We are all going through life, dealing with our own lives and problems. We can't always be paying attention 24/7 to what is going on. Though we really should because occasionally, our lack of awareness can get us into trouble. The people in the following stories were experiencing the aforementioned lack of awareness when they suddenly realized that they were in the most awkward, cringy moment and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Points have been edited for clarity.
"Once I was dragged along to a clothing store with my girlfriend, and as she shopped, I decided to try and pass the time and go on my phone and check out what was going on online. As it turns out, as I was lost in the online land, my girlfriend decided to take a sharp turn down an aisle, which I didn't see at the time. Out of my peripheral vision (I was looking down at my phone the whole time) I saw what I thought was my girlfriend (same length blonde hair, etc.) and continued to follow 'her' around.
As it turns out, my girlfriend was off shopping in some completely different part of the store, and I was following a random girl around (at a pretty close proximity) for about 3 minutes. I found out it wasn't my girlfriend when I decided to act mildly interested in what she was looking at. That's when I said, 'That would look nice on you,' before realizing, to my horror, that I just followed a complete stranger around a store for 3 minutes before stopping at a display table with her and telling her to buy a shirt. Her reaction? She looked at me, smiled nervously, and then booked it away from me, while I stood there."
"I was at the airport taking a red-eye overseas. I arrive at the international gate, and it's deserted because it's 2 am. So I decided to take some sleeping pills, wait a few minutes, get drowsy, and figure I should take a pre-flight bathroom break. I trot over to the bathrooms, which are completely empty at this hour, pick a stall and start my business.
Two minutes later I hear clack-clack of someone coming into the bathroom. All I can think is, 'Geez, this guy has some loud shoes.' 30 seconds later the bathroom fills up. A flight had just deplaned and this was the post-flight bathroom crowd. Now all I can think is, 'All these guys have really loud shoes.' I peak under the stall and suddenly my heart drops like it has never dropped in its life. You know what shoes are loud on tiles? Heels.
That moment I realized I, a grown man, am taking a giant smelly poo in the women's restroom. Then it hits me... I didn't see any urinals walking in, and this weird trash bin next to the toilet - it's filled with feminine hygiene products.
Freaking out, I do the only thing I can think of. I freeze, pull my feet really close to the toilet and try to cover up my shoes so hopefully, no one can tell a man is in there. I sit there for 15 minutes, listening to women come in and out, using the bathroom 1 foot from me and chit-chatting on the other side of the door. I've never sweat so much in my life and been so terrified I'm about to become an accidental criminal.
Finally, the waiting pays off. I can tell the bathroom is empty for a split second. No time to wipe. I pull my pants up and bolt out of there. As I run out, in that moment, there's a guy clearly looking for the bathrooms right outside but can't find them. He sees me running out and decides this must be the men's restroom and goes in. 5 seconds later, as I duck into the men's restroom to finish my business, I take a quick look over my shoulder and see him coming back out with a terrified 'What the heck?' look staring at me."
"Back in the day, I used to breed cockatiels (a breed of parrots). Anyways, it's late in the evening, maybe 11-11:30 pm and I remember that I had forgotten to pick up the baby bird food formula because I had run out.
For some reason, I wasn't going be able to make it to the pet store till later the next day, so I decided to that I was going to go to the 24-hour grocery store and just pick up some pablum, which you can substitute for baby bird food for these types of occasions. Lenni, (the baby bird), was being weaned off the formula to pellets, so my sister and I trundled off to the grocery store at 11 pm to buy baby food. A little backstory on Lenni: she was the runt of the clutch and was a little sickly with a crop infection at the time, which is why I was hand raising her. Being a teen at the time, I didn't know which brand was best so I took my time while making small talk with my sister. Even at this point, still didn't see how this looked awkward... Anyways, a store clerk comes up to us and asks if we need help, we declined and kept on chatting. Ten minutes later, we finally just choose Gerbers and I walk up to the cashier with my single jar of pablum. With only one cashier at this hour, there were a few people in line, funny enough, all women. As we get up to the front of the line, and everyone else not being privy to the conversation about the birds, I blurted out, 'I hope the baby doesn't die.'
The minute the words came out of my mouth, I knew it was bad. It was just silence, all eyes locked on me. My sister, who the ladies clearly thought was my girlfriend, well, she promptly turned her tail and walked away without even saying a word; leaving me to roast with these ladies. Well, they didn't like that too much. In the snidest of voices, the cashier says that'll be 0.69 cents or whatever. I handed over my loonie (Yes, I'm Canadian) and I tried explaining, but it was too late. I have never been so humiliated in my life. My sister and I joke about that all the time!"
