I'm talking about possible bonehead, stupid or possibly embarrising mistakes you've made that you can laugh at now.

Let me set the scene.

It's 1992, and a single, young Force10 has just rented a 1 bedroom house for himself. It's an old house built in 1928 and not in the best shape, but it has a nice big yard and it's plenty big enough for a single guy. Anyway, I went outside to empty the garbage and realized when I got back on the porch and turned the door handle that I had locked myself out.

I went around the house checking all the windows and they were all locked up tight. In my mind...my only option was to kick the front door in. The door itself was pretty solid but the actual jam and strike plate hardware was pretty sketchy. I give it a good hard kick and it gives way on the first try sending the inside trim and strike plate flying into the house. Now, I was more of a digital guy back then without much house repair experience...but I gathered what tools I had and went about doing some repairs.

I managed to get the wood around the strike plate somewhat repaired with some small nails and wood glue. I then re-drilled the strike plate back in and it felt solid enough to hold. Luckily for me, the trim piece broke in two pieces with a long diagonal split. I nailed the two trim pieces back in, and put some patch and paint in the long crack and figured I would paint it later.

After spending a couple hours on it, and doing some final wiggle testing of some parts and admiring my makeshift repair...I figured it was time to test this bad boy. I step on the porch and close the door.

Good news: The door seems pretty solid and my repair job seems adequate.

Bad news: In my excitement, I forgot to grab the friggin key or even unlock the door handle...effectively locking myself out...again. DOH!

I actually laughed out loud for about 3 seconds, then a switch went off and it turned into anger and I kicked the door in again immediately.

Something earlier this morning reminded me of this experience and I had to chuckle at the stupidity.

Feel free to share your own if you like.

As a pimply youngster I used to spend my summer holidays on my aunties farm.I had the use of an old Relum Telly .22 air rifle for plinking/rats etc.I saw the bigger boys shooting all sorts of stuff,tin cans etc plus some aerosol cans that went 'fizz' when hit.

Well me being a bit of a naive idiot decided to shoot one at point blank range.It blew back in my face,it was in my eyes and I could hardly see so I ran terrified into the house thinking the worse.I remember saying please help me I've got paint in my eyes but was greeted with howls of laughter.It wasn't until I went to wash my face that I saw why.My face was almost completely red from the paint.No harm done in the end,my eyes were sore for a bit but a lesson learned.I never told my mum,she would have had kittens.

One time in my youth I was in a big hurry but I needed gas. I pulled up to the pump, ran in and handed the clerk $10 and said '10 on pump 3'. I then ran out to my car, and pulled away forgetting to even pump the gas. It took me about a minute to realize what I had done. I did a U-turn and returned to the station up to the same pump. Everybody there was laughing at me and clapping. A kindly old msn said, "son you need to slow down". It seemed like it took forever for that damn $10 worth of gas to pump.

lol

Was 14 and after a long winter of having a cast on my broken ankle I had just had it removed
the day before. Was downstairs watching a western and playing around with my Daisy BB gun. Wanted
to be sure all the BB`s were out of it and shook it hard not hearing any rattle, or so I thought.
But it back together and was sitting in a chair watching the western. Pulled up the BB gun in
time to shoot an Indian. Literally, it fired into the screen dead center. Tube made a funny sound
and smoke came out. My brother and his buddies unplugged it quick. I panicked, jumped up and ran
up the stairs. totally forgetting I just got out of a cast for 4 months. My ankle gave out on the
step up, tore the achelies tendon and down I go. Screaming in pain.

Neighbors rush me to the hospital where they try and straighten my foot. I pass out from the pain.
In another cast for 3 more months. Dad was pissed at first, but then saw the light. We had an old
Black & white set for years and he wanted to upgrade to color. I did not to watch it for 6 months.
He figured I had learned my lesson with all the pain I went through.

I keep remembering that day. I can laugh about now. Hurt to much years back.

Ouch Jim...

It has to be harder to laugh at something when there wast that much pain involved!

Oh, I think my most boneheaded stunt was when I was a young Private too full of piss and vinegar.

