So, the professor was lecturing, and I was desperately trying to prove I was still conscious, but sleep was suffocating me like someone had slammed a pressure cooker onto my head. Suddenly, as I stared blankly at the professor, my brain went, “Should we take a nap?”
And I was like, “Say less.”
So, I passed out like I was one of the people in the Cave of Sleep (a.k.a. the deepest slumber known to mankind).
I woke up to the worst feeling ever—a squeeze. Like, a real tight squeeze. There was no escape, no way out. I shifted a little to see if I could manage, and that’s when I realized… I had completely lost control. I tried to salvage the situation, raised my hand to excuse myself, but before I could even react—the floodgates opened.
My poor chair couldn't handle the pressure, and before I knew it, a full-on natural disaster had unfolded beneath me. At first, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could do some damage control… NOPE. It was over. The warmth I felt underneath me was enough to confirm my worst fears.
And then… the water started leaking. Yes, LEAKING. Like, an actual mini waterfall formed beneath my seat, dripping down onto the floor. And because life wasn’t done humiliating me yet, the sound of the drips was ridiculously loud—like a leaky faucet in an empty house at 3 AM.
The worst part? People started noticing.
The lecture hall went dead silent, and all that remained was the sound of my public humiliation in liquid form. I didn’t know what to save—my legs or my dignity.
At that moment, I wasn’t just attending a lecture… I was the conductor of the most embarrassing symphony of all time.
I walked out of the lecture hall with extreme caution, like I was carrying a bomb that could go off at any second. I rushed to the bathroom, yanked off my pants—there was no saving them at this point. I tried to clean up as best as I could, but honestly? It was a disaster.
Then I remembered my roommate. I called her, told her it was a code red emergency, and she showed up after a bit with a bag of clothes.
She walked into the bathroom completely unfazed—not even the slightest hint of concern. If anything, she was trying not to laugh. Like she was looking at me thinking, "How did you end up like this?"
She handed me the bag, pulled out a pair of pants and a t-shirt, and I started changing as fast as humanly possible.
Just as I bent down to pull the pants up… BAM!
The pants ripped wide open at the back—like a clean split right down the middle. Instant ventilation.
I looked at my friend. She was just standing there, laughing. Not even trying to hide it. Just casually enjoying the show like she was watching a comedy movie.
And then, with the calmest voice ever, she said:
"Uh… you’re kinda… open back there."
I just stood there, torn between laughing and crying. But at this point? I had suffered too much. I couldn’t even help it—I burst out laughing with her.
We walked out of the bathroom with me wearing my ripped pants, moving like a defeated soldier. And every time the wind whooshed through the rip, I felt like the whole world could see me.