"You've likely heard that San Francisco is home to some rather crazy characters, but it's rare to hear about one locking themselves in your bathroom.
After my first year of college, I decided that I wanted a place of my own. I wound up renting a place about two blocks away from campus, and everything about it seemed perfect: It was inexpensive (for San Francisco), close to public transportation, and within walking distance of shopping and laundry. However, there was one thing -- a person, actually -- that made living there a bit odd.
One afternoon, just as I was coming home, I was greeted by a girl standing on my doorstep. She was a short, chubby individual in her late twenties, who spoke in a way that was both entirely clear and completely incomprehensible. (If that concept confuses you, imagine what it was like to hear.) She told me that her restroom was being remodeled, and asked if she could use mine. I hesitantly obliged, if only because I was so taken aback by the request. She followed me inside, went to my restroom, almost as though she'd already known where it was, and then silence.
After five minutes or so, I knocked on the door. 'I'm sorry to disturb you,' I said. 'But I need to be leaving soon.' It was a lie, but I was growing a touch concerned by her behavior. In response to my query, she immediately opened the door, said something that might have been a thank you, and then stood in my living room. 'So, uh, if you could get going,' I continued. 'That would be great.'
She replied by asking me for a drink.
'Listen,' I answered. 'You need to leave.'
'Why are you seven around purple the gumption?' she asked. (At least, that's what I heard.)
'I don't know. Please leave.' She finally started to head towards the door, and I closed it after her before she could make another request.
My first thought was that the girl was homeless, but she seemed too clean and well-groomed for that to be true. Perhaps, I reasoned, she had been completely honest with me, and I'd simply been too paranoid about the situation. It turned out that neither option was the truth, as I began to learn when she showed up again -- with an identical request -- about three months later. This time, I apologized and turned her away, wondering as I did what kind of bathroom remodel took that long.
Things took a turn for the truly bizarre after that. Some time had passed since my last encounter with the girl, and I had all but forgotten about her. Then, one evening, my roommate -- a friendly, jovial fellow named Victor -- decided to make himself dinner, and since our apartment wasn't the most well-ventilated of domiciles, he had the front door open as a makeshift vent. From my room, I could hear him stirring a spoon against a pot when suddenly he stopped.
'Uh, hello?' Victor said. This was followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, a door slamming shut, and Victor poking his head through my door.
'Hey, so, uh...' he said, scratching his head in bemusement. 'Do you have a friend over or something?'
'No, why?' I asked, swiveling around to face him.
'Some girl just walked in and locked herself in the bathroom.'
Oh no, I thought. 'Was she short, with brown hair?'
'Yeah,' Victor replied.
'That's her,' I replied. 'She's the one I told you about; the one who keeps asking to use the bathroom.'
Victor began to look worried. 'Well, she's in there now. What should we do?'
After a brief debate, we decided that we'd confront the girl together. We knocked on the door, asked her to open it, and after receiving no response, decided to resort to more drastic measures: As a hobby, I'd studied lockpicking, and since our bathroom door had an actual tumbler in its handle, the skills I'd learned came in handy. It took me about three minutes, but I got the door unlocked... only to discover that the girl had positioned herself firmly against it, barring us from entry. It took the combined strength of my roommate and me to force it open, and all the while, the girl was screaming, 'NO, DADDY!' she wailed. 'FIGHT FOR ME, DADDY!'
The situation was surreal and more than a little frightening, and it was made all the more absurd when a middle-aged man and woman came rushing into our apartment. 'Is our daughter in there?!' the man demanded.
'She just came in!' Victor yelped. 'We didn't do anything!'
'I'm so sorry,' the middle-aged woman chimed in. 'She hasn't been taking her medication.' We learned -- as the girl's father dragged her from the bathroom -- that they were the previous owners of the apartment (and the house that it was in). Their daughter, apparently, was operating under the mistaken notion that she still lived there and that Victor and I were the interlopers. We received profuse apologies from the girl's parents and a promise that their daughter wouldn't bother us again.
If only that were true.
The very next day, there was a knock at the door. 'Uh, Max?' Victor called. 'She's back.' Sure enough, the girl was on our front step again, pounding on the wall and demanding to be let in. 'What should we do?' The girl's parents had given us their phone number -- just in case -- but unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. There was no way we were letting the girl into our apartment, but it didn't seem likely that she'd go away on her own. In the end, we decided that the best course of action was to call the police.
