“Even when you are right, you’re a little bit wrong”
I’ve been having bad and intense weeks recently. So my posts have been rather on the gloomy side. So to glide more into the bright side, here is one of my embarrassing stories:
It was the end of the day.
It was dark.
I was done with teaching my afternoon classes.
I was also very much done pulling the gaze of nonchalant teenagers from their phone screens to me.
My house was close, but my car was parked in the back alley.
Car: my mom’s retired four-wheel vehicle, handed down to me, ready for destruction.
My parents didn’t have much faith in the driving skills of an 18-year-old.
But I loved driving the three blocks back home.
Holding the wheel, and steering that beige beast in any direction that I wished, felt heavenly.
My coworker didn’t have a ride home.
“Of course I can give you a lift”, I said, chin up, heroine-ly.
I was swerving and pivoting the old metal box, navigating out of the narrow alley.
A screech made my brain shrink inside my head.
I was coming from the passenger side.
A sharp edge of a wall, encrusted in marble blocks, was scraping the door.
Who has marble walls anyway?
My coworker gasped and shot a concerned look at me, mixed with guilt and pity.
Pools of blood flooded my cheeks and fingers.
But I was the heroine, saving my coworker from a dreadful walk home.
So I swallowed my panic and shrugged my shoulders.
“It’s okay” I replied to the deafening silence.
“It didn’t seem that bad, probably not that much damage. Don’t worry about it”, I lied badly.
I have to probably replace the entire door, I brooded in silence.
I was so utterly embarrassed and insecure about my driving that told everyone I found the car that way in the alley.
“Someone must have hit it and run”, was my answer every time.
Phew! Now the truth is out there. Maybe releasing this story from the chest of untold tales will make it less embarrassing?
Do you have an embarrassing story that made your every cell cringe?