Public speaking infront of a room of strangers.
Walking up to the podium, feeling every foot step becoming heavier then the last. The feeling of all eyes in the room singling on you. Slight murmur in the back, followed by a supressed chuckle. You feel that little bead of swet on your brow as another one runs down from your arm pit. As you reach the podium and face the crowd all noises stop, except you hear that damn cricket chirp.
You unfold your notes and clear your throat. The sound reverberating off of the walls. You know what you've written, you've practiced it a hundred times, but in this instance the entire thing has lept from your brain. Even worse, you know everyone in the room knows you've completely forgotten also. So you take to your notes but the words look to be in some foreign language and you have to decipher every single one. You struggle finding the way to form sounds as if some infant learning to speak.
You then get into that tunnel vision mode where the only thing that exists is you and your notes. All else is irrelivant. You pour through your notes. You then have some flash back to high school and a teacher saying "Remember to make eye contact". So like some robot you look up and scan the audiance, then it's right back to your notes. Periods, comas, all those things you probably thought were funny when you practiced in front of your mirror - meaningless.
You rattle off what was supposed to be a 5 minute speach in about 1 1/2 minutes. You look up and see the blank stairs, knowing they are expecting more. The awkward pause lasts an eternity, as you expectantly wait for the applause you deserve. Then it dawns on you. They have no idea your done. So you say thank you, pause and head out of the room. All you can do now is leave the room and hope to god no one notices the waterfall of sweat that's been poaring down your back.