We had been tossing back a few and I went out the room to visit the latrine. Some joker had closed the two fire doors to the center landing and I decided to be Mr. Martial Arts and kick the doors open.

A mighty three steps, up in the air, kick both doors open....and catch my head on the upper sill of the door.

Straight down on my butt and human red sauce is suddenly streaming over my face.

Fourteen stitches across the top of my forehead later we were all snickering about it.

My butt actually hurt more than the cut.

LOL at some of these stories!

One of my most embarrassing moments was meeting my future in-laws for the very first time...

We're 16 and my soon to be girlfriend invites me to her place for Sunday lunch and to meet her family.

To set this up, her grandparents had a small house in a deteriorating neighborhood and my widowed future mother-in-law with her three children lived in a trailer on the property behind the house. Almost every Sunday afternoon her grandmother and mother would fix a big lunch for the family which included aunts, uncles and cousins.

That afternoon I get into this big fight with my mother about being grounded (don't remember why) after she had impounded my bicycle. So I go across the street and ask my neighbor (kid my age) if I can borrow a bicycle because I needed to get to the other side of Port Allen (about a 5 mile ride). All he has is this ratty old 10-speed with no brakes, that'll have to do.

I'm riding along the River Road (along the Mississippi River levee) and I turn onto Faye St. per her instructions, she was on the corner of Faye and the first street you get to (named 1st St). I don't see the trailer and their car until I'm almost at the house, instead of passing it and coasting until I can turn around, I turn onto the trailer driveway. Oops, I forget I have no brakes!

The trailer driveway ran along the side of the house, the family is sitting inside eating lunch with all the windows open (this was March, I believe). They see this blur go by and hear a BAM! as I crash into the back of my mother-in-law's '70s Malibu Classic coupe (rusted out tank of a car). I'm laid out on the trunk, bicycle front wheel all bent up, they all run out to see if I'm ok. A few scrapes and bruises, nothing broken, I'll live.

Girlfriend comes out of the trailer (probably watching TV or doing homework, quiet type - family gets loud talking over each other) and introduces me to everyone.

We get plates, take them back to the trailer and after eating, sit on the couch for some nice get-to-know-you conversation. About an hour later we hear this excessive honking in the driveway. Ah #%&*$#, it's our car (mom must have done some detective work). Mom gets out and throws the bike in back of the station wagon, we have it out on the driveway, I tell my girlfriend "bye" and we leave.

And that was the first impressions I gave to my new family. Her uncle still picks on me about that day, "Oooh, your momma was mad!"

Man, I have so many I don't know where to start. Several have to do with motorcycles. Like these.

I used to ride from Atlanta to Daytona for the bike rally's. Then when I moved to Maryland, I rode from just a little north of Baltimore to Daytona. Old school motorcycle; no windshield, fairing, etc. Small or no helmet and glasses. Jeans and leather jacket. The point is that riding that far wore at me a bit. One time I got it in my head that the chain was loose. I could look down and see it snaking a bit, but ain't sure whether it was normal, just a bit loose, or was real loose. So I figured a would reach down and feel how much flex and give it had. I just backed off the throttle and started to take my hand off to reach down when I came to my senses. What the f#€k was I doing. Going to put my hand on the chain while moving at 60 mph. Fatigue almost made me do a real stupid thing.

On one ride it was very cold. Again consider what I said above. It was in the mid-40's and the cold was really biting into me. I needed gas and pulled into a station. Pulled up next to the pumps and as I put my leg down, it was so cold it was stiff and weak. Couldn't hold the bike and it went down on its side. I was embarrassed and tried to quickly correct it. Stood on one side and jerked/heaved it up. If you have done that you know it isn't easy and you can't try it slowly. It has to be a decisive lift. Well, again I will blame cold and fatigue. I not only pulled it up, but couldn't stop it from going over the other way. So I get it up and down the kickstand. As I stood there I could see three people looking. Embarrassed to where I thought about riding away to another station, but fueled, payed and went on my humiliated way.

Force, that is so funny. Should be a sketch on TV...