Five minutes passed before the first cruiser arrived out front. We opened the door in time to see an officer in his sixties talking gently to the girl. Then, a second police car arrived, and a third... and the girl, provoked by something only she could see or hear, decided to attack the officer who had been speaking to her. She was swiftly subdued and handcuffed, both at the hands and feet, all the while screaming in a language that resembled English, but was still complete gibberish. It was only then that the girl's parents arrived, both looking concerned but still like they were expecting the scene in front of them.
Things quieted down after that. The girl was released into the care of her parents, and nobody seemed inclined to remember the attempted assault. Both Victor and I declined to press charges, and we wound up chatting with the officer for a good half an hour. It was, we found out, literally his last day on the job before retiring. He told us some hilarious stories about his days before becoming a cop and his adventures as a rookie, as well as a brief history of the girl we'd had so much trouble with. Her family, he explained, were old friends of his, and their daughter had an especially bad form of schizophrenia. She was paranoid about taking her medication, which only made things worse for her, and although her parents were supposed to keep a vigilant watch over her, they were often lax about it. It wasn't the most pleasant of situations, he had to admit... but at least it made for some interesting stories.
I definitely agree with him about that."
"I was using a stall while in a local Walmart. A little boy had to use the restroom and he started pulling on the door and said, 'Daddy the doors stuck!'
I said, 'somebody's in here.'
The little kid kept pulling the door and saying, 'I HAVE TO GO POOOOO!' He started screaming at me to get out then tried to crawl under the stall. I had to put my foot on the top of his head to stop him from getting in."
"I used to wait tables at these fancy events, full of rich pretentious people and, every so often, their snobby kids. One upside was that they'd tip REALLY well, mainly to show off to their friends. So we'd always be super nice to the kids, bring them ice cream, make them laugh etc. So I was working a football pundits wedding and there's this family group with mainly adults, but one little toddler, who to be fair, was stupidly cute. So I'm heading over with their drinks and in my head, I'm formulating the best way to ask her if she wants something, I was torn between, 'How are you cutie pie' and some other disgusting drivel which makes me cringe just thinking of it. As I put the drinks on their table and turn to talk to the girl, the guy asks what the vintage is. This trips me up and I just blurt out, all in a baby voice, 'Hey there cutie pie 1854,' followed by a noise Nigel Thornberry would be proud of. I promptly stood up, and Olympic powerwalked to the backroom. I decided I'd do dishes for the rest of the night.
Good God, I could've cried."
"I was once in one of those human-sized mazes. It was a pretty big one and I was probably 25 minutes into it when I started to have the urge to take a leak. I snuffed it off and just thought I would go when I got out. Fast forward another 20 minutes and I had to pee so incredibly bad. I was frantically power walking my way through this maze to find the exit. I was interrogating strangers on how to get out, but I was getting nowhere. I now find myself running through the maze, trampling over children as I quickly round blind corners. being a complete jerk. Finally, a part of the maze I haven't been to yet! I thought this must be it! I am home free! DEAD END. I froze. I stood there, alone, scared, and helpless. I had to urinate so bad I literally could not move a muscle. I tried to take a slow step forward and it was let loose like a gushing fire hydrant. I was so defeated during the moment that I didn't even think about pulling my pants down and just going all over the wall. Urine had won. It got what it wanted. There I was having to accept all this like I had just lost my dog.
After I soaked my pants I slowly turned around and started to walk out. I could hear some girls coming around the corner and knew I was in for it. Of course, it was some pretty girls that looked at me like I was a freak. And I just said to them like it was no big deal, 'Yup, peed my pants.' They didn't say a word to me. It took me another ten agonizing minutes to find my way out of the maze. Everyone laughing, pointing, making faces at me. It was horrible. I couldn't escape it, literally.
Even when I made it out one of the employees asked what happened and I just gave him a cold stare. My face read, what do you think happened?"
"I once walked into a restaurant, and went straight to the bathroom, past the people who I now realize were waiting in line. I flung open the bathroom door AS WIDE AS FREAKING POSSIBLE and saw a girl on the toilet. We looked at each other wide-eyed until I final screamed, 'WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD!' loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, causing everyone to turn and look. Embarrassed, I ran as fast as I could, leaving the door wide open. The worst part? It was the type of door that closed itself ever so slowly, leaving the wide-eyed girl awkwardly sitting on the toilet with everyone staring at her.
Definitely not my proudest moment."
