Embarrassment

You know what I love? Doing embarrassing things, but not being embarrassed by them.

Case in point:

I misread a meeting invite. I thought I was supposed to go to a meeting in one conference room, when in reality I was supposed to be in another. That’s embarrassing in and of itself, but add this to the equation: the conference room I mistakenly entered has two sliding glass doors as an entrance. Both doors got stuck as I tried to enter, so I had to squeeze through a very small opening. I finally made my way into the meeting, grabbed a seat, and just sat there for a minute. Turns out it was a high-level meeting with our client (let’s call them “Macrohard”). I can only imagine what everyone was thinking as I literally slipped into the meeting:
“Hmm. The caterer’s assistant must be here early to help clean up.”
-or-
“Did someone order the ‘Awkward Guy’ from American Singing Telegrahams?”
-or-
“Hey, that’s Ryan from the traffic department. What’s he doing here? Doesn’t he realize this is a very important client meeting? And why did he try to squeeze through two partially-open doors? Why didn’t he just open one door all the way?”

Once it dawned on me that my presence was not only not required, but also a tad disruptive, I stood up, all cool-like, and booked it for the emergency exit door. Thankfully, it opened.

I have done embarrassing things here before. I have tripped UP the stairs. I have turned in TV scripts that were returned to me with two words on them: Kill This. But for some reason, the power of embarrassment is not as strong here as in the rest of the world. I have a feeling that if I had gone through puberty while employed here, my confidence would be through the roof.