For this #fbf, I thought I’d share a post I wrote last school year about a time when I embarrassed myself in front of an ungodly amount of my fellow colleagues. Spoiler alert: I’m as graceful as a bull moose.
The local art museum in my town is rad. Not only do they offer many lavish costume events (last year they had a Steampunk event called Honest Abe’s Imagination Celebration where you got to view the Emancipation Proclamation. Badass), but they put on educator nights that are free, and if you attend all of the classes in a series, you get an inservice credit that goes toward your license renewal.
They serve free wine and delectable hors d’oeuvres. Tonight, they had stuffed mushrooms, artichoke cups, spring rolls, and moist brownies, with chocolate chips, and they were a little under-baked, so they were gooey, and melty, and…
Right. I’m getting a little too excited. Moving on.
Did I mention before that they serve wine? Free wine.
I’m not sure if I’ve discussed my inability to be an adult after more than one glass of any kind of alcoholic beverage, or not. In case I haven’t touched on that wonderful aspect of myself, let me quickly explain. I’m a lightweight. I’m the cheapest date there ever was. Buy me a beer and I’m done.
So, there I was, with my peers and colleagues, drinking one sensible glass of wine, and trying not to get caught going to the food table for the fourteenth time. It was grand. We got to drink wine and eat for free. Could there be anything better to a broke, stressed-out teacher? Nope.
Before I knew it, it was time to enter the auditorium. The learning bit. I’d almost forgotten there was an actual purpose for my being there–other than eating 18 mushrooms.
I wasn’t even halfway through my glass of wine, and the food and drink wasn’t allowed in the auditorium.
One of my colleagues suggested I chug it.
I knew it was a bad idea. Anyone else after one glass of wine would be fine. Untouched. Not under the influence at all. Me? The direct opposite.
In fact, I refuse to drive after even one drink, because I’m convinced I’m sloshed. It’s just safer for all involved if I drink on my couch, in my sweats.
As the presentation was starting, I had no other option. I glugged it down, and we made our way to the auditorium.
Upon entering, we realized it was the wrong side, as our school peeps were saving seats on the opposite side of the room.
We turned around to exit, and that’s when it happened…
You know those moments that are so momentous, in a good or bad way, that time seems to stand still, and when you do move, it’s in super slow motion?
Well, I had a lot of time to think on the way down.
There was one more step. I didn’t step up.
Is this really happening? Is this real life?
Can I play it off?
Can I save myself?
Maybe this isn’t really happening?
No. It is.
Thar she blows!
That’s all folks!
No! This isn’t funny! Why the fuck me?
I’m not the kind to fall, I’m more coordinated than that.
I’m fat, but I’m light on my feet, like a dancer, but in a spastic way.
Really?! Is this really happening?
Not only did I fall in front of an auditorium full of people-fellow educators, when I made contact, the clipboard I was holding smacked the ground, making a God-awful “WHACK”. The sound it made, as I smacked the hard concrete, reverberated off of every available surface.
Just in case someone was not paying attention to the prelude to my long and epic fall, that damn deceptive clipboard made sure as hell they saw the grand finale.
It’s possible that there was still, maybe, one person who didn’t witness my moves, but my teacher friend made sure it was a right spectacle with her, “OMG! YOU FELL!” (no fuck), and… her snorting.
I am never taking advantage of free wine again. Ever.
During the entire presentation, I was sweating profusely and praying that everyone thought it was my friend, who was wearing almost the identical sweater, who made the grand entrance, and not me.