couldn’t tell if they were pointing at Lance or me.

Let it be Lance, Let it be Lance, Let it be Lance, Let it be Lance I thought as we headed back to our seats. I may even have attempted to nod my head toward Lance, indicating his guilt over mine.

My book was still shut. It rested right where I had left it under my chair. Lance’s was still face down on the floor. The janitor had made quick work of the puke stain, having sprinkled some of that kitty litter like substance all over it.

I hesitated to open my book and just looked on with Lance until the song was over. Then we filed out and set our books on the shelf as we shuffled out.

Please let it dry, please let it dry, please let her throw it away, please let it dry, please let her not notice, please let it dry, please let it dry . . . I thought.

Of course, that was countered with It’s going to be all crusty, it’s going to be all crusty, she won’t throw it away since we just got new books, it’s going to be all green and yellow, it’s going to be all crusty and green and yellow, of course she is going to notice, then she ‘s going to wonder what happened, then there’s going to be that big blotchy green and yellow spot, you’re a dead man, you’re a dead man, everyone’s going to find out, way to go snot-boy!

Thank God, we had choir every other day. Better yet, this had happened on a Thursday and with no choir on Friday, we had the entire weekend to forget about it.

Of course, when Monday rolled around I had forgotten all about it until I walked in the room and we began grabbing books off the shelf.

Who’s going to get the tarnished one? I hope I get it. At least no one will know then. Or maybe we won’t have to sing that song today. How many damn songs are in this book? Up until then there seemed like there were far too many songs. Then as I looked at the book I grabbed as I headed for my seat, I realized that the books were just too damn thin. What’s there like four songs in here?

Lance and I sat down. The sweat beneath my armpits began to spread as I tried to clamp them shut. The beads broke out on my forehead and neck again.

I did my best not to look at the book while Lance looked at the partician and giggled. Then he said loudly (or at least that’s how it resonated in my ears) but more likely under his breath, “Damn biggest loogie of the fifth grade” and an absolute devilish sneer forked across his face.

I shook my head, about to say some smart-ass remark about the puke stain on the partition. But I noticed everyone rifling through their books. They didn’t appear intent on just turning to the first song of the day, whose page number was written up on the board. They were paging through as if in search of something.

Oh shit. This ain’t good. Even at 10, I knew this was not good. Not good at all.

“I got it!” Dale called from the row behind us. Then he passed the book, which lay open, down the row. I watched as it went from hand to hand and gaze to gaze until it reached me. There on good old page 29, right in the bottom of the page, directly in the book’s spine was a dark stain.

Apparently, the teacher knew exactly what had happened. Instead of saving a rather portly kid’s life (as if he needed anything else to be teased about – the pants peeing, the arm pit sweat, his new glasses, buck teeth, and his fat inner tube sized gut were not enough), she decided to save her damn songbook by simply scraping out the unspeakable mess I had left in it.

For the rest of the year, every choir session began the same way: Everyone riffled through their damn books. After a few unbearable seconds, the phrase “I got it.” Then the book being passed down open faced until it reached me.

No one even remembered the puke stain on the partition. But oh did they remember page 29.