Washing my hair
I was staying at a friends' house (post uni, sleeping on the floor) and dropped some acid without telling anyone. After an interesting evening watching the TV (George Romero's 'The Crazies' was on - why not try this combination yourself?) everyone went to bed but I couldn't sleep. I got the impulse to wash my hair and went to the bathroom to apply shampoo. Unfortunately there was no shower, so my friends were woken in the middle of the night by the repeated flushing of the loo, and walked in to find me with my head down the bowl and hand on the lever. It seemed the obvious solution at the time, less so later.
(enile_snirkette, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 12:27, Reply)

A solution to my shame
My Mum is a bad cook. One night I scarfed down some of her lamb chops before going out for 93 drinks. Some hours later I needed to do an urgent poo. This I did in one of the gardens at King George Square, because thats where I was at the time. They don't have toilet paper in those gardens, so I went down the stairs with my pants at half mast to the Reserve Bank. They have a nice marble wall there. I wiped my arse on the lovely right angle over near the car park. Unfortunately a guard from the Reserve Bank turned a fire hose on me, got me right up the clacker. He called me a dirty bastard. Well it was a shame, I now had a clean arse but wet trousers. Soon after I began to drink to black out stage so I did not have to live with the shame of my big night activities.
(rodgerroop, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 12:09, Reply)

Drink-related shame
In my old job, I used to stop off at the paper shop after lunch for an evening paper and a dose of chocolate.

One particular day, after a lengthy session in The Crown, I went through with my routine and eventually ended up back at work via the zig-zig walk, where I remember a long, uncomfortable conversation with Mary the Receptionist.

It was only when I got back to my desk that I realised that I hadn't bought the Reading Evening Post as usual, but had instead purchased a copy of a glossy publication called "BOUNCE! Busty Black Birds in Bondage", and fourteen Twix bars.

It was my boss who kindly pointed this fact out to me.

I think Mary was upset because I didn't offer her a bite.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 12:01, Reply)

I asked my Mum and this is what she said
My Mum says its a shame that vomit doesn't go throught the insect screen on my bedroom window very well.
(rodgerroop, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 11:54, Reply)

in the dog house.
in my younger years, our family home was a large farmhouse in the countryside, with a few acres of land. once in a while my brother and i went 'rat catching'armed with the rifle, a box of fags and a few cans of beer. however, on a rather cold and boring day, as we had seen no rats, we decided to shoot a chicken up the arse, only we managed to kill it accidentally, so we lobbed it over the fence and fed it to the dog. upon returning home
my dad noticed feathers and blood around the dogs mouth.... any knowledge of what had happened was denied and the dog spent the whole winter outside as it ate the prize chicken who layed the best eggs apparently. shame on us.our dog was 14 with arthritis and a terrible limp!
(ceej, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 11:25, Reply)

Loss of Temper
Apologies for the long intro, but please bear with it.........I was a young man still just in my teens, and had been in the same slave wage apprentice engineering job for nearly 4 years, it was just starting to dawn on me that I hated my job, my boss was an absolute tyrant, my take home pay was rubbish (a strangely re-occurring thought for over 15 years now), and that my life was crappy, although I could not admit it to myself, as I stupidly thought, being young and innocent, that if I left the shitty apprenticeship my career and my life would be ruined forever.

Due to my melancholic disposition, lack of enthusiam for my job, and tyranical boss, getting into work on time was a struggle and I would regularly get to work well after I was supposed to be at my desk. My bosses began to notice and after a few meetings with them to discuss the problem (when I should have had the balls to resign), they deciced to send me off to one of the company project sites in London, on the strict promise that my punctuality was to improve....after two weeks of turning up late on site, the site manager told me that if I was late one more time he would be letting the bosses back at the office know what was happening....That night when I got home I was adamant that I would be on time for work the next morning, that I would not be getting sacked, I would force myself to enjoy my job, and that everything would work out....nearly at the shameful bit......

