How NOT To Make a Good Impression

First of all, I want to thank everyone for the kind wishes you sent me after my last sick post. I am feeling a bit better today...see? It works both ways!

Fair warning: this post is rather long, contains no pictures, and no knitting. But if you want to feel better about yourself for some reason: feel free to read about my shame, which I am happily (and anonymously) sharing with everyone. I guarantee you a healthy shot of schadenfreude.

This post is about an extremely embarrassing incident that happened on Tuesday night. No knitting has taken place since Monday, and if you will bear with me and read my story, hopefully you will understand and forgive me.

I am about to enter my final semester of graduate school. My department hosted a networking event/cocktail reception on Tuesday evening, and since I am involved in the film industry the place was full of Hollywood movers and shakers. We were in the very posh lobby of a certain theater, which happened to have a very loooong, marble bar along one wall. This will be an important detail in a moment.

I was having a good time, schmoozing and chatting with people, and generally just excited to be out of my house for the first time in days and days. At one point, my program director, Ms. Well-Known Producer, stepped up to the podium to thank everyone for coming and to introduce one of our evening's celebrated guests. Next, Mr. Long-Time Producer went up and said a few words to introduce our super-important guest, Mr. Legendary Producer.

Well, sometime in the middle of Mr. Long-Time Producer's talk, I started to get hot. Really really hot. Then my vision started to blur. I glanced behind me and saw that no one was between myself and the long bar. I could make my way over to the bar and lean against it! Except for one problem: Mr. Legendary Producer was casually leaning against the bar, waiting for Mr. Long-Time Producer to introduce him to the crowd. I didn't really want to be in the spotlight when he was called up to speak, so I thought I would wait until he was called up and then skirt around a pillar to a seating area and flop down.

But as I was formulating this plan in my head, black spots started appearing everywhere, and the blood was rushing through my ears so much I couldn't hear anything anyway. I turned and casually sauntered over to the bar (and by "casually sauntered", of course I mean "stumbled blindly") where I managed to delicately set my wine glass down (read: slammed my glass down so hard I'm sure the bartender thought I was drunk).

That's the last I remember. From what I was told later, there was a colleague of mine standing against the other end of the bar when I got there and she came over to say hello. Since I could neither see nor hear anything at the time, she may have tap danced topless for me for all I know. What I do know is that I woke up several minutes later, slumped awkwardly into a padded chair with someone yelling "Can you hear me? Can you hear me?" in my face as someone else was ushering all the guests into an adjoining hall.

Yes, that's right. I passed out right as Mr. Legendary Producer was being called to the podium, but from what I'm told, my colleague managed to catch me and make it so surreptitious that only a few people noticed. Until, of course, they cut short Mr. Legendary Producer's soliloquy to shoo everyone out of the hall so the paramedics could come ask me all sorts of embarrassing questions in front of my remaining colleagues: "What medications are you on? Any chance you're pregnant? When did you have your last menstrual period?" That sort of thing.

To make matters worse, one of my shoes had slipped off and all I could think was, "Damn! I meant to paint my toenails today!" Plus I was so damned hot that I was sweating profusely all over my brand new shirt, so of course I was annoyed with that. Ms. Well-Known Producer was kind enough to sit on the floor next to me and bathe my face with ice cubes, but then I kept thinking, "My hair and makeup are going to look awful!" Right. As if I was just going to get up off the floor and start chatting people up again.

To cut a long story short, they took me to the hospital and kept me for hours, running all sorts of inconclusive tests on me. The Brain was able to make the drive up and keep me company. The doctor wanted me to stay under observation for 24 hours to see if a pre-existing heart condition caused the episode, but I just wanted to go home. I figured if it happens again I'll stay. But one episode in 29 years? Meh. I'm blaming it on my cold and staying at home.

So there you have it: my absolutely MORTIFYING episode for the week. I would advise against this strategy, however, as a way to make people remember you. Only two things would have made it worse: if I had actually fallen backwards onto Mr. Legendary Producer, or if I had peed my pants when I passed out. This horrible possibility didn't even occur to me until the ER nurse asked me if I had "voided" when it happened. Can you imagine? Suddenly my whole episode didn't seem so bad after all.