Rain of Shame

We all know that things happen to me that don't happen to other people (evidence here, here, and here).  It may or may not have to do with the fact that I'm always walking or riding the bus somewhere.  The following story involves both.  One time, years ago, I was walking to the bus stop from my apartment.  It was a well-populated bus stop just north of Dupont Circle.  As was often the case, I was running late and the bus was just about to pull away as I rushed up.

I reached into my purse to pull out my SmarTrip card as the bus driver stopped and opened the doors.  As I dug in to get my card, in a way that would only happen to me, my hand caught on something, and I whipped out a nearly-full (but already opened) box of tampons.  In slow motion, as is always the case with these things, they flew into the air, raining down feminine protection on my head.  It was at that exact moment that all 63 people on the bus turned their heads to the window to see what was going on.  People on the opposite side of the bus got up to look out the window.  If it had been a plane, it would've tilted to one side.  I hurriedly scooped up as many of the tampons as I could and put them back in my purse.  The bus was waiting, though, so as I was hurrying aboard, I still had a bouquet of tampons in my hand.

Photo by ecastro via Flickr

I walked down the aisle to a seat, and it was like that scene in Forrest Gump where he wants a seat on the bus but they were all taken.  And there was no sweet-faced Jenny to take pity on me.  There I stood, in my shame, in the middle of the aisle while every last person on the bus laughed and pointed at me with their eyes.  I learned my lesson that day . . . when taking feminine protection to work, carry it in a separate bag from your SmarTrip card.  Or just buy it when you get to work instead.

(It's in French, but you get the point.)