Two Embarrassing Incidents

Over the course of my life I have said or done something embarrassing roughly every 172 minutes. That number includes time spent sleeping. What sets apart the incidents I'm about to describe from all the others is the size of the audience.

As a young sprightly lad, I, like most young sprightly lads, enjoyed climbing trees. There was a tree in the neighbourhood that somebody had built a rudimentary treehouse in, essentially a sheet of plywood nailed to some branches, that was a favourite. One day when I was about 8 years old I climbed the tree and tried to convince my little girlfriend to climb up with me. She was too scared and insisted I come down so we could play doctor. This is much more innocent than it seems because she always wanted to be a veterinarian and I would be forced to perform open heart surgery, tracheotomies and kidney transplants on various stuffed animals. Poor Ms. Henrietta Sparklebum, she was such a trooper but it was just too late.

I attempted to climb down but couldn't. Some say a key branch broke off during the previous night's storm so I wasn't able to find that initial foothold. As any climber knows you don't necessarily use the same branches going down as you did going up. Some say the unpleasant episode regarding Ms. Sparklebum haunted me thus mentally preventing me from going down and facing another trauma. Most say I was just a little scaredy-boy.

I'm not sure who made the decision to call the fire department but the decision was made and they did come. When you live on a small street and a fire truck comes along it tends to attract attention thus there was a large crowd gathered as the firemen positioned themselves on the tree and passed me from man to man. When I was safely on the ground one of the firemen gave me a Chiclets. This enraged my younger brother who thought he should have been given something just for having to be associated with me. I think his exact words were "I know firemen are used to rescuing cats from trees but I'm sure you're the biggest pussy they've ever encountered." Pretty mouthy for a six year old.

The second incident occurred when I was performing in my first play at university. My character was required to carry a briefcase so I went to the prop room and came back with one. A more seasoned cast member said that the briefcase had a history of opening at inopportune times to which I replied, "thank you good sir for your most helpful advice. In future when you'd like to communicate something to me rather than just saying it I'd like to have a permanent record so would you mind writing it down in a neat calligraphic script on xuan paper, fold it into the shape of a lotus flower and shove it directly up your ass."

One scene in the play required me to come on stage, set the briefcase on a table, open it, pull out a piece of paper and begin reading. We filled the briefcase with files so it wouldn't look like I was carrying it with only a single sheet of paper inside. The scene ended with a blackout and me and another character existing while the lights were out.

I forget the day the show opened but I remember it went off smoothly for the first couple of performances. Then came the day that everyone I knew decided to attend. The scene happened, the lights went down, I hit a chair on my way offstage, the briefcase popped open, paper scattered everywhere, I uttered an audible curse while trying to gather up the spilled contents, the lights came up, I froze mid-gather took a quick glance at the audience who were delighted with my misfortune and then I scurried offstage. I believe that, and lack of talent, desire, motivation, gumption and looks is the reason I am not a Hollywood star today - but mostly the briefcase incident.

I Need a Clothing Store

As a portly man I find it difficult to buy clothes that fit me properly. And by "fit me properly" I of course mean clothes that make me look like a manlier version of John Wayne. I go to these Big & Tall shops but what they fail to realize is that everyone who's big is not necessarily tall so the dress shirts I buy make me look like a nine year old trying on Daddy's suit. The casual shirts all make me look like a guy who would pour coconut milk all over himself and then fall into the fire pit at a luau.

Even though I have a waist the circumference of a giant sequoia I don't have the height to match so why do my pants have an inseam of 103 inches? I bought one pair of pants in 1984 and I'm still using the material leftover when they were hemmed. So far I have a tablecloth, drapes, 2 more pairs of pants and a comforter. Let me know if anyone needs a Jordache winter coat.

Ridiculous Ad

On a bus shelter I saw an ad that stated, "Talk all you want, unless you're a mime." I think it was for a cell phone company but it may have been for circus performers. Clearly the ad writer did not think this one through. Mimes can talk, they can talk all they want, they simply choose not to. The ad should have read "Talk all you want, unless you're mute, in which case you should check out our fabulous text message plans." Wordy perhaps but undeniably accurate.