ArticlesAt what age did boys make model airplanes? You know the plastic Airfix ones with the decals, and plastic cement with the noxious vapours that sticks to your fingers to make a sticky second skin that is so hard to wash off? Eight years old? Something like that. Anyway, it is a pretty young age, and I was that young when this story starts.
I had already made a few model airplanes so I was pretty damn good at it – some of them, I had assembled all by myself! When it came time for a new one, I was taken to the toy store, and in keeping with my big boy status, I went to the counter myself to make the purchase.
The salesman (who was probably all of 15 years old, but seemed big to me) was obviously well-skilled in upselling. While he double-checked the contents of the box containing the model parts, he saw an opportunity to sell another item: “Would you like me to put some glue in the box?” he asked.
I misunderstood the question. I thought he was going to glue the box shut! That seemed a bit unnecessary for the short trip home. “Can’t you just use sticky tape?” I replied.
He looked quizzically at me, and gently explained that the model needed to be assembled with special glue.
At that tender age, I had never been so mortified – it absolutely horrified me that this young sales assistant thought that I, a top gun of model airplane assembly, was under the misapprehension that you could stick together the delicate and intricate parts with tape. I have a vivid image in my mind of the abandoned sticky-mess result of such an attempt.
My younger more-fragile ego seems so cute and sooo weird to me now, but this incident remained deeply embarrassing to me for a long time. I still remember it clearly twenty-odd years later.
Comment by Cassie on August 25, 2006
Egos hey? How fragile they can be at times. And what better place to put embarrassing moments than on the world wide web?
It was a bright sunny day as arrived at a gig. The custom is to check in with the organiser, so I walked into the office and approached the official-looking lady at the desk.
“Hi, are you Alison?”, I asked, thinking it would be so impressive to address her by name, even though we hadn’t met before.
“What?”
As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, I realised that this lady was definitely not Alison, but Sue, whom I had known for a few years.
Embarrassed, and fumbling for a redeemer, I stammered “Oh… sorry, I’m short sighted…”. It was then that I realised I was standing no more than a metre and a half from her, and hence the ridiculousness of the myopia excuse. It took a while longer to realise that it was a lighting issue.
I still feel embarrassed about this small incident, several years after the event, and prefer to avoid Sue.
Comment by Cassie on August 25, 2006
And yet, there are other embarrassing moments that don’t bother me so much.
My fellow performers and I do a “roving” act where we basically don’t do much at all – we walk in synchrony, stare at people, and occasionally juggle. But people find it really interesting and intriguing, and it inspires some to respond in very strange ways.
A common response is that people try to disturb our focus using whatever means they can think of.
At one gig, a kid started saying to me “Your fly is undone”. I’m use to this sort of tactic, so I simply thought “Yeah, whatever. You’ll have to try harder than that, kid”.
The kid persisted – “Your fly’s undone!”.
“Good try – points for persistence, but still not enough. This act is nothing without our focus.”
Then more kids joined in – “Your fly’s undone!”.
“Wow, I’ve never seen kids stick at a tactic for so long, nor been so organised to work together!”
And then more kids – “Your fly’s undone!”.
“Hmmm… maybe my fly is undone… okay, if I look down, and my fly is not undone, that’s not gonna be good for the act – the kids will have duped me… maybe I should just move on… no, they’re still saying it… how can I check without anyone seeing me check?… ah, stuff it, I’ll just do it.”
So I looked. Sure enough, there was my zipper, right down the bottom, where I had apparently left it half an hour ago, and there were my underclothes making their debut in a public performance.
“Shit!… Ah fuck it! Might as well add to it by making it appear more embarrassing than it is.”
So I spent the next two minutes wrestling with the zipper that appeared to be stuck.
I was so embarrassed by that at the time. I was glad it was the last set of the weekend, and stayed in the car while the other performers went to collect the payment, as I just couldn’t bear walking through the festival again.
Yet today, I am completely fine with it. Why the difference?