I was sitting at my desk quietly working when in walked a guy with a parrot on his shoulder. A real live green parrot that had been taught to squeak every time anyone said “parrot.” And that word was used a lot during his visit.
My Boss came down to meet him while holding one of her two Yorkies. As the two people shook hands, I wondered how my life had become a Felini movie.
Not to take away from your thunder, but that really isn’t very wierd. Boy scout camps play TAPS as part of the experience. There was probably a scout camp on the other side of the lake. 3:00 in the morning is a bit wierd though.
Not seen, but heard.
I just stepped out a couple of minutes ago to run a quick errand. As I stepped out of my building, a guy was walking past. He was using a hands-free phone, and I only heard one sentence as he passed. Can you guess what it was?
Can you hear me now?
I’m still smiling just thinking about it!
Could be that someone who happened to play the trumpet was visiting their dead relatives at 3 in the morning.
Aaahhh. Johnny.
Personally I don’t find him strange as I grew up in Adelaide, and he’s a fixture. But sometimes it’s just awesome to be standing in the middle of Rundle Mall when Johnny’s a-coming. In that split second you find out who all the new transplants to Adelaide are as the double-takes and headturns start occurring.
Christmas 1999.
Ormond Beach, Florida.
I was single and living in an upstairs flat above 2 businesses (closed for the holiday) accross the street from the ocean (A1A, Oceanshore Blvd.) It’s about 8 a.m. I wake up after a night of partying with friends, make a cup of coffee, and go wander out onto my balcony. Christmas morning and I have nowhere to be until noon. It’s extremely foggy, the ocean is very calm, and it’s eerily quiet out. No traffic either direction on A1A. No neighbors outside.
Then, coming up the side street to the left of me I see flashing red lights through the fog. No sirens. A big red firetruck comes creeping quietly out of the fog and takes a right onto A1A directly in front of me. As it passes, not more than 25 yards away from me, there he is. Santa Clause on top of the truck eye-level with me and not a soul around. He just rolls on by without a word just staring and waving at me.
I’m still in shock standing there in jeans without a shirt holding my coffee so all I can do is just wave back. And a half second later he disappears into the fog and it was dead quiet again.
I just stood there for 5 minutes thinking “what the hell did I drink last night?”
It was probably one of the most surreal things that I’ve ever seen.
Dennis Woodruff and his various art cars used to pass through my neighborhood on an almost daily basis. I never got tired of looking at them.
Well, here on campus there’s Nearly Shoeless Nick, who hasn’t worn shoes except in the dining hall, where it’s required, for the last twelve years. Summer it’s not a big deal, 'cause it’s a pretty hippy campus, but when you see the bare footprints in the snow, it’s pretty impressive.
It made perfect sense because the circus was in town, but seeing the elephants walking across 8th Avenue was vaguely surreal.
Two days ago I was sitting on my deck and two people walked down the road into my apartment complex, singing. It was about 10PM. They seemed to be singing some kind of high-pitched ancient churchy music stuff. I couldn’t make out the words.
What makes it strange is that I’ve never seen that before in my complex. People around here don’t make much noise and they sure don’t sing in public. The people weren’t creating a disturbance or anything, but it struck me as unusual.
One morning I walked out of my co-op. Two guys are walking along the sidewalk on my side of the street. A petite woman is jogging down the sidewalk across the street, when suddenly a car comes screeching around the corner and stops right in front of me. All of the sudden, one guy takes off running diagonally across the street where I watch the jogging lady suddenly tackle him. He is being chased by the other guy, a burn-out hippy type with long hair. At the same time two people jump out of the car - they are dressing in business clothes but with little FBI-type ear pieces. They proceed to arrest the guy.
Probably a drug bust. But it was very weird to see apparently normal people suddenly whip out badges and handcuffs when you least expect it.
I work at a dog track. I have a saying: If you are the weird guy at the dog track, you need to be concerned. The guy that wore the same shit-in pants two days in a row, the guy that lives in the field behind us who wears khaki shorts and a tie and has a braided beard. The guy that wears the super short daisy dukes with a tied in the middle flannel shirt, with combat boots, the guy that adorns himself with toilet paper in his ears, hair, shirt, the guy that throws sparkley stuff all around him like a pretty pretty princess, the 70ish lady that dresses like a 20 year old groupie.
And for the record, Sean King, the former Tampa Bay Bucs player is a complete and total asshole.
Heh! Those are the Solstice Cyclists, although they’re more commonly known as the naked cyclists.
Not as surreal as some of the previous sightings in this thread, but we found it amusing.
When DR and I were living just outside Carson City, the only way in or out of our secluded valley included a four-way stop in the boonies. As we came up to the stop sign, trotting down the shoulder was a German Shepherd. Now, you know how slaphappy dogs typically are when like this, tongues lolling, not a care in the world. Not this guy. He had a very purposeful jog and looked neither left nor right as he crossed in front of us and continued on.
“Dog on a mission,” DR commented.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I don’t know where he’s going but something’s going to happen when he gets there.”
One thing that I see so often that it’s no longer strange to me- native African women walking down the street with 12-packs of Mountain Dew or a laundry basket balanced on their heads, in full African dress and maybe an infant slung on their backs. My neighborhood has a lot of refugees.
Truly, the image of globalization.
The 3am was the weird part.
The lake is part of the campgound. On the other side of the lake is a steep hill that leads to the main road, well as “main” as it can be in the boonies.
Across the road the steep hill continues and there is a graveyard way at the top of the hill. It is a very old graveyard. I can only assume from maybe a family plot or perhaps an old church that is no longer standing. I am sure that no one is buried there anymore. I doubt there were any boy scouts up there but perhaps there was a lone scout that decided to practice in a graveyard at 3am.
It was far in the distance but completly audible.
Maybe their relative died at 3am? I have no clue. Like I said it was something I will never forget. It was fifteen years ago but it remains crystal clear to this day.
Probably headed to or from the farmers market. Normally they dont do livestock at the farmers market, but occasionally they will =)
If the gent was hispanic, he might have been headed to the meat market … where they do occasionally slaughter on site. Little known place, they do a killer fresh chorizo but you have to get there early because they sell out and tend to close around 9 am…
