My First Ever "Hub Of Shame" or Shames . . .whatever fits

Do you love shame? Humiliation? Hard-core embarrassment?

No. Not if you are a normal person. No one actually "loves" these areas that cause us so much pain and personal shame. Now really. Even the most-devout circus clown in his off-time cannot stand "that" middle-aged woman in the check-out line in the grocery store whose voice is so shrill it could open cans of Starkist tuna shriek, "you are that clown I watched last night with my grand babies at the circus. Funny. You don't look funny with clothes on!" And with that one loud, embarrassing public remark, you look for a hole to crawl into to wait for this "fan" to go home.

Don't worry, "Bozo," we've all been there.

In situations where we had rather face death than to say, "excuse me. I didn't know that my pants were unzipped," or "sorry for spilling my chicken and dumplings on your lap, ma'am." But it happens. Sometimes often. Sometimes not for a long period of time. And I know how to explain my last statement. You see it's a "game of survival," between "life" and us. Sometimes "life" lulls us into such complacency that our judgement gets glazed-over with stupidity thinking we have survived our last blunder, verbal error or public humiliation. "Life" is clever, my friends. And if you take my advice, you should never under-estimate "life" when you are competing in the "game of survival."

Well, I suppose "I" had better "pay the piper"

with my own stories of total-embarrassment. Humiliation. And overall-shame that I brought to myself and my family who endured these degrading episodes with me. I am not proud of these tales of sorrow and shame that I am going to tell you now. In fact, if it weren't for you thinking that I was a "coward," I would write about a pet dog I once had. Maybe the time I shot a poisonous snake apart with my grandpa's shotgun. But all in all, I think I will feel much better by verbally-purging myself of these hideous burdens that I have carried around for years. Yes, it's time to "come clean" with you, my treasured followers and share with you . . .

A Few Of The Shameful Happenings That Have Been a Part of My Life

There was this one time in a Fred's Dollar Store where I happened to run-upon an old friend of mine that I had not seen since high school. We recognized each other right away. We shook hands and started to recall some old high school memories that gave us both a huge belly-laugh. And then I had to go and share a dark secret about a girl, we will call her, "June," who had hated me to such a degree that she glared a hole in me each time we would meet in the halls. And she never told me why she hated me. So I ask my old buddy, in these terms, "Say, remember that 'battle axe,' 'June'? What a pain in the neck! I wanted to kick her butt for how she treated me in school. What ever happened to the "devil's sister"? My buddy's face turned to stone. And he replied, "She's my wife." And left without as much as a good-bye or fare well.

Then there was this time where I worked in our local newspaper and a mischievous co-worker told me that the customer walking to our front door was hard of hearing, so I really had to speak-up so he could hear me. I waited for the elderly man to enter our lobby door. He walked in. Pulled his hat off. Then I kicked my vocal chords into high-gear. "Hey, sir! How are you doing?" He looked stunned. Almost frightened. "Uh, fine," he finally said. "What can we do for you toooo--ddaay?" I almost screamed at him. "Uh, I want to subscribe. How much do I pay?" he asked not looking into my eyes. "Six dollars and forty-two cents, sir!" I yelled and could have passed for a male cheerleader yelling for UCLA. He gave me his check. I gave him his receipt and said as he left, "THHHANNNK YOOOU," and then my coworkers who had all gathered out of sight in another office burst into laughter at how gullible I had been. The old man was a friend of our "mischievous" co-worker. And had perfect hearing. I never saw the old man again.

One time at a funeral I was trying my best to keep my voice down and explain to a friend why I was late to their club meeting that I was supposed to cover for the newspaper where I was employed. It was very humiliating when I forgot, even for a moment, that I was inside a funeral home, and when the funeral songs were being played, I said, "hey, buddy. I will drop-dead before I cover your club's meeting again if you talk to me that way," and of course, we were friends and just cutting-up, but those around me looked at me in angry scorn. Just me. Not my buddy. It took me a few months to "live that down."

And Now, Even More Shame and Embarrassment

Once in a big meeting in my company at the newspaper the main boss, our publisher got up to talk about how he had invested so much money into new equipment for us to use to get the paper to press. He just started talking by saying, "Well, I tell you. I have spent a grand total of . . ." and then out of the blue, I got seriously-choked on a sip of hot coffee and began coughing loudly that I caused a commotion among the packed room of newspaper employees. Everyone pointed at me and laughed their heads off. The publisher's face turned a tomato-red. He didn't laugh at all. And to make things worse. He wasn't known for his sense of humor.

Someone thought it hilarious to stand behind a storage closet door and throw a bucket of cold water on me as I was sent (by a practical-joking editor) to look for an ad we had run months ago. The accessory-joker did what he was told. He hosed me down with a bucket of water and he, along with my practical-joker editor stood and hee-hawed at me. Oh yes, most of the office staff were let-in on the joke and they helped my joker editor laugh until they cried. Eventually, I laughed too. As I drove home to change into some dry clothing.

One time on a trip with my brother-in-law to South Carolina to deliver some mobile home parts to his boss. We were doing great on time coming back through Atlanta on our way back home when we ran out of gas. And no gas in the reserve tank on his truck. He suggested that I stay with his truck while he hitch-hiked to the nearest gas station to get enough gasoline to get us to where he could fill-up to get us home. Suddenly a Georgia State Trooper pulled over to talk to me when Tim, my brother-in-law had just caught a ride to get the gasoline. "You with this truck?" he asked. Very politely. "Ohh, you bet, sir. My brother-in-law, Tim, just caught a ride to get us some gasoline so we could fill-up and go home, " I replied. And that would have been fine, but I just had to add this to my explanation: "And Tim said before he left for me to guard his RADAR DETECTOR on his dash with my life for it was very-expensive." The trooper looked amazed that I was so dumb as to share that last bit of information. He smiled. Got into his car and I noticed him shaking his head as he drove away. Tim, upon his return with the needed-gasoline, laughed and was equally-amazed at my lack of judgement when he said, "You actually told the trooper about this radar detector?" Then he laughed. All the way back to Alabama.

One time while I was walking down a sidewalk in my hometown, I noticed a girl that I went to high school with driving her new Oldsmobile through town. She had the driver's side window down. I guess to allow her long, naturally-blond hair to blow in the wind. "Hey, doll!" I yelled. She slowed up and smiled. Then, as if it had been scripted, I ran head-on into a parking meter and almost fell to the sidewalk as passersby mumbled something about me and kept walking. The blond also laughed. And drove off. Everyone laughed. But me.