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Worst Impressions – win tickets to see Anil Desai
Dartmouth’s so cool they even have a comedy festival. Don’t be jealous, be there!
We invite tales of your Worst Impressions, what’s the worst, flies undone, skirt tucked in knickers moments? Tell us and more people can share your burden, and you could win a pair of tickets to see Anil Desai the stand up chameleon.
The best story, as chosen by Anil live on Soundart Radio, wins 2 tickets to see the show, on this all expenses spared night out.
Simply post your comment with the most embarrasing scene you ever created.
Like the time when I asked a woman I barely knew whether she was pregnant when I saw her in the supermarket, looking pregnant.
‘No. No I’m not pregnant’ she told me in a reasonable, logical way as her partner shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.
All three of us made pleasantries and busied ourselves shopping in another isle. Any other isle…
Tell us what you did and I can get these tickets posted:) Leave your comment below and I’ll email you if Anil chooses your Worst Impression!
Best of Luck
Chris
Tough one. . . ive had quite a few but probably the worst was:
had just met a girl i was keen on, she said it was her friends birthday and there was a party, fair enough, so we went to the house, much vodka later i get in to my bed on the floor. the nxt thing i know its morning, i notice there are loads of clothes on the floor by the bedroom door, when my lady friend came in to see me she wasnt happy. . .
vodka makes me sleepwalk, it turns out i had gone sleepwalking in to her friends room, stood in the corner of the room and taken a leak all of a pile of clothes and shoes before being returned forcibly to my bed on the floor.
i have no recollection of the incident and was unaware anything untoward had occured! my lady friend wasnt so keen to take me to parties after that. . . .
footnote:
A pair of boots which were subject to a dousing frm my vodka laced urine were thrown outside the front door of the flat which is in a shared block where one of my friends live, last time i went by, they were still there. .
Staying over my friends house when I was a teenager we had been out all day and got back late so I got undressed quickly, put on some pj’s and got into bed. Got up really excited, we were going down to watch the boys play football, not that we were into football but, ho hom, they were boys, threw my clothes on really quickly and set of. Half way across the pitch this boy ran up to me and said,
“um, you dropped these” and handed me back the pair of knickers which had still been in my trousers from the night before and had worked their way down the leg of my jeans and out onto the pitch!
I’d just started seeing a new boy. We were upstairs when my parents called up to say his parents had arrived to pick him up. Embarrassed and rushed I pulled on my t-shirt as quickly as possible so we looked fairly innocent, as though we had been watching the movie we were supposed to be watching, and ran downstairs. His parents and my parents exchanged looks and began laughing. I was confused and then my dad asked “new fashion trend?” I looked down, my shirt was not only back to front, but also inside out… oops!
Hello friendly monster.
I went to a friend’s birthday party in a place I used to live in. I saw loads of people I handn’t seen in ages.
Late in the evening I got chatting to someone I knew a bit but not well. We were getting on brilliantly and I was starting to get hopeful since I’ve always fancied her (even though I knew that we’re completely unsuited – I don’t drink and I’ve never seen her sober).
Out of the blue she said “oh it’s so lovely having gay mates. You can just relax around them and it’s nice knowing they’re not trying to chat you up” to which I replied (after a stunned pause) “actually I’m not gay. And I’ve always fancied you”. It was her turn to look stunned, then she stood up and walked off without a word and we haven’t spoken since.
Back in 2005 I went to the National to see a production of ‘Cyrano de Bergerac’, whilst having a drink on the terrace I recognised a young actor from a tv adaptation of Trollope’s ‘He New He Was Right’ that was on at the time. I approached him for an autograph, only to realise, too late, that I couldn’t recall his name.(Stephen Campbell Moore).Nor the name of the tv series. There followed a muddled conversation, free of proper nouns, that concluded with my asking him if he had any other performances forthcoming. He pointed out that he was starring in ‘The History Boys’, also on at the National, which I had been unable to get a ticket for. Mortifying!
And the Winner is!
Congrats Peter, tickets will be on the door for you. Apparently picked ‘cos your story disses zed-lebritees, but I reckon you won because it’s the the only story with any classiness…
all the best, chris