I crawled out of bed at 7:30 am the next morning, I had to be in London for 8:30am, it wasn't looking too good, I left my house at 7:35am, jumped on my push bike, and after an exhausting 3 mile ride, through red traffic lights, and unwary pedestrians, made it to the the station for 7:44 just in time for the 7:45 train....the train was due into King's Cross at 8:20am...after which a 10 minute tube ride and a 5 minute walk to the site, which would make me 5 minutes late, although if I ran once leaving the tube station, I might just make it in time. The site manager was adamant, I was not to be late or else, and by now, as I frantically checked my watch on the train every 2 seconds, getting to work on time had become the single most important event, ever.

I sprinted out of the tube station at 8:28am for all my life was worth, already exhausted from anxiety and the bike ride to the station. I charged down Victoria Street, a sweaty, panting, confused mess, I was in metres of the site (8:29am + 55 Ses), when a frail old lady, shuffling along with a zimmer frame, crossed my path on the pavement, causing me to slow down and change direction....thus losing vital seconds.

As I brushed passed the poor old lady, out of sheer frustration and panic I bellowed "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVE!!!!!!", about 2 inches from her ear......I think every head on Victoria Street turned in my direction, but I did not care, I had to get to work, I could have caused the frail old lady a heart attack or stroke, but I did not care, and I did not look back to see if she was OK.

Frightening old ladies nearly to death whilst on the way to work was bordering on madness, and not to mention shameful.

I quit my job a month or two later, and have never regretted it.

Little old lady...I'm sorry.
(dunkindogdo, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 11:24, Reply)

Too Mortified to Speak
I am 6'5", about 18 Stone with extremely short hair (any rumours of covering up for minor baldness are just lies frankly) and I am not blessed with the grace of a ballet dancer. In short I look like a large nasty thug. Anyway, about three years ago I was standing on an up escalator at Oxford Circus and I suddenly had the notion I had left my phone on the train. I reached down into my right trouser pocket at a speed which only the loss of phone or wallet can engender. Of course I failed to notice the lady who was standing on the step immediately behind me.....not two steps away or even three as set down in unwritten Tube etiquette but one step....her nose and my elbow occupied the same space for a fraction of a second...... now to the independent third parties, of whom their were many, it looked like a very large thug elbowed a completely innocent lady in the face and walked off without a backward glance but in truth I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The thought of trying to placate her and about another 6 people who rushed to her aid mortified me. So, yes, I am ashamed and would like to thank all those that helped her.......

I often wonder why I didn't stop. That would have been the right thing to do wouldn't it? My rationalisation is that there would have almost certainly been some little short-arsed no-brain wanker who would have leapt to the lady's defence and attempted to bandy words. As with most short-arsed hypothetical blokes he would have uttered words like "I bet you think you're tough don't you. Well I could have you any time you bastard". Attempts at rational discussion would have been fruitless and he would have ended up hurting himself and I would then have been accused of beating up two people rather than just being seen as callous by walking off. Reference to the police might then have revealed a similar incident in the West End some years earlier when I was caught on camera defending myself against another short-arsed little wanker who felt that me asking him not to keep bothering two of my female friends by drunkenly groping them whilst they were dancing really meant I wanted to accompany him outside and be target practice for his pudgy little ego. Regrettably I too was not entirely sober and agreed to the same. Was back inside before the frost on the outside of my Stella glass had disappeared and had a visit from the old bill not an hour later. Two nice PC's who told me to be more careful next time. Hence me walking away from the lady I elbowed...... so its all their fault and now I don't feel ashamed at all !!
( Spackweasel - because weasels get Downs Syndrome too, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 11:17, Reply)

Alcohol - vomit.
I drank loads once, then I was sick.

Hi-larious! Unique!
(fogbat, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 10:43, Reply)

hismastersvice.....
Does the name 'wrong hole Joel' mean anything to you?
(Fonkadelix is fucking bored, pass the crack pipe Mavis., Wed 30 Nov 2005, 10:04, Reply)

