Author: beth the other admin

  • dinner invitation

    There was a new young couple at our church, and we had invited them over to our house for dinner the following week. On the appointed day, they showed up at the door, bearing a freshly baked pie. We, on the other hand, had totally forgotten about the invite and were just sitting down with our kids to a haphazard meal of leftovers. Oops…that was awkward! Laurel – NH

  • mile high club

    I was on a flight headed towards London. The line for the bathroom was consistently long so I was going to wait. Finally, when I could not wait any longer, the seat belt sign came on and the plane started to shake violently. I decided to attempt going anyways because it was either in the bathroom or in my seat. I made it to the bathroom without the flight attendant seeing me but soon learned why they ask you to remain seated during turbulence. The airplane suddonly dropped and my hand hit the door which wasn’t properly latched. I looked up and the woman in the seat nearest the bathroom had a look of shock on her face. I shut the door quickly and finished my crazy ride and sneaking back to my seat got a very awkward glare from the lady. Lesson learned. Amanda – CA

  • what, are you deaf?

    It was one of my first thanksgivings with my family in New Hampshire. I didn’t really know anyone, but I was trying to get to know people. Now, when I talk to someone, I really hate repeating myself. It’s just annoying to me. I can’t remember the topic but I was trying to tell one of the guests something. She just kept asking me “what?” or “huh?” I’m generally okay with a repeat once, but five or six times, I’ll just walk away. I was trying to be polite but I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked, “What, are you deaf?” Thankfully, she didn’t hear that because later I was pulled aside and was told quietly, “She IS really deaf –just thought you should know.” Oops. Carl – NH

  • didn't help the interview

    I was scheduled to have an interview at Panera in the afternoon after I was supposed to pick my brother and cousin from school. As I pulled up to the school circle drive my cousin and brother decided to run up and jump on to the hood of my car. Luckily I wasn’t driving very fast. I thought, “Okay, no problem. I’ll just give them a lift to their bags a bit up the drive.” I went slowly and it was fine. Mind you, these boys were in 8th grade and I should have known this wasn’t going to end well. As I came to their bags and started to stop the car my cousin jumped from the hood off to the side and my brother jumped from the hood only aiming for the front of the car and not the side. As I slammed on my brakes I realized that my brother had landed just slightly to the left and only his shoe was run down by my tire. The tire only scraped the side of his shoe and drew a little blood from his ankle. Well, this was a full-on public school with hundreds of children — everyone freaked out. The police were called, the fire department was called and an ambulance was called. We had to wait in the principal’s office until our parents came. The cops had to question everyone in my car, which included a sister and another cousin, I think. The cop pulled me into his car and gave me a talking to. He told me that normally they would have to write up a report about it but since we were family and it was not done maliciously then they would let it go. While we were waiting for all this to process I had to call Panera to tell them I needed to reschedule the interview because I was involved in an accident. I didn’t know how else to put it. They were happy to do so. Well, when I went in for the interview the lady doing it asked how the accident went and what happened. So I told her, because I couldn’t lie. She raised her eye brows at me and I didn’t know what to say so we just moved on to the interview. She never called me back. Hana – TX

  • flaca

    I lived in Latin America for awhile and over there the people tend to notice when a person gains or loses weight, even if it’s only a few pounds. Every time I went to the States and came back, they would immediately comment on how I had gotten fatter. This didn’t bother me too much because I’m the type of person that appreciates people’s honesty. Some of you may already know this but every Latin American country’s culture can be different from another country’s culture. So when I went to Venezuela, I couldn’t help but notice that the people there kept calling me “flaca” which means “skinny girl” in Spanish. After hearing it so many times, I started to think about it. “Wow, am I really that skinny that people are noticing it?” I honestly started letting it go to my head a little bit. When people would say it, I was so flattered that I would uncontrollably let out this ridiculously goofy smile. I had seen how latins were so observant and had experienced how honest they were, so I thought why would they call me flaca if they didn’t think that I was truly skinny? In conclusion, I was convinced; I’M FLACA for once in my life! How exciting! 😀 Now in reality, I’m an average-sized American. I’m not skinny by any means nor am I fat but I, myself, would say I’m a chunky monkey. So one day, my really good friend and I went to the market. It was filled with people, we weaved in and through the crowds. We came to this really large woman sitting on floor, making some bracelets to sell. We needed to get around her so my friend asked, “Excuse me flaca, can we get by?” This threw me off! WHAT!?!? My mind was racing. Why did he just call her flaca? She was the opposite of flaca, she was huge! He just lied to her. So I asked him, “Why did you just call her flaca? She’s not flaca!” and he responded, “What was I supposed to say? ‘Excuse me fatty, can we get through?’ I said it to make her feel good.” I looked at him and while laughing said, “You call me flaca! So, you just call me that to make me feel good?” He shrugged and kept walking. Chelsey – WI

