I don’t think of myself as an exciting person. I prefer to spend my time at home with my family, living a quiet life. But then I came across something and it reminded me that life…happens.

Sometimes it happens as a result of the choices you make. Sometimes it happens as a result of the choices others make. Regardless, it happens, and sometimes those events sound a little too much to be real.

I came across this tweet (are posts on X still called tweets?) from the author Skye Warren a few weeks ago.

It was a clever announcement for her new professor/student romance novel. I’ve not read it, though it nearly hooked me despite romance not being my usual genre. What it did instead was unearth a memory.

So gather round, because it’s story time.

I will preface this story by stating no one-night stand occurred. Still, the result was incredibly awkward for myself and possibly the other party who I can’t actually speak for, but the vibe was there.

The summer I graduated high school, I landed a job at a local independent video rental store. I loved that job. Movies and TV shows were a big part of my personality back then.

As an independent video store, we had porn, but because it was a small store there was no curtained off area where people could go to make their selection. Instead, the films themselves were housed under the counter and at the back of the store was a ring binder with covers slid into protective sleeves where people could flip through to make their decision near a selection of pool maintenance products.

One day, not long after I’d been hired, a man came into the video store. He had a little look around and stopped at the desk to ask a question, ‘If I were to open an account, would my wife be able to check what I’ve rented?’

Me, an undiagnosed but probably neurospicy person, accepted the question at face value, and responded that she’d only be able to check rental history if she was named on the account.

That made this stranger relax, and he asked what was needed to open an account. Due to problems in the past, there were a number of things required to verify the customer was who they said they were and that they resided where they said they resided. He asked if there was any way around it, and the answer was a resounding no.

He left and returned a short while later with all the information required. I set up an account for him, get his card sorted, and off he went to look at the selection of videos on offer.

For the most part, I ignored him. I was working - I had new movies to sort. The ones that were reserved needed to be put behind the counter and the others that were left needed to be put on display.

Eventually the man returned to the desk. He’s wasn’t carrying a DVD case with him, so I asked if he’d found everything okay. He had, and he requested a number from the book in the back.

This was the first time anyone had rented porn from me. I’d processed such films as returns, but…not actually looked someone in the eye and had them request it.

I found the number and opened the nondescript brown case with only a number written onto a small piece of white paper on its spine to scan the VHS (oh, yes. The porn hadn’t been upgraded to DVD yet!). The title presented itself. Ethnic Orgies 4.

Brace yourself. The awkward arrives!

August rolled around, and I’m running late for Sociology 101. It was my second choice after the anthropology class I had signed up for was cancelled due to low enrolment. I arrived with seconds to spare, and thankfully found a seat at the back of the class.

I grabbed a pen and notebook out of my bag, and looked up to see who the professor (the American version of professor) was. It was the man who had rented Ethnic Orgies 4 from me back in June.

Our eyes locked. We both froze. What could we say?

If you guessed nothing then you would be correct. I broke eye contact first and stared at my notebook the entire first session.

I have never in my life felt so awkward. I was so awkward, I couldn’t possibly participate.

At the end of the class, I was asked to remain behind, and he requested that I not say anything to my peers about his renting habits. Firstly, it was confidential information and I was nothing if not a rule follower. But secondly? I was far too mortified to know such an intimate detail about a teacher.

And that, my friends, was the most awkward first semester of my higher education.

Do you have any stories where real life was far more awkward than it was sexy or romantic?