eep...just remembered my drunken shame story
It was last new year's, and I was round at my mate Dave's (yay Polo Dave!) house, after we had been to asda to stock up on booze (we bought a shitload...including those weird sidekick shot thingies....just about everything. Fast forward a few hours and while we (including me, obviously) were putting the drinks away, we hadn't really eaten much....and i hadnt eaten before going out since breakfast. fast forwards to midnight, and i was staggering around in the garden playing 'pile-on'in the mud, getting off with my mate randomly, and ripping my trousers somehow. I'd also managed to punch my mate Rob in the face quite hard, and having realised this i went upstairs to find him and apologise, so barrelled into dave's room to find him, only to find another friend curled up on the floor having panic attacks. I snapped into caring mode at this point, and fed her lots of water (as if that helps) and hugged her a lot, then realised that i was probably going to need the big bowl next to her a lot more than she did... so i spent the next hour or so puking into a bowl, wiping my face with a forest's worth of tissue and just chucking it into the bowl, or on dave's jeans and t-shirt (which he gave me to wear after a bit, as i'd taken off my shirt cos i threw up on that). eventually i sort of fell asleep/passed out on a chair on top of my mate harvey in the lounge, having to run to the bathroom every half hour or so to throw up. at about 6 or so i managed to stop, get a drink and have some proper sleep before everyone else came to and made breakfast. as i felt so much better, i decided to have a cuppa and some rice crispies.....which soon returned and sent me right back to hangover hell. My mate helpfully reminded me at this point that i still had to dispose of the contents of the bowl from the night before...so i carried the (fucking huge) thing downstairs, through the kitchen and started trying to empty it into the bin. I was obviously having some trouble with this, so dave's mum (who'd been making people bacon and eggs and things) came out to help me....I was mortified. We found a comb in the bowl of dried-out tissuey vomit, which scared me a little bit....Then i remembered that i'd promised to go shopping with my mum in town, so i got a lift to the centre and stood around for a bit feeling cold and miserable....mother arrives, and announces "lets have lunch!" *shudder* so i sat in lloyd's with her and my aunt, picking at the smallest salad ever, then bought a book and came home. I realised I was still hungover when at 9pm i was throwing up my dinner of pasta....have never been that drunk since, felt almost too embarrassed to go to polo dave's party since, though i did go in the summer (and shagged on a bouncy castle shared with my mates, absolutely no shame about that one ;)
(Ryuken-Kai, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 4:55, Reply)

Sudo-Date for a christmas party gig at fancy hotel...
Held off drinking to avoide foolishness infront of business folk, until of course the raising of the champagne. 5 champeigns later, the dinner wines came. End of dinner, just barly concious. "Come on {me} scotch and cigar time".

Feeling a little off color and largly intoxicated, I hit the bathrooms with the intention of clearing the stomach. Distracted by fancy hotel towls, and the filling of my jacket pockets, I forgot to yack.

End of night. "slured speach: Thanks for the great *bluurk*" all over my friends boss.

The fact that I tried to clean it up with the stolen towls didnt go down well either...

christmas parties eh.
(madninja, Wed 30 Nov 2005, 3:21, Reply)

Another lack of bodily control.
I just remembered another harrowing tale of shame which happened in primary school. At lunch time in front of the entire school I realised I needed a wee at the last moment.

I ran up to the dinner lady, tugged on her dress and squealed at her that I needed the loo. By the look of disgust on her face I suddenly realised I'd already been. Yes, I had wet myself in front of the entire bloody school.

Even years later when I saw a girl from that school she asked me if I was the girl that pissed her knickers in front of everyone. I politely denied all knowledge and ran home to cry.
(chakaflange, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 23:43, Reply)

Booze Britain
I was on booze britain. And coined the phrase "Coke's good for a hang over!! You know the brand!!" In the mongiest voice ever!!

Not only that, i was smashed and with some local skank, only for my gf and all my work colleagues to see a couple of months later!!!!
(Bobwithbitchtits, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 23:27, Reply)

Browsing Old Qotw's
kings cross dash
Go to Kings Cross or any other busy station at rush hour, and race down the platform as fast as you can to catch the southbound northern line (or any other convenient finish line). Win by either getting to the tube platform first, or by knocking over more gourmet coffees/bagels/other train station type fodder than your opponents. If there is spillage on your outfit, you loose points.
(Dr Dru, Tue 30 Mar 2004, 0:43 )

Posted in Inpromptu Games qotw, you can see the date, but does he now feel shame?
(dani_B Bollocks, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 23:26, Reply)

A few things I feel slight regret for.
Main one out of the way, so I can feel better about getting it off my chest:

A few years ago, I met a guy. Now as he was a few years older than me, I decided to narrow the gap a bit and said I was the same age as him (which means I said I was 20 when really I was a hearty 16). Not only this, but I gave myself a completely different name. Worse still, he fancied me as well and we ended up having a full-on relationship.