  • gonorrhea-infested waters

    I was a very naive nineteen-year-old, getting ready to go on a mission trip. My last Sunday in church, people were asking how they could pray for me. I got some diseases confused and told them to pray I didn’t catch anything from “tramping through gonorrhea-infested waters”, never dreaming that gonorrhea was an STD! Rachel – NH

  • naughty christmas card

    There comes a time in every child’s life when it’s time to cut the apron strings and buy your own Christmas cards. For me, that would have been about the time I was, say 14 or 15. Doesn’t really matter. Being the multi-tasker that I am, I picked my cards up one day while I was shopping at the mall. Spencer’s had some on sale. Cute little picture of 2 bears on the front. The inside said “It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.” Some of you may already have got the punch line. Just keep reading. The next weekend, I began to hand some of my Christmas cards out to a few friends at church. I may have even handed one to the pastor. I have tried to block that from my memory. By Wed., the pastor’s son, who was also a good friend a just a few years older, pulled me aside. Apparantly, the two cuddly bears weren’t as innocent as I thought. Just one of many of my awkard moments. My parents still screen my Christmas cards before I send them out. Karen – FL

  • holy nightmare

    Several years ago I went on a trip to The Netherlands with a small group of friends. Towards the end of our stay we decided to check out a very old church from the inside by actually attending a service. I might as well mention here that we were a group of energetic, college-aged Americans. We were late. We were under dressed. We were the only young people in the room. And every head turned as my friends noisily took their seats and tried to figure out what the heck we were all supposed to be doing. Everything was in Dutch. My friends were whispering louder than most people talk and that got us even more dirty looks from the old people. After fumbling to keep up with a few hymns and reading aloud in unison, it looked like we were finally going to get to sit down for awhile. Except that I couldn’t sit, something was wrong with my bench and I had to perpetually kneel on the prayer stool at a weird angle. My friend Rick, who apparently does not have a healthy reverence for the house of God, thought this would be the ideal time to find out exactly how ticklish I was. Let me tell you now that my tickle-tolerance is a below zero. My side and my knee were attacked and I had to bite my lip and draw blood to keep from making an even bigger scene. My whispered pleas and threats were disregarded, and by this time the priest was making eye contact with me. I didn’t know priests were even capable of giving “the look” but this guy certainly was. I don’t know what was worse: the fact that I was making a scene against my will or the fact that none of my friends seemed to think anything was amiss. Now it was time for communion. I shuffled into the line and tried to see ahead and figure out what I was supposed to do. But Dutch people are very tall. And I couldn’t even see past the person in front of me. Too soon I was standing in front of the priest. I only had movies to guide me. I had watched actors hold out their hands to receive the bread, but I’d also watched them open their mouths and receive wafer deposits. I hesitated, and like an idiot opened my hands up AND my mouth. The priest looked at me funny and placed the wafer in my hand. I didn’t even bother with the wine. By this time the priest and I were on track to start dating with the amount of times I attracted his gaze, getting blamed for my friends’ insensitive behavior. The service finally closed but to my great horror the priest stationed himself at the only exit and was shaking hands. The door was not very wide, but I was so mortified by this point and did NOT want to look this guy in the eyes again, so I put my head down and walked as fast I could. So much for sightseeing. Liz the American

  • the way we talk

    Years ago I was driving through Minnesota with a van full of friends, many of whom were foreigners. We stopped at a convenient store and the clerk could not understand my friend’s New Zealand accent when she was asking for water. She tried two or three times. I jumped in to translate. “She wants water,” I laughed. And since we had so many accents flying around, I put on an exaggerated Texan drawl and said “She’s not from ’round these parts.” Inexplicably, the Minnesotan man looked up with an icy stare and said, “Don’t make fun of the way we talk, sir.” In my confusion, I think I might have apologized. Jason – OR

  • the shack

    I was always very awkward socially, so many of my interactions with peers were, well… awkward. I remember riding home with a group of girls after some school function (I was about 12), and there was an older girl who I didn’t know very well. To make conversation, I said, “I can’t wait to see where you live. My brother says you live in a tar paper shack, but I’m sure you live in a really nice house.” As we pulled up to her home, I realized my brother wasn’t joking. And that was awkward – especially for that poor girl! Laurel – NH