It was raining. The kind that hangs over a day and drowns it in mist, leaving everyone who dares interact sluggish. On a college campus, everyone trudges, everyone gets coated in drowsy affect, everyone longs to on the couch doing nothing.

Unlucky for me, I had a class. A lab, to be exact, some form of chemistry. And it should be mentioned, though free of judgement, that I was running late. Now, this led to the unfortunate reality of rapidly deciding on a shoe, throwing them on and rushing out the door, no thought of slipping anywhere to be found. Let it be mentioned though: the following events were not entirely my fault, as one would would think rainboots would give you traction when wet. What folly.

Regardless, here’s the story. Picture you a student union building. Tall glass windows, open concept, student cafe, the works. A large staircase descends one side, in full view of all the common space. At the top, it is level with the apartments across the street. The bottom leads to a quick walk downhill to lab. A reliable shortcut to circumvent pouring rain given proper footwear, which again, I lack.

I race down the steps, my foot catches the edge, slick with water, and I go down most ungracefully. Full slip-on-a-banana cartoon, I mustve slid down multiple steps before I caught myself. I looked up, fully aware I was in view of everyone downstairs or above me, and made direct eye contact with a guy.

A hot guy.

Oh, the mortification.

But, it doesnt end there. No, why would it?Laughing a bit at myself, a bandaid for the pain of injured pride, I stand up. Mind you, this all happened fast, and I have still not looked away from said cute man. Shaking my head, I continue my voyage down the stairs. I lift my foot, a single step achieved, and I visit the floor again, grabbing the handrail on the way down. It is only now i look away from my hopefully fully-entertained watcher; I dont always put on a show this good. I lay spread out on the steps a good second or two, cataloging regrets and resubmitting myself to reality. I do eventually pull myself up- I am late to lab, remember- and complete tbe journey down the steps, never falling again. Success.

I now face another harrowing path: the exit. Located past the very table Hot Guy resides. I have to endure the walk of shame as I pass, in disbelief and a respectful dash of humor and embarrasment. He said nothing to me, and I must say I regret not saying something myself. It may have healed my pride to successfully joke (or, if we’re being real: flirt), but alas, it shall remain an embarrassment.