In the whole near-year I was with him, I managed to keep up this illusion, lost my v-plates and got proposed to. I eventually broke it off soon after the proposal (which I rejected) and still didn't tell him about the lies. He still doesn't know to this very day. Shame. I honestly regret everything about that relationship. Absolutely chuffing everything. Not just because of the lies, but also because he was actually a bit of a bassa...so I feel a little less guilty.

Linking onto this, the day I broke up with him was the same day that the college I was attending broke up for the winter holidays. I was a bit emotional so I decided to go with my mates to the pub just across the road.

I got absolutely slaughtered. I'm talking stumbling around in the PVC nurse outfit I got off my mates for Christmas, singing (or rather...yelling) to Bohemian Rhapsody ontop of a pool table and then copping off with two completely random girls so my mate could get a photograph for me to mail to my ex.

Despite the hilarity of that evening, I do regret it...a little. I will admit though that one of those girls could kiss far better than he did, and I actually said that to him.
(Little Miss Randomo, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 22:47, Reply)

Underage drinking of course.
Me and a mate decided it would be great fun to have a few drinks while his mum and dad were livin it up in the south of france. So we got the 1.5 litre bottle of Vodka, the 2 litre bottle of coke, rang a few more friends (who said they would come over later) and said goodnight to my mates Gran, who was looking after us 'young uns'.

Anyway, my mate assured me that when his gran went to bed she would take out her hearing aid and be as deaf as a post. Thats about all I can remember.....because next we hit the vodka, only I hit it rather heavily. Heres what I do remember:

1) Kicking dear old granny's door shouting "wake up! come and have a drink graneeeeeeeeee!"

2) Kissing a picture of Pamela Anderson and shouting "oh yeah, i soooooo would"

3) My mate saying "dont be sick" then my reply "dont worry I'm fi....*hic*......bllleeeeuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhh" On the new carpet

4) Telling my other mate who arrived late that his girlfriend was ugly and her face looked like it had been hit by the back end of a bus.

5) And proclaiming my undying love for Freddie Mercury and saying I was so desperate for a shag I would even consider turning gay.

I then woke up freezing cold in the most uncomfortable position (still throwing up), I had been there so long my arm had ceased and didnt move for several hours, I kinda felt like stephen hawking (in shape) except a lot stupider and wearing a t-shirt with my mothers fish and chip dinner all down the front(mushy peas and all).

I still recoil in horror to this day of that nights events.

The stain on the carpet remained there until a few years ago (a full 10 years!), and my mates girlfriend, who never let on she knew what I said until a few years ago, became my best mate (and still is even after a few other bad booze nights)
( Bamboo Steamer, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 22:24, Reply)

I was 15, having a kick-around with a few friends...
...when I decided the time was right to let go of some air from within my guts.
Well, I followed through. Oh boy did I. It wasn't hard, it was wet steamy dripping down my leg and past my balls human faeces.

This is both my proudest and most shameful experience of my life. Being with 3 guys playing football in a field isn't the ideal setting for a get-away, but no! I had a plan. It was smart. Fail-safe.
I carefully sat down on the grass, waited a few moments before exclaiming I had sat down in dog muck. I was always awful in drama but the timing and execution was perfect, they gave a chuckle and a point while I stumbled off to a bush to change shorts but they believed it, I was saved from being remembered as that kid in secondary school who shit his pants.

I'm not sure if my shitty underwear still resides within that bush, maybe one day I'll go back and check.
( TN, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 22:18, Reply)

Not one of my brightest ideas.
I was in Rome on a sightseeing trip, staying in a lovely little hostel who were, in fact, the toppermost because they provided free alcohol. The night before a day trip to Pompeii, I decided to take advantage of said free booze and get absolutely plastered. Not only did I get this one lad to teach me how to say 'cunt' in German, I proceeded to shout it at the top of my voice to everyone in the hostel. Then, I staggered into my room, singing at the top of my voice and waking all the sorority girls who were sleeping. They were NOT pleased, I can assure you.