"When I was 13, I was at the local convenience store with friends in the middle of winter. We all decided to get some frothy cappuccinos to warm our spirits. I decided on the French Vanilla, while my other friend went for an English Toffee. We paid while our other friends were perusing other items and started walking towards the door, with me walking in front. As I approached the door, I took the cap off my frothy beverage, smelled it, and turned back to my friend with my eyes closed while giving an over-the-top and obnoxious 'Mmm' sound.
When I opened my eyes, I realized it wasn't my friend but an extremely unimpressed middle-aged woman with glasses. We stared at each other for at least five seconds, me rooted to the spot in shock, and her judging me. She then moved past me and left.
It turns out my one friend doubled back to go talk to the other friends perusing other things, and the middle age woman had purchased her things right after mine. My friends saw it all and were dying of laughter."
"When I was 12 or 13 my family was at some resort-style hotel that had a big indoor pool room. I met another boy there during the vacation and we'd hang out every day. One day we casually walked into the indoor pool room and saw that there were tables covered in food everywhere, including a giant DIY ice cream sundae table. We both got really excited and ran over and started building epic sundaes.
Halfway through building them a woman came up to us and asked who we were. We were both like deer in headlights as we slowly looked around the room and realized there was a party going on and everyone was staring at us. We didn't say anything, we just put down our ice cream and walked out of there as quickly as we could. Somehow we had missed the giant signs all over the doors saying that a private party was going on.
I later found out that my dad saw us go in and decided it would be funnier to watch what happened than to grab us before we made fools of ourselves."
"I was riding my motorcycle a month ago when the light ahead of me turned red. So I slowed down and stopped behind a car that was also waiting at the red light. A guy in sweatpants jogs out between me and the car, and for some reason, a TV remote flies out of his pocket and smashes like it was made of glass, all over the street.
The sheer randomness of a guy having a TV remote in his pocket made me burst out laughing, and the guy was staring at the shards of remote in the street like he didn't know how it got in his pocket. I'm laughing so hard that I ease off my clutch a bit, and scare myself by moving forward an inch, causing me to stall my motorcycle out. I can't stop laughing, and now my motorcycle engine isn't covering the sound. So the guy slowly looks up from the shattered remote and stares directly at me with this pained look on his face. He does this until I stop laughing, fired my bike back up, and drove around him and down the street."
"I spent about 5 minutes in conversation with a woman at the bus stop yesterday. She first asked me where I was from. I told her 'Around here,' but that didn't cut it. She repeated her question and I repeated my answer. With a heavy sigh, she asked 'No, what country were you born in?'
I replied, 'This one.' This appeared to vex her enormously.
She went on to ask where my parents were born and, dissatisfied with the answer I gave ('They were both born in Britain'), she asked where my grandparents were born. She clearly suspected me of being a total liar when I answered that all of my grandparents were born in Britain. She then told me that someone in my family must be Turkish, and went on and on about it for what felt like an eternity.
I'm still quite confused and have been asking friends if I look Turkish. Not one of them has said that I do."
"I was walking through the shopping mall in my hometown, looking at some clothes in the windows. I'm just minding my own business and turn around with a bit of arm-swinging. Well, my arm swung directly into the balls of a complete stranger. The guy slumped down, moaning in pain. I couldn't even manage to say sorry. I just walked away as innocent-looking as I could. I was too embarrassed to say a word."
"I worked at a jewelry warehouse about a year ago. I was the 'assistant manager' in the shipping department. I was 21 at the time, and this girl, we will call her Candice, had worked there with me for about 2 years. Keep in mind she's around 17.
Now 'Candice' was a little off. She was very socially awkward. She had a deeper, raspy voice. She usually smelled pretty bad, complained to me about everything that happened to her, and I mean everything. We all know these people. When you look at her, you can just tell not everything is ticking up there. Anyways, one day I'm sorting orders between these two tables. Candice likes to walk real fast between point A, and wherever the heck she has decided to go. On this particular day, she decided to try and sneak past me while my back was turned. There is about a foot of open space between the table I'm standing at, on the right, and the table next to me, on the left. Candice decides this is her perfect opportunity. As she goes, I turn to my left toward the other table. An order in my right hand, my left hand is down, palm facing backward. This unites my hand perfectly with her crotch in the kind of cupping position your hand naturally makes when its just hanging at your side.
I realize in the following order that: one, I hit someone. Two, I didn't hit them, I, like, fondled them. Three, I fondled their area. Four, it was Candice.
So we lock eyes for like 0.1 seconds before I move my hand and I start praying that didn't just happen and that she is not going to say anything and just keep walking. But no, she stops and says '(My name), you're not allowed to touch me there.' Then she giggles with her awkward face/voice and walks off. Most awkward thing ever."