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Imagine ralph's girlfriend trying to do the impression to fully make his parents understand. Flaring her nostrils, bulging her eyes and then bursting into tears as Young Ralph looks down at the floor solemnly.
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I suppose that's what a drugs intervention thing must feel like. Your misdeeds being dredged up in front of everyone. It'd be terrible though, if it was for a life intervention, for debt, for being crap at work, for being a rubbish partner. Everyone feeling they had to step in, not because you were set on a self destructive spiral, but just because you were getting life wrong. Your parents and your friends and your bosses and your bank managers and loan managers all sitting round saying things like "... and sometimes I think you try too hard to be liked. It's really transparent and it makes us feel awkward," "I can't help but thing your purchases are frivolous and irresponsible given the amount of money," Your boss nodding as this view of your personal life confirmed his worst suspicions abotu you. Your parents silently drinking it all in saying things like, "... but presumably there's some things he gets right, that he still works with you?" and being greeted with a heavy sigh. "There's not a lot to be honest." God that would be terrible. Someone should do it as a reality TV show. Just sit some poor fucker in a circle and has everyone from every sphere of their life criticize them for weeks on end. If the guy hasn't killed himself by the end of the six-week run, then he wins a dishwasher.
-------------------- Now that you've called me by name? Posts: 2007
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I'm trying to get an e-briefing to work properly, but slide 9 doesn't seem to happen anymore. I've cleared my cache and renamed the slide to remove a "/" character that may have caused trouble. I've rebuilt the SCORM wrapper and deployed the course again, but while the frame appears, the content does not. What with this, and the onoging MIME / FLV issues on staging, I'm getting to that point where the frustration is making me itchy.
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lol! I was just saying 'this laptop is fucked, she must have hurled it down the stairs' whilst flapping about a broken field reps laptop. Then the person arrived to collect their broken laptop and I had to pretend I wasn't being scornful. -100 Brilliant Points.
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Does anyone have a single most embarrasing moment at school where if they'd have died of shame right there on the spot, then it would have been a mercy killing?
quote:Originally posted by New Way Of Decay: Does anyone have a single most embarrasing moment at school where if they'd have died of shame right there on the spot, then it would have been a mercy killing?
At the height of the Casual boom I bought a moody Pierre Cardin jogging suit from Wembley Market. It was baggy, puffy, in a strange sort of waffly, two-tone baby blue and grey fabric. It was horrible. However, so utterly convinced was I by the genius of Italian menswear designers that I wore it to school on Monday morning... a strange thing happened... as I approached my friends they laughed, pointed and revved up for the mother of all piss-takes, upon reaching them I pointed to the Pierre Cardin logo... and the laughter stopped. I used the same tactic with other potential piss-takers, it worked. I kept a low-profile until I got home, stripped off the suit and binned it. I learned some very horrible truths about myself and my friends that day. I've been fighting to free myself from those horrible truths ever since. It was a turning point. Maybe not the single most embarassing moment, but potentally the single most embarassing moment.
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The first time I experienced boxer shorts, I wasn't aware they were meant to be underwear. With hindsight, it seems painfully cruel that my parents allowed me to wear them to school over the top of a pair of pants. It was pretty late in the day when I noticed a load of other kids pointing and sniggering. I was a sensitive lad and already I could feel the tears welling up. When I angrily enquired as to the source of their hilarity, Miles (one of my main antagonists) shouted "You're wearing ghostbuster boxer shorts! Over pants!" at which the whole class erupted into laughter. I stood for a moment, horrified as the information slowly processed itself in my mind. I then burst into tears and ran from the classroom and locked myself in the toilets for an hour.
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quote:Originally posted by Ringo: The first time I experienced boxer shorts, I wasn't aware they were meant to be underwear. With hindsight, it seems painfully cruel that my parents allowed me to wear them to school over the top of a pair of pants. It was pretty late in the day when I noticed a load of other kids pointing and sniggering. I was a sensitive lad and already I could feel the tears welling up. When I angrily enquired as to the source of their hilarity, Miles (one of my main antagonists) shouted "You're wearing ghostbuster boxer shorts! Over pants!" at which the whole class erupted into laughter. I stood for a moment, horrified as the information slowly processed itself in my mind. I then burst into tears and ran from the classroom and locked myself in the toilets for an hour.
