Wednesday, November 15, 2006

What Hump?


Have you ever had one of these moments? I have. Several times. I have put my foot in my mouth so many times that I can, blindfolded, tell you when shoe was made and what it has stepped in, just by smelling it.


" Hmmm. 1984, Converse, 3-day old Coke, Bazooka Gum and faint Weiner Dog poo. Good year, Good year. Comfie. I recommend it. Yessss."

[a small crowd of onlookers gasp in amazement]

“Wow mommy that man really must chew a lot of yucky shoes.” A young girl with curly hair observes.

“Yes dear, lets run along now before he insults us…”


My personal favorite "What Hump" moment was when I asked my amazing-Jazz-musician-friend if it ever made him angry that people associate instrumental Jazz with K-mart, Musak, or music on the overhead at the Western Sizzler. He just looked at me with a furrowed brow...

"What…what do you mean..."

A brief moment of silence followed.

Speechless, with nowhere to turn except into a deep, dark tunnel of awkwardness, I simply cocked my head slightly to the right and said...

"Is that a helicopter flying over us?... Must be a wreck or something... Hey, I'm hungry."

This tactic only worked because this person that I had begun to insult was plagued with A.D.D.

Being an A.D.D. man myself I knew that a few tasty distractions could serve as an adequate smokescreen for my conversational getaway.

It worked and the subject was not to be breeched again. The mystery is still unsolved.

4 comments:

FancyPants said...

Ha! I love that clip. I've had a few of those moments myself. The most recent was during a trip to New York not too long ago. I wasn't sure what train to take from the Upper West side to Times Square. So I bravely approached the person behind the glass next to the Metro card purchase machines.

Me: I have a question about the trains, sir....I mean!....ma'am...I mean! Ummm....

What train to Times Square?

She/He/It with a golf ball size, wart covered, hairy nose: (no hint of smile, flat eyes, basically entirely pissed off) D, get on A at 59th.

Me: (sheepishly, still trying to figure it out) Thanks. (Head down, run away)

Anonymous said...

I won't even hint at the presence of a baby in a woman until she tells me with her mouth that she's pregnant. I don't care if her stomach is sticking out three feet but she has stick limbs. I don't care if she's wearing a shirt that says "One in the Oven." I don't care if she grabs her stomach, her water breaks on my shoes, and she gets all cross-eyed while moaning in pain. Until she looks me in the eye and says, "I'm pregnant," I will carry on as if there is nothing to notice.

euphrony said...

When I was in college, I took this girl on a date to a nice restaurant (first date). My hair was a little longer, then, but not very long. We are seated, and perusing the menu when our waiter walks up and asks "How are you ladies doing this evening . . ." and as I look up from my menu, and he sees my face, he continues "um . . . so sorry about that . . .umm . . . don't know what I was saying". An embarrassing moment for him, but it gave us some laughs. What's worse is that I went back to that same restaurant sometime later, and the same thing happened again! Now, I don't cut a very feminine figure (really!), and it was two different waiters who did this.

If there is such a thing as poetic justice, it's working is seen in the fact that the restaurant folded not long after the second incident. I mean, if they can't teach their staff to recognize men from women, then how good can their food be, right?

Lindsey said...

I have those moments more than I would like to admit! It keeps me humble.
So, I pasted all the blogs I have written on myspace to my blogspot, divafal. I hope y'all check 'em out and laugh a little.