It’s time for some more of my patented true stories of embarrassment. Do you know why? Because I can’t think of anything else to write about! Some of you probably have already heard most of them, but that doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy this article. Everyone likes a ripping good yarn where the main character humiliates himself in front of a lot of people, no matter how many times it’s told. Now take my hand and let us travel to the past…and watch me make a complete jackass of myself.

Boxer Shorts

This is among the most famous of my embarrassing stories. In elementary school, the entire fifth grade was going to visit the middle school to get a sense of what next year would be like. I hated fifth grade because in that year, for some reason, everyone began dividing themselves up into social classes. Gone were the days where the students got along regardless of who they were – now we had popular kids and geeks. Of course, I was branded a geek, as were all of my friends. I was really shattered by the constant name calling, so I wanted to be rid my geek image – mainly by shutting up, never wearing anything stupid, and just remaining in the background.

During the day of the middle school trip, I awoke to see the clothes that my mother had laid out for me. I let her lay my clothes out because I was too young to know anything about style, plus I knew that if I chose the outfits, I would wear something stupid to school and be called a geek.

So you can imagine my surprise when I saw boxer shorts laid out for me. Keep in mind that I still wore tighty-whitey underwear back then, but what further confused me was that those were laid out too. I saw boxer shorts and my white underwear.

“Ma!” I shouted out. “How come there are boxer shorts here?”

“What’s wrong?” my mom asked when she came to the door.

“Ma, I think boxer shorts are underwear.”

“No! No, no, no! I see kids wearing them all the time as regular shorts!”

“Really?” I should have questioned my mom’s judgment further, but to be honest, I knew nothing about style. I thought that maybe she was right about the boxer shorts. As I put them on over my underwear, something didn’t feel right. I think it was the fact that it was Syracuse Orangemen boxer shorts. It was black and had many tiny Orangemen dotted all over. Or it could have been the fact that they were very small, even for a 10-year old like me. My scrotum, which was minuscule in size at the time, would have popped out if not for my underwear restraining it. I might as well have worn a fucking speedo. But did I protest? No. I was an idiot and I believed in my mom’s choice. Who knows? Maybe everyone would like my stylish boxer shorts.

I was wrong. I was quite wrong. I didn’t hear anything on the bus ride to school, but to be honest, I totally forgot that I doubted the boxer shorts. When I got to my class and sat down, my friend stared at me like I just escaped from a mental institution.

“Did you forget to put on pants today?” I remember that so clearly. I had this cold shiver run up my spine. I was in school in underwear! I HAD NO PANTS! I WAS WALKING AROUND IN FUCKING UNDERWEAR! MY MOM WAS WRONG! IT WAS SOMETHING OUT OF A NIGHTMARE! I remember panicking and asking my teacher, Mr. Stillman, if I could call my mom to pick me up. He said that I was overreacting, but even he looked at me like I was a total dweeb. I should have just run home, but knowing my luck, a cop would arrest me for public indecency or some shit.

As all of the classes walked to the buses, every kid in my grade was chewing me up.

“Fishman, where the fuck are your pants?”
“Fishman is only wearing his underwear!”
“What kind of loser are you?”
“Geek!”

I was in Hell. I should have opened the emergency exit door in the back of the bus, leapt out, and ended my miserable existence. Instead, I struggled to explain to my friends that boxer shorts were being worn as regular shorts now. Needless to say, they called me a retard and advised me to stay in the back of the group when we traversed the middle school. I prayed that it would work – the last thing I needed was an entire school of older kids thinking that I was a dork.

When the buses arrived at the middle school, I disembarked. Immediately, every student that had a seat by their classroom’s window turned to me. I remember seeing the face of this one girl - she was sitting by the window of a first floor classroom, right across from where our bus was. She looked me up and down, trying to comprehend what she beheld. It was utterly horrifying. I took my friends advice and stayed in the back of the group with my teacher. Hopefully, people would see me and think that I was a Special Education kid that needed to stay with an adult in case I shit myself. It worked – I didn’t hear another thing for the rest of the trip.

I couldn’t understand what my mother was thinking. Where did she get the idea that people were wearing boxer shorts as actual shorts? Did she unknowingly stumble upon Bizarro World, where people wear hats on their feet, shoes on their head, and boxer shorts on the outside? I do not know. I have never forgiven her. To this day, she still swears that people were wearing boxer shorts as regular shorts.

“I’m telling you that they were in style. I would never do anything to make you feel embarrassed!” – My mom on 2/17/05

I thought that my life would be forever ruined due to the boxer shorts incident. Throughout my middle and high school career, I believed that I would be known as the jerkoff that wore boxer shorts to school. Unbelievably, no one ever mentioned it again! The very next day, it was forgotten! It was like God took pity on me, so he decided to erase everyone’s memory! I didn’t say anything. I never asked any questions. I just got on my knees and cried out of happiness.