OG you were lucky to listen to that still small voice....
bloke I worked with decided it would be a quicker job if he weighted his bike at the front so back wheel was off the ground on centre stand, and clean/grease the chain with motor running.
He felt a slight tug, wondered where all the blood was coming from, and then noticed his thumb on the floor. He didn't remember anything for a while after that.
Dad thing was he was quite a good pianist; now somewhat hampered thumbless.

I have a similar 'WTF am I doing?' moment...

I used to run a 1970 Triumph saloon. It was a heavy old thing with a straight six and fairly well engineered. Apart from the rust, which all English cars used to do.

I'd spent several days with it jacked up on axle stands cleaning the underside which involved heating and scraping the underseal then using a wire brush in my grinder followed by welding any thing that needed it and finally Hammerite and new underseal sprayed on, all lying on my back and covered in oily filth.

Getting toward the end of the job I was fed up but completely at home with the idea of all that metal suspended above me and decided it was time to move the axle stands so I could get to the next bit.


It was only when I had the car balanced solely on the jack while I was still underneath that I realised what could be just about to happen. Axle stands back in place quick and that'll be enough for today...


I still get the shivers thinking about that one.

Most vivid to me, I was probably 15 years old. Had some neighbors over at the house, and they were chatting with my parents on their way out to the car as they left. I came out on the porch, and was going to get my bike from the garage.

Well I coolly planted my hand on the porch rail to make a hop over the side, instead of going the long way around on the concrete walkway. Hung my foot on the rail, and flipped over upside down and into the flower bed below.

I stood up to everyone laughing in the driveway. I walked calmly on through the bushes to go get my bike.

We may have to vote on these at the end of the thread to agree on best story. Here's my most embarrassing moment of my life. It is 2002. I'm in Florida for a family vacation with my wife and daughter. My wife bought me the Richard Petty Driving Experience as a present. I'm a big fan of Petty and was a NASCAR fan at the time. It was a great experience and awesome thrill ride. I'm with a bunch of other guys just like me and we're all on top of the world, pumped up on Adrenalin and testosterone after our experience is over. There's a little wrap up at the end of the day with certificates and stuff, then we all head out to the parking lot to leave. There's a bunch of guys there that we've all sort of bonded together, plus all our families. With this audience, I put the rental car in D for drive and hit the gas. The car lurches up and goes clunk and comes to an abrupt halt. What the heck!? I have half way driven over a cement parking block and got the car hung up on it. In my defence, I'm from Canada. And even you guys in the northern US probably don't see many parking lots with these anti-snowplow obstructions. But still, open your eyes man! Anyway, these guys all tease the crap out of me and help lift the car off the block. Glad I'll never see them again. LOL

Wizard

Our previous house was on a 1/2 acre lot with a chain link fence around the yard so we could let our dogs outside without having be concerned about them going off of the property. We had a sliding glass door facing the back yard, with a concrete pad extending about 6 feet or so from the rear of the house as a patio.

One day, we discover a big freaking snake is out in our back yard, out by a tree that was about 15 yards or so from the concrete patio. I'm looking out the sliding glass door at this reptile, and thinking about my dogs... one of them was pretty wimpy as dogs go, but the other one was pretty fearless and it looked to me like she could get herself seriously hurt if she tangled with that thing. At that point in time, snake identification was not one of my stronger skills. I'm thinking that it might be a water mocassin (aka cottonmouth), which is a venomous.

So, being the decisive, manly man of action that I was, I decide that I need to send this demonic creature back to whatever hell it spawned from. I retrieve my trusty 12 Gauge Remington 1100, with the slug barrel and extended magazine tube that I kept in the bedroom for self defense purposes against any unauthorized 2 legged varmints. Unfortunately, that role called for being loaded with buckshot, which it was... whereas the snake situation made birdshot loads preferable.
I didn't have any birdshot loads handy, at least not any that I could think of at the moment while I was anticipating the slaying of this wingless dragon that had laid claim to my backyard. Buckshot would just have to do. I'd knocked down plenty of pepper poppers in IPSC matches with it, so it seemed feasible. I strode out to the back edge of the patio to do battle with the scaly serpent, as my wife watched her hero while safely ensconced inside, ready to welcome me back and shower me with adoration and gratitude. OK, maybe not all that much adoration...

