When I was in College, I had to take a Communication class. Most Universities have a required class like this for graduation. Basically, you go through some basics of speech, give a few talks, and off you go. Well, as you can imagine, with the class being required, it is always full. My class was no exception.

It was an early Fall day, and still warm and sunny outside. The class was held in a theater style classroom, with risers going up about 8 levels. On this particular day I was running a bit late. As I grabbed the knob to get into the classroom, it was just a minute or two before the start of class.

As walked into the room, I was quickly scanning the rows for an empty seat. It was relatively quiet in the room, as most students were preparing their notebooks. This particular classroom’s door didn’t close automatically. You had to reach back and pull the knob to shut the door as you walked through.

As I scanned the seats, nervous about not being late, I blindly reached back to grab the door knob and pull it closed. Unbeknownst to me, a young, pretty coed had hustled up behind me. She, too, was trying not to be late to class. She had on a very preppy, plaid skirt as it turns out. Of course I only learned this later.

As I was scanning the room, I reached back and grabbed at what I thought was the door knob. Sadly, and much to my dismay, my hand didn’t find the door knob. Instead, it found its way to the only thing that was behind me a door knob height. Yes, I plunged my hand directly into the pretty coed’s crotch.

The quiet of the classroom was broken by her quick, shrill little yelp. Each of the hundred or so heads immediately turned in my direction, as I stood with my hand still in the vicinity of her crotch. I pulled back quickly, but not before the smart aleck professor made some relatively rude comment. I would like to tell you that it was something particularly witty, but his words are lost to eternity.

I turned shades of red that can only now be replicated by high-end graphics cards on professional computers. As it turned out, I knew the girl (although I could not tell you her name today if my life depended on it). After her initial reaction to my shocking gesture, she broke into the giggles. We sat next to each other for the class, and she giggled throughout at my plight.

I didn’t quite find it as funny as she did that day, but in retrospect, once my face returned to a normal color, it was pretty darn hilarious.

I don’t know if there is a moral to this story, but I will tell you that it is quite embarrassing to be caught with your hand in the cookie jar, however unintentional it may be.