Idiot…Stage Left

I was attending a day camp in the summer of 1990. Every age group had to perform a play at some point in the summer. My group’s play was the “Sound of Music.” The guy directing the play was this moronic douchebag. He held serious auditions for the speaking parts of the play. Every kid in my group was 8 – they could barely fucking read! Most of them couldn’t even finish the three lines that they had to read for the audition without closing their eyes and sounding out the words in their head. I was reading when I was 22 months old, so I breezed through the three lines. Because of this, I was given the part of Franz, the butler – a whopping total of two lines! Score!

Anyway, the play was massive. The director really wanted us 8-year old boys (along with the 8-year old girls) to perform the play! Do you know how long the Sound of Music is? No, I’m seriously asking. I’ve never seen it because I have a penis, but since it’s a Broadway play, it has to be like four hours. Since the play was so long, the director gave each speaking part only segments of the script. For example, since I only spoke in one scene, I was only given that page. We also had rehearsal in segments, so the director only kept me for that one scene and then said I could leave once we finished it. The rest of the play was a mystery to me. Rehearsal sucked, too. The director was always like, “No! You people are doing it all wrong!” WE WERE 8-YEARS OLD! KIDS WERE PICKING THEIR NOSES ON STAGE! WHAT WAS HE EXPECTING?

This is what I had to do: a bell would ring and I would come out onto stage. I would say, “Yes, sir?” After whatever was spoken to me, I would respond with, “Of course, sir.” I would then leave. That was it. Simple! How could anyone screw that up? You are about to find out. The night of the play, the auditorium was packed with parents. My mom was in the audience, too. I was watching the play closely from backstage because I had no idea when my scene was coming up. All I knew is that I had to come out when I heard a bell. I eventually heard a “ding!” I walked onto stage.

WRONG! WRONG! It turned out there was a bell in another scene! How the hell would I know that? That piece of shit director kept me in the dark! I stood there frozen as an entire song and dance was performed! Sure enough, right after the song ended, the bell rang again. The director looked at me and motioned for me to say something. I did my part, walked offstage, and immediately felt queasy. It was either because I was so humiliated or because I licked the filthy, decades old stage curtain on a dare before the play began. It tasted really salty. I sneaked into the audience and asked my mom if I could go home because I felt sick. I never saw the ending of the play, but if it was really four hours, then I did my mom a favor.

Genesis

It was the glorious summer of 1993. I was at sleep away camp, which held its fair share of embarrassing stories. The infamous slap story (read “Dr. F & the Women”) took place during this same summer. One night, there was an event in the social hall. It was going to be a game show thing, but the counselors kept telling everyone to dress really wacky. I’m assuming this was because the concept of the event was based on that stupid 1970’s game show, “Let’s Make a Deal.”

Three counselors were hosting the event, and I should have known that I was in for trouble because one of them was Luscher…or Loosher…I don’t know how to spell his name, but that dude had it in for me. One time Willis Reed visited the camp and Luscher tricked me into asking Reed a dumb question that resulted in my bunkmates calling me a fucking idiot. In case you’re wondering, the question was, “If you could work for any organization, which one would it be?” Reed answered, “I love the Nets. I would never leave that team.” I’m still not sure why it was a dumb question, but since Luscher was giggling when he told me to ask it, I must have been the victim of a prank. What kills me is that when I was a counselor, I also picked on my campers. It’s impossible to resist. But still…fuck you, Luscher.

I really went all out for my costume. I pretended that I was the victim of an accident, so I bandaged myself up with toilet paper. My counselor Bill thought that it was a great idea, so he painted red on me to simulate blood, plus I was even given a crutch. My bunk went to the social hall, which was packed with every camper from my camp and Blue Ridge, the girls’ camp from across the lake. Most of the campers were in costumes, so I wasn’t out of place. Luscher and the two other hosts - Shyer, who was often picking on me along with Luscher, and Lichtensomething. I’ll just say Lichten. I recall that Lichten had a wicked lisp or some other speech impediment. Anyway, I’m getting off topic. The game show was just like “Let’s Make a Deal,” but since that show is from back in the day, I’ll explain it to you: a person is called up and they have to choose from “Door 1” or “Door 2.” One holds a prize and the other holds a gag. It’s as simple as that.

They were only going to be calling 10 or 15 kids out of the 300 in the crowd. Clearly, the choices were predetermined. I recall being entertained, but I can’t remember exactly what they were doing. After 5 campers, it was time to call up the next lucky contestant. Luscher held the envelope to his forehead, pretending to be psychic.

“I see…a fish…and a man. A fish…and a man.”

I didn’t get it.

“A fish…man? Fishman? IT’S MATT FISHMAN! MATT FISHMAN, COME ON DOWN!”

