A MAN OF MYSTERY

The Night I Didn’t Embarrass Myself IN Bed

The true story I couldn’t hide from any longer

We’ve all experienced embarrassing moments in life. Some of them happen due to ignorance, like when I moved from London to New York to work for a fashion company. To avoid the inferior Lipton tea in the pantry, I brought stronger British tea to the office. Believing I could convert my colleagues to “real” tea, I approached people I hardly knew and sincerely asked them, “Would you like a teabag?”

A few weeks later, a kind designer took me aside and informed me that “giving someone a teabag” was slang for dunking one’s testicles into the mouth of a willing participant. That was jaw-dropping info, and sure enough, the act of “tea-bagging” is indeed popular in certain circles. Highly embarrassed, I reassured my colleagues that I was offering PG Tips, and not some exotic ball-brew.

When something embarrassing happens due to ignorance, at least there’s the justifiable excuse of, “Sorry, I didn’t know.” However, the most embarrassing moments are those when you can’t even justify your actions to yourself, let alone to others. And that’s what happened to me when I joined a new high school at the tender age of fifteen.

That’s a tough age to enter a new school. Everyone has their friend groups and their cliques all shaken out. They have serious intel on each other and know who to hang with or who to avoid. After a few months of jostling for position, I was accepted and surviving the daily social vipers’ nest.

Throughout that time, there was a stunning girl who always caught my eye. I patiently studied the situation to see who she was with, etc., but it turned out she was quite shy, and wasn’t one of those intimidating attention-seeking types. You know, those confident girls who were up for any sexual fumble at the risk of later having your genital size and performance announced to your peers if either fell short of their expectations.

As this is a true story, to protect the innocent girl’s identity, I’ve changed her name to Laura. If your name is Laura and you knew me back then, rest assured this story isn’t about you.

After a few awkward conversations, Laura agreed to go out with me. We lived in a small town in South East England, where there wasn’t anything to do or anywhere to go. It was a cold night, so our only option was to hang out in her bedroom. It was a smallish three-bedroom house that was made to feel even smaller by her parents watching TV in the living room.

As we arrived, I said a polite “Hello” and then we disappeared upstairs. We sat on her bed and I asked benign questions about the posters and items in her room. Laura giggled and told backstories about each thing I pointed out.

After thirty minutes, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. Now, most people would have stayed seated and calmly waited for her to return, but my stupid, dumbass, motherfucker of a brain had other ideas.

Brain: “Quick, hide under the bed!”

Me: “What? Why?”

Brain: “Because it’ll be funny!”

Me: “Really?”

Brain: “Yes! She’ll laugh, which will make her like you more.”

Me: “Sounds good!”

So, I quickly slipped under her bed and waited until I heard the sound of the toilet flushing. In my mind, I imagined she’d be surprised to see a vacant space on the bed, and then I’d pop out and say, “Oh, there you are.” Or something equally cringey.

But Laura didn’t walk back into the room. She just glanced in, saw I wasn’t there, and then headed downstairs to find me.

Laura’s Mom: “Hey love, is everything alright?”

Laura: “Um, yeah, I’m just looking for Steve.”

Laura’s Dad: “Steve who?”

Laura: “The lad I brought home.”

Laura’s Mom: “We haven’t seen him, love. He must still be upstairs.”

That’s when I heard Laura and her mom coming upstairs. At this point, I could have quickly slid out, sat back on the bed, and claimed I must have been out of her view when she’d glanced in. No harm, no foul. Unfortunately, it was quite a tight squeeze and I didn’t want to be caught half in/half out, and then have to explain myself, so I stayed.

Laura and her mom checked the bathroom. They checked the other two bedrooms. They checked the hallway closet. They checked the wardrobes. They were totally confused, so they went downstairs and checked all of those rooms, too.

Laura: “Are you sure he didn’t leave?”

Laura’s Mom: “Yes, we would have seen him, or heard him.”

Laura’s Dad: “Have you still not found him?”

Laura: “No, it’s really strange.”

Laura’s Dad: “Let me have a look.”

To my horror, I heard all three of them coming upstairs. Laura’s dad checked in all the same places. The failed search party ended up in Laura’s bedroom, still trying to figure out what happened.

At this point, I considered staying in place until they all went to bed, and then sneaking out while they slept, but that was too risky and my parents would be worried about me. I had no choice — I had to reveal myself.

Before I exited my hidden sanctuary of shame, I announced nervously, “Um, hello, I’m under here.” I then slowly and awkwardly shuffled sideways from under the bed, like a crab with no legs. As I grunted and shimmied against the friction of the carpet, it felt like an eternity. The family watched me in stunned silence, until I looked up to face three very confused expressions.

Laura: “Were you under there the whole time?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Laura’s Mom: “Why?”

Me: “Um…I honestly don’t know. Maybe I thought it would be funny, but…”

Laura’s Dad: “What a fucking idiot. Where did you find this one, Laura?”

Laura’s dad went back downstairs mumbling angrily to himself.

Laura’s Mom: “Oh well, mystery solved.”

She left and headed back downstairs, too.

Laura couldn’t look at me. I could tell she felt extremely uncomfortable.

Me: “I’m so sorry.”

Laura: “It’s OK. It’s a bit weird, but it’s OK.”

Me: “I should probably go.”

Laura: “Yeah, you probably should.”

Me: “OK, see you at school?”

Laura: “Yep.”

I walked down the stairs and glanced at Laura’s parents watching TV. Neither of them looked in my direction, so I left without a word and quietly closed the door behind me.

The next day at school, one of Laura’s friends informed me that she didn’t want to go out with me again. I feigned surprise and asked, “Really? Why not?” Apparently, even Laura couldn’t bring herself to recount the evening’s bizarre events, so she told people I wasn’t cool enough because I didn’t smoke. Fair play, Laura. Now there’s a person who knows how and when to make an exit.

Even though this whole mortifying event took place over thirty years ago, this is the first time I’ve shared it publicly, and I can attest that it’s still embarrassing today. In fact, after writing this, I feel the need for something warm and comforting ­– can anyone give me a teabag?