Anyway, the next morning was where the true shame starts. The trip to Pompeii is quite a long 'un and it was only about halfway to Naples that the hangover truly kicked in. The swaying of the train? Did not help at all. I'd fallen asleep, woke up feeling like death and puked down my shirt a little. My mate was blissfully unaware, listening to her iPod and would NOT move to let me out of my seat until I practically shoved past, staggering over to the toilets... Only to find them locked. I panic, turn around to find myself face-to-face with some old Italian geezer who's eye I meet just seconds before I throw up all over the floor. I slur something about being 'very ill' whilst he looks on in horror as I lurch back down the train, trying for the other toilets and vomitting on a seat along the way before finding my pukefest was done for now. Nearly everyone on that train walked through my vomit upon disembarking. I, however, sensibly used the other exit.

THIS STORY IS STILL NOT THROUGH! Connecting train from Naples to Pompeii? I vomit out of the window just as we pull into Pompeii station, thus ensuring I have an audience to witness my chundering.
(the nightmare of cake, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 22:11, Reply)

I didn't do anything!
I was about 15 and in the school library with my mate who was Indian. (Shame for being in the library maybe) Anyway we were bickering really quietly about something I can't even remember, when she shouts "Paki!" at me. I was mortified as everyone looked over at us and of course thought it had been me saying it.
(Edit- I'm white)
(khd, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 21:25, Reply)

Shame?
Well, I had sex on the floor of a public bathroom once. I'm not embarressed of it, just thought I'd tell you. I was on top so I stayed (relatively) clean.
(sqrrl101, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 20:35, Reply)

Not quite me but...
I went out with the football team at uni and drank so much I wretched and ended up coughing up blood on two student nurses(who had carried me home). My friend ended up getting bummed.

Haha.
(iwantacone, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 20:23, Reply)

chair bum shapes
I was 15 and round at my best mate Caroline's house for a party. As had become customary, we gathered to have dinner with Caroline's family in an effort to convince them that we were not drunken fools and were respectable young ladies who should be left alone in the house for a party. Yum, spag bol for tea.

Anyway, fast forward to a few hours into the party. I had consumed one too many alcoholic beverages, and had passed out on the sofa in their front room. About 1AM, with the party in full swing, I woke up with the familiar sensation of my stomach contents trying to escape my body via my mouth. No time to run to the toilet, but thankfully I was sat next to one of those lovely wooden kitchen chairs with the bum dent carved in it. 'Why, that bum dent will surely hold my vomit' I thought.

Sadly I was wrong. Partially digested spag bol cascaded off of the chair all over the new, pale pink lounge carpet. In full view of many of the boys I fancied at the time. But that was not made it so shameful.

It was the sight of Caroline's lovely mum scrubbing my vomit out of her new carpet at 1 in the morning. In her dressing gown. And the vomit covered chair visible on the patio behind her.

The thing that makes this shameful rather than run of the mill teenage drunkeness for me is that I had no recollection the next morning as I sat down for family breakfast with Caroline. I believe I even made a comment about the interesting new stain on the lounge carpet.

They said nothing at the time and it all came rushing back to me in the car on the way home *blush*
(kitteny_goodness, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 19:35, Reply)

Very drunk
Quazi-sex behind the pub, resulting in barring from said pub
( Styxx hates when people talk in the third person, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 19:14, Reply)

Self-love
My friend Dylan once decided to give himself a blow-job. For some reason, he opted for the shower as the best place to do this, so he stripped naked, hopped in and proceeded to bend himself into the appopriate position.

The shame came when he got his foot stuck behind his head and had to call his mum to help him out of the shower.

Actually, maybe the shame was when he had to explain to her what he was doing.
( Pachey, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 18:57, Reply)

On a greek party island...
I ate a water melon then went out and drank too much. Got back early the next morning to our hotel and climbed the stairs to our 3rd (or 4th, can't remember) floor rooms. Before going to bed I emptied my stomach over the balcony at both the front and the back of the hotel.

I woke up many hours later to find a bright red beam of sick down the both sides of the hotel pointing directly to my room. Also the midday sun had baked it on.

I didn't get my deposit back.
( grey matter, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 18:37, Reply)