My most embarrassing life

My Most Embarrassing Moment by Suebob, Mrs. Flinger's Period 3 English*

*Explanation at bottom of post

Most embarrassing moments are usually just that: a moment, a brief time of realization and blushing, followed by the blissful softening of time's passing.

But what happens when your embarrassing moment happens and you don't even know about it until long after everyone else has heard about it, when, years later, the realization comes crashing down on you like an emotional pile of bricks?

That's what happened to me.

When I was in my junior year of high school, I awoke one day with terrible back pain. I was in ballet at the time, so I thought I had strained a muscle.

I iced, I used a heating pad, but nothing helped. My mom took me over to the chiropractor and I almost passed out from the pain.

I remember standing at the counter and having my vision disappear down to pinpoints and the noises around me get farther and farther away until someone grabbed me just as I collapsed.

Someone took my temperature and found I had a 104 degree fever. My doctor ordered me admitted to the hospital. Our family doctor at the time was this harsh skinny old guy with a thick German accent. I always suspected that he was a retired Nazi but I'm sure that is just speculation...mmmmaybe.

They put me on the pediatrics ward at the hospital. The doctor came to visit me there and took me into a broom closet and did my first, and by far the worst, pelvic exam of my life.

Between the pain and the fever and the broom closet and a strange man rooting around in my privates with the grace of a ham-handed plumber, I was a mess. During the exam, Dr. Mengele asked me "Are you sexually emancipated?"

This was 1977 and I had no idea what he was talking about. I assumed he was asking me if I was a feminist. After all, the debate over the Equal Rights Amendment was raging at the time. So I said yes.

After that, things get a little fuzzy. My fever went up even higher and I ended up spending six weeks on that peds ward, receiving massive doses of erythromycin for a staph infection that had settled in the bones of my lower spine. Except for developing a permanent hatred for runny food served on plastic plates, I recovered fully.

Fast forward 25 years. My sister Laura and I were talking about the time I had spent in the hospital. She said, laughing, "And that old German doctor told mom and dad you had gonorrhea."

"WHAT?" I yelled.

"You didn't know? He said he had asked you if you were having sex with a lot of people and, with your symptoms, he suspected gonorrhea."

"Doctor Mengele told mom and dad I was having sex with a lot of people and had gonorrhea?? That isn't what he asked me. He said 'sexually emancipated.' I thought he meant if I approved of women being firefighters and judges!"

So my most embarrassing moment lasted 25 years, the years when my parents thought I was a total slut.

**********
Explanation:
Mrs. Flinger has a new project: trying to help bloggers become better writers. Thank God. Somebody has to!

The idea is that we will do weekly writing assignments and give each other gentle and helpful criticism. Week one's topic: My Most Embarrassing Moment. Ok!

All I Want is a Cup of Coffee

Given that I have already established how difficult it is to get a cup of coffee at McDonalds, when I was up in Ojai the other day watching Queen of Spain and Undomestic Diva decide on their latest tattoos, I decided to visit a locally owned coffee shop for my iced coffee.

Java & Joe. That should have been a tip-off. Java AND Joe? Aren't those both nicknames for coffee? Why AND? Why not either Java OR Joe? But no.

Being an excellent, ecologically conscious-type person, I sat my stainless steel togo cup on the counter and ordered my iced coffee from the stocky blonde woman.

"That's a 16 ounce cup," I said, helpfully. I always try to be helpful. Because I am so excellent.

"Looks like 18 ounces to me!" said the lady, turning to get my coffee.

I stared at her back in disbelief. This coffee wench was busting my chops over two ounces of coffee. It wasn't like I brought in a 64-ounce Big Gulp and insisted it was six ounces.

"Well," I said with my voice all clipped and tight. "It says 16 ounces on the bottom of the cup, so that's what I have always gone by. Bitch." (Ok, I didn't say "bitch," but it was definitely implied and right there below the surface.)

So what did she do? She PICKED UP my cup and looked at the bottom. To check on me. Over TWO ounces of coffee.

The bottom of the cup is black rubber and the 16 oz. mark is tiny and dang, she looked like an idiot peering at it.

She gave me my coffee. Then the kicker.


Over the years, the rubber grippy thing around the cup has slid up, and it ain't coming down. It is tight on the cup and immoveable to me.

"The rubber thing on your cup is in the wrong place," said Blondie. "It REALLY bothers me."

You know what bothers ME? Bad customer service! Like questioning your customers over two ounces of coffee and shaming them over a stupid coffee mug! But hey, thanks for this excellent experience! Next time, I'll be at one of the eight other coffee places in town!

What a world, what a world.

Product review: McCafe, um I mean Latte

The scene: Exit 253 McDonalds, Highway 55, Joliet, Illinois. 2 pm Sunday July 26

There I was. Tired. Decaffeinated. Desperate. I knew the nearest Starbucks was about 4 long miles away and I needed to check into my motel and relax, but first my screaming empty neuroreceptors needed coffee.

Thus, McDonald's. I had been seeing their McCafe bus billboards for the past months advertising their $1.69 iced coffee.

Usually I only go to McDonald's to use the restroom, figuring that eating there every single day of my teen life had paid for the occasional road-trip pit stop, but in this case I was willing to make an exception because I needed mah coffee!

Brittany: WelcometoMcDonaldsmayIhelpyou?
Suebob: Is your iced coffee sweetened?
(I asked because Starbuck's default iced coffee is sweetened. Ugh.)
Brittany: We have sweet tea.
Sue: But the iced coffee isn't sweetened?
Brittany: The latte is sweet.
Sue: (realizing I needed to change tactics): I'll have an iced coffee.
Brittany: Iced tea?
Sue: Iced coffee
Brittany: Latte?
Sue: No, ICED COFFEE
Brittany: Madison, where's the button for iced coffee?
(Madison ignores her).
Brittany: Where's the button for iced coffee????
Madison: Right here. Where it always is.
(Oh, SNAP!)
Brittany: Do you want cream?
Sue: Yes.
Brittany: What kind of syrup?
Sue: No syrup. Just iced coffee.
Brittany: With cream?
Sue: Yes, cream, no syrup.

(waiting)

My drink came. It was a big milky latte, sweetened, with whipped cream on top. I had to wait while Brittany finished screwing up someone else's order.

Sue: Ummm, this isn't iced coffee.

All motion behind the counter stopped as everyone glared at me.

Sue: Please. I want. A cup. With ice in it. With coffee. And milk. That is it. Cup, ice, coffee, milk. Iced coffee.

Three minutes later I had what I wanted. The whole transaction had taken 10 minutes and set me back $1.69. The coffee wasn't bad. But next time? Dunkin' Donuts.