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my mum taught me to wear my knickers over my tights, so that your tights dont fall down. seems logical, i thought, even at the age of six. until the day when we all had to strip to our vest and knickers for games. but youve got to feel a burning murderous sensation of hatred towards your mother for the first time at some point, right? six is as good an age as any i reckon. like ringo says: character building.
quote:Originally posted by Ringo: The first time I experienced boxer shorts, I wasn't aware they were meant to be underwear. With hindsight, it seems painfully cruel that my parents allowed me to wear them to school over the top of a pair of pants.
Oof. That's a bad one. I can't believe your parents didn't help you out there.
I'm trying to think of a most embarrassing moment, but I can't really place one because I was sort of... immune to that sort of thing. I never really noticed when I'd fucked up. I remember being, like, ten years old and on the school bus me some kids got me and my best friend Alice to touch each other's bits, and we were both roundly mocked for that, but I didn't really feel any sense of shame about it. She's a lesbian now, though, so it must have hit her pretty hard.
I'm sure there must be something. I'm getting a general sense of shame as I pass my mind over my pre-teen years so it must be coming from somewhere. Perhaps there's something so massive, so devastatingly humiliating that it's sending out psychic shockwaves strong enough to prevent me from remembering it.
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In secondary school, in one of my science lessons. I had a teacher and I can’t remember her name, but she was a proper old-school science teacher. White lab coat with the front pitted with holes from corrosive chemicals, thick functional glasses on a string around her neck and a shocking ginger afro. Anyway, in this lesson we were learning about electricity. Now I’m not good with electricity, I never have been and I never will be. I have a natural fear of it. So when she wheeled out a giant Van de Graaf generator, looming up on the desk with all the might and menace of a medieval torture device, I was understandable unnerved. Almost predictably, after watching a few of my peers clasp the gleaming orb of death, their hair standing on end, I was chosen by the teacher to come and have a go. I tried to squirm my way out of it, but there was no way I was going to say I was too frightened in front of all my classmates.
So up I stepped, onto the little rubber step, and put my hands upon the chrome globe of misery. The belt whirred into life ominously. I scanned the faces of my classmates nervously, trying to maintain my composure as my heart rate soared to about 200bpm. Those still interested enough to be paying attention laughed half heartedly at my hair. I could sense my ordeal was nearing an end, but the worst was yet to come. The belt slowed to a stop but the orb still needed to be discharged of its static energy. As the teacher brought the little earthing rod closer and closer, I could feel something welling up inside me. “Don’t let go until I say so”, she said. But it was all too much, I was overcome by terror. Classmates would later tell me I had literally screamed like a girl as I pulled my hands away with a loud CRACK and flash of static. All I can remember is finding myself standing in the corner of the room hunched over, with the teacher comfortingly asking if I was ok.
It was…. some time before I was allowed to live that one down
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There are actually, when I think about it, literally hundreds of embarrassing moments from my school years. I remember I had a pair of boots, for instance, they were kind of like Dr Martens. I forget. Caterpillar maybe. Anyway, they had these metal hooks on the sides where the laces looped through, kind of like a bigger version of the ‘male’ bit on a bra fastener. Every now and then, as I was walking along, my feet would brush too close together and a hook on one boot would catch the lace on the other, instantly locking my feet together. This resulted in multiple trips to the floor before I thought to just flatten them with a pair of pliers. Including one time when walking across a particularly muddy piece of pathway between the two halls. That was certainly a long day.
There was another time, in art class. I used to get well angry with people and sort of lose the power of coherent speech. So when I wanted to really shout some kind of awesome insult, my mouth would stop working and something random would come out. I forget why this girl was winding me up, but she certainly had. I think she spilled my paint or something. In my momentary apoplexy, I shouted loud enough for the whole class to hear “Oh my god you’re such a fucking…. Nigger!”. This was greeted with a chorus of “ummmmm!” from the rest of the class, and a very stern talking to by the teacher on the subject of racial abuse. She wasn’t black, thank Christ.