The snake has not moved while I was off collecting the instrument of its impending demise. I raise the shotgun to my shoulder, align the sight picture and press the trigger. Bang! Dirt kicks up all around the snake, but it appears to be none the worse for it. It's head starts to rise up, apparently searching for the source of the disturbance. Dammit... I take another shot. More dirt geysers all around it. The snake's head turns to face my direction, and I fire another shot. More dirt geysers, and now the snake has definitely decided that the source of it's problem is where I'm standing (one could argue that it was demonstrating greater intelligence at that point than I was...) and it has decided to do something about it. The snake starts coming toward me, and it is hauling a$$. My response comprises of:

1. Firing another aimed shot
2. Backing up (toward the sliding glass door) a step
3. Telling my wife to open the door
4. Repeating items 1, 2 & 3 as necessity required and ammo allowed. Item 3 may have been getting louder and an octave higher during subsequent repetitions. (At least that is my wife's version of it...)

Fortunately, my wife was supportive, and cooperative enough to open the sliding glass door as I was backing up to it. I triggered off my last shot as I was backing through the opened door, at which point the snake was just about to the edge of the concrete pad, and coming at something just short of warp speed.

I manage to get myself and the boomstick inside and quickly slam the glass door shut. The snake comes right up to the glass door and strikes at me, hitting the glass at my belt level. (No, that is not an exaggeration... it was a long freakin' snake. It turns out it was not a water mocassin, but rather a Black Racer, as best as I can tell (They are non-venomous, but one that big is still not to be trifled with). After a short time, it moves off to a corner of the patio, and curls up under a folding chaise lounge. While it was at the back door, I spotted a crease in the scaly hide of the beast. The skin was not broken, but it was a line of indentation. I did not spot any other damage to the critter. So out of 8 rounds of buckshot, (I don't remember for certain whether it was 00 or number 4 buckshot) a mere single pellet managed to make contact, and that was about as minimal as it could be. Needless to say, I was not happy, and the snake was definitely less happy than I was.

After the adrenaline wore off (me, not the snake), I did manage to then remember where I had some birdshot loads, and filled with self-recrimination, I retrieved said loads. By the time I had accomplished that, the snake had moved off and was no longer in sight. Great... now I've potentially got a pi$$ed off monster snake in the palmetto bushes! Ugh.

The rest of the story passes uneventfully. I went out into the backyard to make a (admittedly brief) search. With shotgun in hand, I was stomping around in the mowed grass area, well back from the palmetto bushes. It was either going to seek revenge, or hopefully move on to some other location that didn't have a guy with a shotgun messing up it's sunbathing. Fortunately, it didn't make another appearance, so I got off easy with merely wounded pride.

Epilogue:

Knowing later that it was not a water mocassin, I felt bad about shooting at it. Black Racers are good snakes to have around, and I'm pretty sure it would have just moved off quickly had one of my dogs shown an interest in it.

It was also instructive to experience just how poor a choice that buckshot loads were for dealing with a zero legged varmint. It was definitely a lesson learned, and a mistake not to be repeated. Later on at the current house, back in 2004, we had 2 out of the 4 florida hurricanes hit our county. It resulted in a 5 and 1/2 foot rattle snake showing up behind our screened in pool area. Due to the close proximity to our pool enclosure, a shotgun wasn't really a good choice, so my Ruger Mk II (.22 LR caliber handgun) was put to good use instead. A couple of days later, one of the babies made an appearance and was also dispatched.

My most boneheaded moment ever involved a motorcycle.

Stopped for gas on a road trip. Late at night, tank nearly empty.

I go inside, pay, come back out, key is gone. WTF? Spent an HOUR looking all over the roughly 30 foot distance from the bike to the cash register - it becomes clearly obvious that not only had I dropped the key, but someone had picked it up and pocketed it, either to really ruin my night or to attempt stealing the bike later.

