Life is full of embarrassing moments. Many times I’ve said the wrong thing and inserted my foot directly into my mouth. Then there were those moments where you didn’t even have to speak to cause a fuck-up of epic proportions.
My most embarrassing moment happened to me on the job. I wanted to die. But it sure made for a hell of a funny story.
I was 21 years old when this dastardly tale occurred. And let’s not bullshit ourselves: As the son of a pastor who attended church three times a week his entire life, I was NOT a man of the world. I was probably closer to sixteen than 21 in terms of my emotional IQ. My experience with women, quite limited.
It hadn’t always been this way. I had a cute little 1st-grade girlfriend when I was six. After being teased by another kid for holding hands with Christina in the sandbox and dumping her on the spot, the universe decided to give me a lesson in treating women right.
How about 15 years of forced celibacy, Dumbass? Yes, I was a first-grade incel.
I didn’t care that much about that. I was happy to play at recess with the homies. Our crew ran a few small-time jobs, hung together in a little gang, and were the prime suspects in the Great Milk Truck Heist of ’82. We were caught with milk mustaches, but none of us ratted. Never go against the family and always keep your mouth shut.
Sadly, things changed around 1987. As a newly minted teenager, I suddenly cared a LOT about having a girlfriend. Puberty gave me a beat-down and said, “Wake up, Stupid! Drop that Nintendo controller and get to work on your dating game. That thing isn’t going to touch itself!”
Puberty was wrong. Oh, so wrong. But it occurred to me it would be more fun to have a girlfriend added to the equation.
Sadly, it wasn’t to be for another eight years. I hoped that time off for good behavior would have gotten me out of self-imposed Virginworth Prison in three to five. Negatori on the early parole.
It wasn’t that I was scared of girls. I could make them laugh and I was a kind kid in junior high and high school. I respected women. I respected them so much, that I never bothered to make any sort of move. Being a somewhat awkward church kid with controlling parents didn’t help my cause.
Fast forward to 1996, when this unfortunate, embarrassing story occurs. At this point, I was ready to take matters into my own hands, and not in the way I’d been doing it for the past eight years. I had a plan. It would be badass, effective, and as long as nobody found out about it, respectable.
I posted a personal ad in The Thrifty Nickel want ads.
I don’t remember if it actually cost a nickel. But can you imagine if I’d have met my soulmate that way?
Daughter: “Dad, how did you and Mom meet?”
Jason: “Well, I had some spare change lying around in my couch cushions, so…”
Bear in mind that the Internet was in its infancy at this time. It would take ten minutes to download a naked boob line by line if you were fortunate enough to have Compuserve or Earthlink. AOL would soon arrive and the world was never the same again.
I met one young lady from my ill-fated attempt at budget-classified romance. I can’t remember her name, but I recall it was unusual. Arta? Mulva? Something that slips my mind at the moment. And I have an incredible memory about most things. Perhaps my brain has repressed this particular one.
I took her indoor climbing at our local recreation center. I was fairly obsessed with climbing at the time and it was a great opportunity to flex my technical skills, as well as my young man muscles. I probably wore a tank top like a damn idiot.
Sadly, it was not a love connection, Chuck. We bid each other farewell and renewed our nickel ads for the next week.
This is where shit went sideways. I had two jobs at the time. I worked at the aforementioned rec center, cleaning the place after it closed. I also had a job throwing freight for a small local market at night with three other fellas.
Our boss Jim, holy hell. Talk about an interesting character. He was actually a pretty cool guy. Though he loved breaking balls and encouraged us all to do the same. He constantly teased us and at first, I didn’t know how to take him. I wasn’t experienced in the art of the roast back then.
He was a white guy and would make jokes about Steve being a young dad, me for being a weird church kid, and racial jokes toward Alfredo, who was Hispanic. We’d call him “Mayonaisse” because he was so white with blond hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
Once, Alfredo went off on Jim after hearing the 375th racial joke in a row. I couldn’t tell if he was actually pissed or if it was just the usual, good-natured ribbing we all sent each other’s way. It went a bit like this:
“YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK YOU JIM! MAN, I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL THE MEXICANS TAKE OVER AND MAKE YOU OUR WHITE SLAVES!”
Jim belly laughed and we got back to work. There were food fights, rolling dry-ice bombs down each other’s aisle, or engaging in other illicit behavior. Jim’s personal favorite was going through customers’ photos that had been developed and laughing at them.
One day, the laughter turned toward me. And I’ll never forget it as long as I live.
We took our usual 4 am break after working three hours. We grabbed our snacks and sat in the small break room at the table together. This was a brief break from Jim running his mouth. He liked reading the newspaper while he ate. We all enjoyed our quiet time.
Jim put the newspaper down and grabbed a copy of The Thrifty Nickel. I didn’t notice right away. After a couple of minutes, he said, “Well, let’s read a few of the personal ads, and see what kind of losers we have this week.”
Christ on a coffee date, so this is how it ends…
He starts reading them out loud to us. We all start giggling, but I’m hiding a full-on panic attack. He said, “What kind of LOSER puts an ad like this in here?” He stopped reading them out loud after about three or four. Whew. I was in the clear. Until I wasn’t.
Jim’s eyes widen. He looks over at me, I look away. He looks back at the ad and is shocked. He looks over again at me, and I focus on my Hot Pocket, avoiding any eye contact. He looks down at the Thrifty Nickel again and smiles like the Grinch. Oh, Sweet Lort.
“HEY GUYS, LISTEN TO THIS ONE! Single ITALIAN male, 21, five foot 11 1/2, 180 lbs. Into fitness and rock climbing…”
I didn’t hear the rest. The stroke I was having drowned out his narration of my cringeworthy ad. I can’t believe I didn’t start crying. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head and started laughing harder than anyone I’d ever heard. Alfredo smiled at me awkwardly. Roast Jason for four, anyone?
Jim finally stopped laughing and said, “TELL ME THAT’S NOT YOU, PROVENCIO!” HAHA! I’m sorry what I said about losers, but you have to admit this is fucking hilarious. You’re George from Seinfeld right now!”
I’m surprised I didn’t quit that job on the spot. I have to admit though, it was hilarious. I met my daughter’s mother just a month or two later. Things changed after that and I never struggled with dating since. But DAMN, thanks, Thrifty Nickel.
© 2024 Jason Provencio. All rights reserved.
Pretty sure we all have ultra-embarrassing stories from our past. Not many are willing to share and I appreciate your openness! The mom in me really wants to give your younger self a big maternal hug. 💜
I think a personal ad seeking romance was very clever. If not for the ad, and if not for your embarrassing moment, you would not have been on the path to meeting the woman you love. Life is all or nothing, my brother