I told my five friends i had a crush on this guy at camp. Anyway they thought i should talk to him but i was too shy. A few minutes later i was drawing a picture and they said hey look its him so all five girls dragged me by my feet demanding me to speak to him infront of him and about twenty other people. He looked at us like we were a bunch of morons.
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my name is barry and last year i was dating a girl named Brittany. she found out, after a few weeks, that i wore women's panties. one day she was over to my house and she went in my panty drawer and picked out a thong panty for me to wear. she wanted me to wear it under my jeans as we went out. so i put it on for her and we went out. at the club, we ran into a couple of her girlfriends. while i was talking to one, the other went behind me and give me a huge wedgie. obviously, they had been told about my panties. all three of us were laughing so hard that we could not stand up. it was really embarrassing. they still tease me about wearing panties whenever i see them.
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As a fourteen year old boy, I have somewhat of a tendency to use the washroom alot. While waling home from the local conveniance store with my riend I was somewhat overwhlemed with the need to go "number two". I had learned from much experiance of holding it, that thefecal material that was ebbing towards its exit would back up if I held it long enough. So as we walked, I held it, and continued to hold it. Eventually the "back up" came. I also knew from experiance that once it was backed up it would come twice as strong when the need came again. I was worried to I tried to walk fast. This however triggered for the back up to release. I was now barely holding the fecal material within my body, and we still had an entire street to walk down! I didn't want to run be running often strengthen the need for defication. Soon however, the feeling in my lower regions became unbearable. I began to run a sort of waddling trot. My friends house was only a few houses away now( I would have much rather prefered to go at my house, but desperate time call for desperate measures). I was now only holding the junk by squeezing by cheeks together. I began to waddle up his driveway. Then through his garage and into the house. My friend had told me to use the bathroom downstairs because this was a new house and he didnt want me to stink it up. I stormed towards the bathroom. Then just as I was shutting the door something happened. I was too late. Before I could reach the toilet fecal material began pouring down my legs into my boxers and pants. At this point my heart stopped. What was I to do? My entitre lower section was covered in reeking material. I pulled won my pants and sat on the toilet. My thighs were smothered in brown chunky waste. It had been diarhea, and it had been bad. I cleaned by thighs off, but it was impossible to clean the pants off. There was an unbelievable ammount of waste in by pants. It was absolutely disgusting. I then realized that the fecal materials was coming
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We had cooked a turkey dinner for Mexican exchange student, and my son, who was learning Spanish, told him we were having polvo for dinner instead of pavo. Our exchange student gave him a horrified look and refused to come down for dinner. We later realized he had told the exchange student we were having dust for dinner instead of turkey for dinner.
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It was towards the end of my first year of my residency, so I was a seasoned veteran at having end-of-life talks. When I went into the TB isolation room and found Mr. Williams with the covers pulled up to the bridge of his nose, I knew it was time to have a heart-to-heart talk.   
  
I started off by re-introducing myself and then followed with affirming the social isolation associated with HIV and now TB isolation. He concurred with a sigh and continued to keep the covers over half of his face. I gently proceeded to discuss the grim realities of end-stage AIDS with him. I mentioned that the frequency and types of opportunistic infections he was facing, combined with a CD4 count of 2, warrant a discussion about his life expectancy numbered in weeks-to-months rather than months-to-years. Mr. Williams said to me, "I hear ya."   
  
At that moment, a phlebotomist came in and said, "Mr. Jackson, I'm back to take some more blood." To my horror, as he pulled his arm out from under the covers, his arm band confirmed it. This wasn't Mr. Williams at all. I just told the wrong guy he was dying.   

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I've had a few experiences that were embarrassing, but the most embarrassing moment happened on the day that I got married. I arrived at the church late. My fiancé and his family were very nervous. It had been a long day for me and I was very embarrassed, but in the end it was great because it was my wedding day!
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One day when I was in a restaurant having a quiet lunch, two girls arrived at the restaurant to have lunch also. After two or three minutes, I noticed one of the girls. She was very beautiful and was looking at me, too. We looked at each other and then she waved with her hand like she was saying bye. I waved back and smiled, thinking that she was waving to me, but the disaster was that she was waving to her friends who were sitting behind me. At that moment, my face got red because I was very embarrassed. She began laughing at me, and I couldn't do anything but laugh at myself.
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When I was in elementary school, my mother registered me in a singing competition in my country. That was my first time to be in a singing competition. On the day of the competition, the competition officials asked me to enter a studio room. There was only one person and a piano in that room. He asked me to sing in front of the microphone, following his piano playing.   
  
