I suppose everyone at some time or other does something or has something happen that makes them uncomfortable or embarrassed.
Some of those incidents are best forgotten and we pretend they never happened. Others are funny and we remember them. Some of those moments happen to others, and we remember them and are glad they didn't happen to us.
My earliest such memory happened when I was about in second or third grade. We lived in a new house on a new street and a crew of workers were installing new sewers before the road was to be paved.
At the end of the day, the workers had put all the dirt back into the trench and hosed it down with lots of water to settle it. I was curious and played along the edge of the trench, throwing stones into the water. Next thing I remember is telling my Mom, "I don't know what happened, but I'm all wet." Yes, I had fallen into the water. It was only about two feet deep and I crawled out easily.
Another time, I had invited a friend to go with me somewhere (I don't remember where). We arrived at the place and that's when I discovered I had forgotten to bring along my wallet.
Perhaps the most embarrassing of all is the time I was on the dance floor at Geauga Lake Park. In those days, young men and women went to public dance halls that served as meeting places. I think the dance floor had just recently been cleaned and waxed and might have been a bit slippery. I made a quick turn, and my partner didn't and before I knew it, I had fallen down. Neither of us said anything, we just finished the dance number.
A long time ago, I was at Euclid Beach Park where I ran into Frankie, a man I had known as a classmate in fifth and sixth grade. Without thinking, and before he had an opportunity to introduce himself and the lady he was with, I blurted out something like, "So you're Frankie from sixth-grade and this must be your mother."
His response made feel like crawling into a hole. He said, "This is my wife."
That must have been 60 to 75 years ago, and I still feel bad about it. I wonder what he and his wife had to say afterwards?
Another Euclid Beach story took place when I was at the park with a date. The rides I liked were the Racing Derby and The Whip. This time (and the only time) the girl and I were on a ride that had little two person cars suspended from cables. As the cars went round and round, faster and faster, they would swing outward to give riders a feeling of flying. Each car had a large rudder that gave the rider control of the flying car, making it go higher or lower and even make it go sideways.
When we got off the ride, I didn't feel so good. My stomach was churning. We left the park rather quickly and on the way home, I had to stop and vomit along the side of the road. That didn't make a very good impression on my date.
I wasn't part of this story, but it is an example of how unintended things happen. At the time, Maple Heights buses ran only to Miles and Broadway where riders had to transfer to the Cleveland streetcar system. An agreement was reached with Cleveland to allow Maple Heights buses to go all the way to Public Square. That resulted in a two-tiered fare system: 10 cents to Miles and Broadway, the Maple/Cleveland border, and 25 cents for all the way downtown.
If riders paid the full fare on boarding in Maple, they got a pink slip they gave the driver when getting off in Cleveland. If they had only paid to Miles, they would have to pay the extra 15 cents.
One lady had her pink slip in her hand when getting off, but she was so busy talking to her lady friend, she just walked right by the driver.
He very politely reminded her by saying, "Lady, your slip." She looked down at the hem of her dress, gave the driver a dirty look, and got off the bus. I wonder how she felt when she realized what she had done?
On the subject of ladies underwear, I once went with my wife to a discount ladies clothing warehouse. It was a huge place with racks and racks of merchandise. I sat near the checkout counter while my wife shopped. When it was getting late, I went out among those racks to look for her. That's when I stumbled into what turned out to be a fitting room. The look on the faces of the few women there made me realize I was in the wrong place. Embarrassed and humiliated, I got out of that area very quickly.
My Mother often told of the time when women wore multiple petticoats, held in place with elastic in the waistband. One young lady was dancing when the elastic broke. Her slip fell to the floor. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and just kept on dancing. I wonder what her dance partner had to say about that?