EMBARRASSMENT

“You often hear someone claim: ‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life’, what nonsense!” declared Williams.

I can’t remember what had started him off on this tack but, as usual, Williams was holding forth in his pugnaciously pontificating manner. And as usual none of us swatted the annoying gnat. He glanced around as if challenging contradiction but none of us would give him the satisfaction.

“As if anyone would truly confess to any major embarrassment in their life – that would be too embarrassing! What is described after such a claim turns out to be a triviality no one would lose a minute’s sleep over it. It’s usually nothing more than mildly amusing, at most merely disconcerting.”

“Well, come on, Williams,” said Smith, grinning over at me, “from your vast experience of embarrassments tell us what you would regard as qualifying for the award of a dinkum embarrassment.”

“Smith, I’ve just finished stating that nobody would confess to any major embarrassment so I think I’m excused from rising to your bait.”

“Didn’t know you were so sensitive, Williams, about admitting embarrassments”, cut in Darkly.

Stevens chuckled. “Anyhow, Williams, I’ve run across one or two people who seem to revel in what we’d reckon as their major embarrassments: some crims for instance, so I’m not sure I altogether agree with you. Seems to me it depends on the thickness of a person’s hide; perhaps we can all think of a politician or two who might fit the bill.”

“Yeah,” observed Darkly, “they’ve all got rhinoceros hides and some of them, as we keep finding out, are nothing but crims.”

“But,” interjected Williams, “the point is they don’t initially admit to whatever it is we might think is embarrassing: they’re usually found out. More often than not they then try to brazen it out; often with the backing of colleagues.”

“Nothing like political expediency, a fat cheque-book, or stand-over power of some kind to attempt a cover-up,” observed Stevens.

There was a brief silence.

“Really what you’re saying, Williams ,” said Smith, “ is that it’s only us ordinary citizens who have got the decency to feel any embarrassment, or are too decent to admit publicly any real indecency in our lives.”

“This is getting a bit thick,” interposed Johnno (God bless the man!), “and this coffee’s thick enough as it is. I vote that Dave here (who hasn’t had a word to say) recount a sufficiently decent embarrassment or two that won’t really embarrass the rest of us sinners.”

“Well,” drawled Dave, “I’ve had a pretty embarrassment-free life, at least along the lines Williams seems to have been going on about. Mind you, I can’t truthfully say these were my most embarrassing moments.”

“See,” pounced Williams. “Just proves my point.”

“Oh, do shut up, Williams, and let Dave get on with it,” groaned Darkly. We silently applauded.

“Well,” continued Dave, “this goes back a few years now. It was a big country town and I was pretty well involved with the local theatrical and musical groups. A young teacher friend at one of the town’s high schools—in those years an all-boys High School— was rather keen to get his Year 10 yokels into a bit of culture. The year before he’d had a go at a kind of review item for the school’s annual play-night that had ended rather disastrously. Just at the crucial moment in the production, one of his brighter leads forgot his lines and, in the ensuing silence, sank to a strategically placed chair declaiming in agonised voice, “Oh Shit! I’ve forgotten the lines.” Thank God for the yokels! It brought the house down. My friend still isn’t sure the audience wasn’t convinced it was really part of the script. Somehow in the ensuing confusion, the other characters managed to keep the real script alive. Anyhow, my ever optimistic friend again decided the following year to keep the cause of Culture alive. He engaged me to help put the finishing touch on his production and generally gee the lads along. So it was that he got the Principal’s permission for me to come once a week to one of his classes –“to help the show along, Headmaster.”

It was the last week before the great performance. Terry, my young enthusiastic friend, was trying to get across the point that in melodrama exaggerated gestures and over-dramatisations were the norm. He turned to me expectantly. I dutifully stepped forward and declaimed the problem line: “Darling, I will go out into the wide, wide world to seek our fortune”, throwing wide my arms to embrace the world of the classroom. There was a brief silence, followed by a roar of laughter and loud applause. I was at a loss. I was used to normal applause in a theatre: this far exceeded any previous experience. Terry grabbed my arm and tried to whisper something to me over the roar. He dragged me to the classroom door and pushed me outside. “What’s up?” I demanded, baffled.

He burst out laughing, “Actually, it’s down!” Then he pointed to my fly.

I looked down. Oh, God. The wretched zipper had parted company. This surely capped the previous year’s disaster. What to do next? Mindful of that year’s magical recovery I turned to Terry and said: “Give me a minute or two to regroup and I’ll be back.” He grinned mischievously and replied: “Right then, I’ll go in and prepare them for an encore!”

Somehow I got the confounded zipper together again, threw the classroom door open and entered, declaring : “As I was saying before being un-zippered: Darling, I’ll go out into the wide, wide world to seek our fortune!” There was a wonderfully appreciative laugh, then applause and a cheer.” Dave shook his head, then continued: “Oh, the play went off wonderfully well and there were no embarrassed ‘Shits!’ over forgotten lines; but I’m sure all the parents in the audience had heard some version of “ Dave’s Wide, Wide Zipper.”