My mother was waiting for me outside of the studio. I thought that I sang very well at the time. But when I finished and walked out of the studio, my mother asked, "What happened to your voice?" Why couldn't we hear you from here? Then, I realized that I forgot to switch on the microphone. I left that place with a red face because everybody was staring at me.   
  

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I was in 5th grade at Quail Valley Elementary (QVE). Our class was writing reports on animals. I was a stutterer, and had been since I was 3 or 4 years old. I had picked "Sharks" to report on. I knew I would have to read my paper aloud to the class when I turned the paper in to my teacher, Ms. R. Knowing that, I tried to make my paper as short as possible. Ms. R was a new teacher at QVE. Our principal was disabled, and couldn't walk, but she had no problem getting to each new teacher class and checking on the teacher. The principal would roll around to each class with one of the school's new teachers and just sit there on her wheels and watch the class. I had finished my Sharks report and we were sharing our reports. When it comes to my turn, I get up in front of the class, smack on my charm smile, and begin stuttering. Our principal rolls in and starts watching me. I can tell she is about to throw up from watching me stomp my feet and roll my head. Poor Ms. R. What will the Principal think of her now? One of her students can't even read. Unfortunately, my teacher didn't let me sit down. I had to sit there for 30 minutes and [try to] read my paper. I think finally she let me stop, the entire class was probably swimming in my tears by then. That was the most embarassing moment of my life thus far.   

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I would say that my most embarassing moment as a stutterer came just a few weeks ago. I am seventeen, and the time has come for me to go and visit colleges. To do this well, you have to make an appointment with the school for a tour. The tour usually starts with a short information session and than a walk around the campus. The information session proved to be my downfall. Before we could start the session, the Dean of admissions wanted everybody in the room to tell their name and also where they were from. I knew this would be a problem the second that the words came out of his mouth. In a flash my mind became cluttered with a million thoughts, the main thought being to practice what I was going to say. It was only three words, but anyone out there who stutters knows that the anxiety experienced when having to say three words can be like having to give a whole speech to a person that has fluent speech. The moment arrived, and what happened was exactly what I was expecting. I got my name and the first part of my state out of my mouth totally fine. than the inevitable pause caused by a lack of confidence caused me to stammer quite horribly on the last word of my state. I was truly embarassed by this and it is because of this most recent incedent that I am going to receive professional help.   

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I was in my seventh period, when my teacher asked me to go to the overhead and point out states on it. I messed up and started to say that I couldn't do it and I stuttered and just set down. That was the most embarrassing thing that happend to me. The second most embarrassing thing that happened to me was I was paired up with this kid who has no friends. We had to go up to the chalk board to point out where this body of water was on a map and this kid got it wrong, so my teacher asked me to and I didn't know so I got it wrong, too. Then he asked us to try it again, and a different group went up and so on and so on, until we had to go up again and we both got it wrong again. Finally the teacher told us what it was so we just sat down.
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This was in the fifth grade. Actually this is a common experience always coming back to me. It is reading time and we're taking turns reading. I remember it came to my turn. The first word was "would." Would?!?! I can't say that! It got embarrassingly quiet when it came to my turn. I was busy whispering, "W-w-w-w-w-w-" I got angry with myself because it just wouldn't come out. The teacher finally yelled at me to start reading. Augh! The blind world we live in....
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My most uncomfortable moment came as a freshman in high school. I was chosen to go to the regional FFA competition to represent my school in impromptu speaking. This was an enormous task for me to undertake. I was given a binder of information, and three minutes to write an appropriate speech. Then, I had to go to a special room in front of four judges that I didn't know. The speech started with an introduction of myself and my topic, fruits and vegetables. I talked about soil preparation and weed control, and it was the longest three minutes of my life. My knees starting shaking, and I had to grab the podium to hold myself up. The whole podium started shaking, and the judges asked me if I was o.k. It took me a couple of minutes to get started because I dropped my cards, and had to reorganize them. I was sweating like a mad dog, and I then flew threw the speech. I honestly don't know if I stuttered at all, but I lost the competition, and the judges gave me a superior, which is what they give anyone who isn't good enough to win. This is a feel good mercy rating they gave me, but I made it through it and survived.
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While working as a nurse practitioner for a cardiology group, I was asked to obtain a history and physical on a patient being admitted for a cardiac catheterization. Everything was going smoothly. It felt as though there was good rapport. Butthe time had come to discuss family history. She proceeded to tell me about her husband's medical conditions, but interrupted herself to say, "Oh! But he's not a blood relative."   
  
With a smile I replied, "Unless you're from West Virginia."   
  
Dead silence... All of the family members just looked at each other.   
  
"Don't tell me," I said, "You're from West Virginia." She nodded slowly.   
  
Still silent.   

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