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Even though I kickstarted this beautiful outpour of underwear related highjinx, I can't think of outright humiliation. Just the threat of it was scary enough to avoid it at all costs. I would wear the most basic clothes I could, veering straight down the line between designer and the much dubbed 'gyppo togs'
However, the one time I felt utterly ashamed of myself was one bored sunny afternoon after watching an apisode of ballfest Degrassi Junior High. The plot of the said episode was centered around a gang called The Pirates who had racketeered the main characters car washing business, I tucked the bottom of my t-shirt through the collar, tugged tight and produced a Junior School rendition of Corey Haim doing speed balls in Club Tropicana. I started to mince menacingly around the playground, trying to press-gang members into my crew. We didn't have any car-washes to take over though, so we walked like uber-camp thugs over to two other kids and ordered them. Ordered them to be scared. When they refused to pay attention to us, we set upon them in a scuffle. I was crushed underneath a pile of wriggling bodies and afraid this pirate was going to drown in the murky depths decided to bite as much flesh as I could and hard. All I could hear was muffled shrieking. We were pulled apart by dinner ladies and sent to the head. By the time he actually came to tell us off we had forgotten what it was about.
I was mostly ashamed that I let Degrassi Junior High get the better of me.
quote:Originally posted by Ringo: Van de Graaf generator
Those things are evil. When I was at school I remember the teacher turning it on it and I immediately got such a bad headache I had to leave the room. Ever since then I've known when a thunderstorm was coming because I get a headache, so I don't think electricity agrees with me.
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Not an embarrassing moment, more of a bewildering one.
1981. First year of middle school. Nine or ten years old. Run-up to Christmas. We're making Christmas cards.
(I might have told this story before, so stop me if it sounds familiar.)
That year my parents had received a card from some friends that, amusingly, had Joseph come running out of the stable to announce to the adoring shepherds that "It's a girl!"
I understood this joke. Jesus was a boy. It's funny to imagine him being a girl - turn it all on its head. It's a bit leftie, it's tongue in cheek, but no malice is meant.
So as we were drawing our cards I decided to take the joke and put a twist on it.
I drew mine so that Joseph came out of the stable and declared to the crowd: She's had an abortion!
My teacher, when she came round to see how we were getting on, was puzzled by mine and had to read it again. It seemed to deeply trouble her. In fact she didn't know what to do with me. In fact, she made me go out to another classroom to show it to another teacher, a friend of hers.
Knock knock. Come in. Yes? Miss said I should show you this. Oh? What is it? It's a Christmas card I made. Oh how lovely! Let me see. Oh. Oh! Why are you showing me this? What is this?
And so on. In the end I had to go and see the head of year about it, who also, I think, didn't quite know what to do with me, because he said he was going to have to think about it, and to come back to see him the next day after school.
The next day was the last day of term before Christmas. I played it quite cleverly, I think, and simply never went to see him the next day, school broke up, and everyone was able to forget about it - I mean, how (and indeed why) do you punish a nine-year-old kid for saying the Virgin Mary has had an abortion?
Anyway, it was never mentioned again - to everyone's relief, I think.
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quote:Originally posted by Nathan Bleak: Perhaps there's something so massive, so devastatingly humiliating that it's sending out psychic shockwaves strong enough to prevent me from remembering it.
I suspect I have a touch of that as well, seeing as I can't remember more than two events prior to the age of 16. One of them was in second grade. We all had to come up with an "invention", and mine was the Bucky Beaver Pencil Sharpener (bucky beaver being a nickname I gave to a buck-toothed classmate). Long story short; he cried, and I was labelled as the kid who didn't know how to get along with his classmates. Sure glad that didn't stick. Posts: 7436
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At primary school they had an egg-decorating competition for Easter, or something. I failed to come up with a design until the last moment, as usual - in fact I failed to come up with a design at all, so I used cleverness instead. I presented an empty eggcup with a card in front of it that said "invisible egg". I thought it was great - inventive, creative, funny.
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