I sat there thinking, “Wow, there’s another Matt Fishman? That’s amazing.” It took me another second to scratch that thought and realize that I was picked to be a contestant. It then hit me that I had to be up on stage with Luscher and Shyer. I almost vomited where I stood. They were going to do something to humiliate me in front of everyone – I knew it. I had to be on guard. Even worse, two of my bunkmates warned me that if I picked the gag, they would kill me. I love added pressure. When I got up on stage, I looked out to the crowd and completely stiffened up. Every girl in Blue Ridge was looking at me. They weren’t laughing at my costume, no – they were just piercing my soul with their icy gazes. Luscher was busy making cracks about my costume, but I could only respond with, “Heh…”

The time had come to choose. They presented me with a box and an envelope. Shyer asked the crowd what they thought, and everyone started shouting. I looked to my bunkmates, who were shouting out, “ENVELOPE! ENVELOPE!” I was about to choose the envelope, when Lichten pointed to the box and whispered to me in his lisp-ridden voice, “It could be a Sega Genesis…” Once I heard Genesis, my common sense flew out the window. The shouting of my bunkmates were drowned out and everything in the world got a little darker. The only light was on the small cardboard box in front of me. In that moment of moments, there were only two things in the world: the Sega Genesis and me. It HAD to be in that box! It made perfect sense! Why wouldn’t the camp lay out $200 for a video game system?

Enough bullshit. Of course there was no Genesis! Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that, but those rat bastards Luscher, Shyer, and Lichten knew that I would fall for that shit. They knew that no matter how on guard I was, I would lower my defenses if a video game were involved. My bunkmates were still shouting, “ENVELOPE” but they were wasting their breath. The Genesis did it. I snapped out of my stupor and went, “The box! The box!” AND WHAT DID THE BOX CONTAIN?

A roll of toilet paper.

The entire place erupted in laughter. All 300 boys and girls were pointing their fingers at me and laughing. I tried to hide my embarrassment by acting like I was happy, but inside I was like, “Wow. My life really sucks.” As I went back to my seat with the toilet paper, everyone in my bunk called me a fucking idiot. Luscher, Shyer, and Lichten really fucked me over, but in some way, I really respect them for it. If you have ever been a counselor, it’s all about picking on the campers. It’s just the circle of life. I would do the same exact thing to a camper if given the same opportunity they had. I hope my former campers are now counselors, picking on a new generation of kids.

By the way, in case you’re wondering, the envelope contained a pass for “one free ice cream party.”

Softball

It was my senior year of high school. Spring had finally arrived, which meant one thing: softball. I loved softball. Other than football, it is the only sport I’m good at. I usually play catcher, and I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I rock at that position. This is mainly due to the fact that there is no stealing of bases in softball, so the catcher hardly does anything. One particular day, someone else wanted to be catcher. I was told to play left field, which was no big deal. Well, I was really off for some reason. Believe me, I am actually good at softball, but I just couldn’t hit or catch that day.

I fucked up early in the game by totally missing a fly ball and letting a run score. By the bottom of the last inning, my team was up by one run, but the other team had last licks. There was a guy on second, two outs, and because my life is a cosmic joke, the batter hit a fly ball right to me. As it was coming down, the center fielder said, “Fishman, if you miss this, I will kill you.” That isn’t the most encouraging thing to say to a kid who’s trying to catch a large plummeting sphere. Hearing that really messed me up and I completely missed the ball. Not only did I miss it, but also it collided into my mouth. I fell onto the ground, dazed. It really clocked me. The entire class went “Oooooh…”

The gym teacher helped me up. It felt like I got punched in the face. There was blood all over my mouth because the ball busted my upper lip. Other than that, I was fine. I lost the game for my team, but no one seemed to care. They were more amazed that I walked away with just a bump on my lip. I had gym in the morning, so by fourth period, my lip was all swelled up. It sucked because this girl I had a crush on was in my fourth period class, so she probably dry heaved when she saw my freak lip.

What The Hell Are You Smirking At?

In 7th grade, there was a huge science fair. As everyone was setting up, I was talking to my friend David and this other kid who was jerk. Actually, the jerk was a big douchebag and he remained a dirty bag of douche throughout high school. I hope he’s rotting somewhere with a dildo shoved up his ass. But I digress. I tried to avoid talking to this kid, but David was his friend, so I was forced to make conversation with the jerk when he stopped by David’s booth.

We were getting along pretty well and my opinion of the jerk slowly began to change. However, I noticed that he kept glancing over at David and smirking. A real prick-like smirk, too. The kid was still being an asshole, but I didn’t know why he was smirking. I began to feel uncomfortable, so I headed back to my booth. During the walk, people were staring at me! What the hell was going on? I scratched the side of my nose and I felt it jiggle around – an immense booger. That was what the jerk was starting at. Instead of telling me, he just smirked and looked over at David. I had no tissue, but before I could run to the bathroom, the science fair began. I was trapped. I think I blew my nose into my shirt, resulting in a large wet spot around my collar. Not really the best way to impress the judges, but hey – I won the science fair.

Don’t those stories hurt so good? I love all of them. I consider them my children and I would never give them up. On a totally unrelated topic, does anyone know how to tie a noose?

Questions? Comments? Could it be a Sega Genesis? E-mail Fishman347@yahoo.com