One of the many slightly annoying things about living in the USA is that I can't use the phrase "How embarrassment!" because nobody has any clue where it comes from.
This morning contained a textbook "How embarrassment!" moment. I was late to my music history class because some douches were clearing brush on route 322, leaving only one lane for traffic to pass through. They were douches because traffic towards West Chester was backed up for about five miles, whereas traffic leaving West Chester wasn't backed up at all. I have no idea why they didn't take this into account when directing traffic, except that they are douches.
I screeched into the parking lot ten minutes late, sprinted up the stairs, and tried in vain to creep into the classroom. Creeping is difficult when you have bright pink hair; I so rarely creep that I had forgotten this when I dyed it. I sat down. I looked at the professor. All seemed well.
I looked around. Chris was sitting across the aisle. What was he doing here? Had he transferred into my class? Why was he looking at me as though he might laugh?
Oh, god. Wrong class. Music history is at 11am, not 10am.
So, having arrived ten minutes late and sat down for twenty seconds, I had to get up and try unsuccessfully to creep out of the room.
The worst part is that I have to go back at 11am, and the professor will, of course, know that it was me, and that I am an idiot.
These little things keep me awake at night sometimes thinking about what a loser I am. Another is the fact I remember and use the phrase "How embarrassment."
In good news, the music library has some bitching wireless internet, so I can rip CDs and have iTunes find all the track names for me. And I can blog.