Oh, and this was in the mountains and it was getting really cold.

So I'm sort of getting into a panic over the situation but then some guy shows up and offers to hotwire the bike for me. Great! We do that (which among other things involved destroying the ignition switch), I had the dude a $20 in appreciation, and I'm about to be on my merry way............. except I still need gas, and the key to open the gas cap!

I slapped myself so hard on the forehead it hurt.

Ended up having to rent a motel room for the night, and removing the battery from the bike since anyone could start it right up at this point. Had a locksmith create a new key the next day, and ended up having to replace the ignition switch down the road too.

Oh, actually maybe I have an even more boneheaded motorcycle story - because this one could have actually killed me...

I was on a cross country ride going through Arizona late at night. It's really common on motorcycle rides to hit areas with seriously different temperatures - even on a local ride.

I was riding through a particularly cold area in the desert and was planning on stopping for the night soon, but then I hit a much warmer zone and decided as long as that held up I'd go another hour or two.

My 18 year old inexperienced ass didn't take note of the fact that this happened as I was leaving the desert and heading into mountains toward Flagstaff - and climbing a LOT.

I pull into this little mountain town called Ash Fork for the night and discover I can barely get myself off of the motorcycle. Figured I was just exceptionally stiff from the ride.

I go inside to this motel front desk and this woman just CRAPS at my appearance yelling "ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? DO YOU NEED AN AMBULANCE?".

I was completely perplexed. Well what had happened is I'd gone nearly full body numb from hypothermia and didn't even know it - that "warmer zone" I'd ridden into was actually a COLDER zone and I'd mistaken the numbness for warmth!

The woman wanted to know what was wrong with my face. I touched it, couldn't feel anything from it (but somehow my hands weren't numb), except a slimy sensation.

My entire face and front half of my head was covered in about 1/8th of an inch of bloody snot. I looked worse than Freddy Krueger.

It took cold bath water and about an hour before I could even use warm water to warm back up. I never let THAT happen again.

Happened to have my car in a controlled drive into/through a wall.


Not my brightest moment, nope.

EDIT: Ah, I also had a controlled power walk into a metal door- which resulted in 5 stitches on my nose's bridge.

Anyone have a head-on with another motorcycle?

I did.

The year is 1967 and at the cottage. We are all standing around at the club house bending the elbow and people start bugging the cousin and me to take them for a ride on the bikes. We give in and John (cousin) takes off first. A few minutes later I leave. Now there is this hill called Bulldozer because it is steep and is curved. John has reached the bottom of Bulldozer and the guy on the back bets him he can't climb the hill in 3rd gear. He takes the bet and they start up. Meanwhile I am on the short flat section at the top of the hill. John sees my light in the trees and moves to the inside of the curve (duh??). I see his light and move to the inside of the curve. We meet half way. Probably would have missed each other but there was a rock I hit and it set me straight into John's bike, fork tube to fork tube. John stayed on his bike. The guy on the back ended up half way down the hill. I stayed on my bike but the guy on my back was launched like a rocket and flew over John. I should mention that I had clip on bars. We got up and after checking each other out had one hell of a laugh and a few more elbows bent later.

We weren't going fast so just some scrapes but I bent the fork tube on my bike.

It was some weekend, be sure. Took the fork leg off the bike and rode with John back to the city to get it straightened. We are on the freeway coming into Hull and John is complaining the car behind is too close and it was. Told him I would fix that so twisted around and extended the fork tube and semi pointed it at the guy in the car. Four smoking tires on the car as the guy panic braked. No more tailgating.

There's an office building that holds a medical center that has these glass doors that for some reason fake me out.

I walked through the glass panel to the right of the sliding glass doors, knocking it off of the track that holds it (thankfully it's hinged on one side) to the stares of old people, the maintenence guy, and the security guard.

I rather sheepishly put it back on its track with a grin and an apology, and wiped the forehead mark on the glass with my sleeve.

That's pretty bad, but doing the exact same thing a month later on a re-visit is even worse.



Doing dumb stuff like that is pretty much the tale of my life.