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Embarrassing Moment I:Anxious to secure the position of Northwest Regional Director of a French organization headquartered in Lyon, France, I donned my tailored blue linen business suit, nylons, and conservative pumps. With carefully applied makeup and neatly combed hair, I was ready for the interview. I met M. Barrieux, the organization’s president, at the airport. He politely declined my invitation to lunch but accepted a cold drink.
It was a beautiful, sunny day in Seattle, so I took him to the International Center House where I bought him a soda and for myself, a tall orange drink.
Although very nervous, I answered the imposing Frenchman’s many queries.
Attempting to appear self-assured while answering a technical question, I lifted the paper cup that held my drink to take a sip through the straw. I looked up at M. Barrieux only to realize that the straw missed my mouth and was instead stuck up my nose.
Instinctively, I pulled the cup down and there I stood, the applicant for Northwest Director of a multi-million-dollar French company, with a straw firmly lodged up her nose, looking like a one-tusked walrus!
Oh, by the way, I got the job.
— Almuht Dear-Jossy
Embarrassing Moment II:My son and his family came to my home to take me out to dinner one evening. In the car, on our way home, my daughter-in-law received a cell phone call from Texas where their son (my grandson) was stationed in the Air Force. She told him I was with them in the car, and he asked to say hello to me.
I took the phone and began my conversation, but had such a difficult time hearing him, and asked him to speak louder. He did, but I continued to have a hard time hearing him. My adult children have been encouraging me to have my hearing tested, but I didn’t think my hearing was THAT bad, yet. It was at this time that my granddaughter piped up from the back, “Grandma June, you have the cell phone upside down.” Was I embarrassed? YES. Will I ever hear the end of it? NO.
–June Richmond
Embarrassing Moment III:Many years ago, my wife and I took a trip back east to visit our son who was playing baseball during summer break from college.
He was with the Cape Cod League – amateur baseball’s premier league – and we were proud parents. Tyler’s season was going very well and each morning we eagerly sought out the local paper to see if he was featured on the sports pages. One morning, standing in the hotel lobby reading an article about our son, a man happened to look over my shoulder and asked, in his New England twang, “How’d Tyler do?”
“Oh! Do you follow Tyler?” I asked.
“He’s my favorite player,” replied the man.
I couldn’t help but exclaim, “He’s my son!”
The man gave me an odd look. With a seeming need to clarify he asked, “You’re Tyler’s father?”
“Yes,” I beamed, happy to boast, “and that’s his mother!” I pointed to my wife who was standing nearby.
She nodded her head ecstatically.
The man looked at both of us as if we were from outer space and he backed away in a hurry.
Puzzled by his behavior, we glanced back down at the article and saw that there was a story on the same page about Tiger Woods.We suddenly realized that the man wondered why we, a seemingly sane Caucasian couple, were conspiring to claim Tiger Woods — who had a very recognizable father of his own — as our son!
–Ken Davidson
