This didn’t happen to me, but it still dropped my jaw. My girlfriend and her mother were on a trip and they checked into a Holiday Inn for the evening. They unpacked their suitcases and pulled the blankets back and…and…the pillow was SOAKED IN BLOOD. Needless to say, they went screaming out into the hallway and a big police investigation ensued. I would have fainted dead away…
The launch of the Space Shuttle Challenger in late 1985.
Two events jump to mind.
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The first time I ever heard someone speak with one of those artificial voice boxes. It was an ordinary-looking woman in line behind me at the Purolator office and when she started talking I just about jumped out of my pants.
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A few years back when I was in the Army myself and six or seven other guys did a road trip to represent our unit in a volleyball tournament. I can’t play volleyball worth a damn so I’m not sure how I got sent, but hey, cheap beer.
Anyway, we got to our rooms (four-bunk rooms in a barracks, of course) and I’m in a room with Mike, Randy, and Dan. Dan is a very unusual guy noted for generally being a funny, smart, and terrific individual, but he’s also slightly nuts. During the Gulf War he tried to convince us there were Iraqis spies at Queen’s University, the local big U. He said people were watching him, that sort of thing.
So we’re unpacking our stuff and Dan is unpacking his knapsack. As we watch in amazement, my jaw hanging open like a cargo ramp, Dan takes the items from his knapsack. This is the entire list of items Dan brought with him, in the order he removed them:
- A gym outfit
- A small bag of toiletries
- A rolled-up, crumpled, grey three-peice suit
- A Sterno camp stove
- A handaxe
We slept in shifts.
a jogger who was smoking a cigarette
Oh, goody, I get to tell two of my favorite stories. Both take place on the NYC subway.
- I’m on the 2/3 train headed home to Brooklyn from Manhattan. It’s a sunday evening, late-ish, not crowded. I’m just buried in my newspaper, not noticing a thing in the world, barely keeping track of the station announcements - just listening for “Bergen Street,” which was the stop before mine. Suddenly I’m jarred out of my reading by the conducter: “BOY-gen Street! BOY-gen street,” sounding for all the world like Mel Blanc (that accent’s basically disappeared). I start laughing uncontrollably, fold up my newspaper, and look down. Lying on the train floor, a few feet away from me, is:
a large, quite detailed
dildo.
Just try, for a moment, to picture the many ways it might have got there.
- I’m on the F train on Sunday morning, headed into Manhattan from Brooklyn. Not very crowded. The area around the Fourth Street stop was pretty rough then - mostly decayed industrial, with some desparately sad housing. This unshaven, kinda creepy-looking guy gets on the train, carrying the empty cover to a porno video. Everyone’s getting the drift that he’s not all there, an impression confirmed when he opens his pants and begins masturbating enthusiastically while staring at the video cover.
Now, the F train usually has the kind of subway cars whose end doors don’t open. So we’re all stuck there - but everyone quickly moves to the opposite end from him. No one dared say or do anything else, since we figured he was probably schizophrenic and might be violent if provoked. When the train pulled into the next station, most of us dashed to the next car.
A little over a week ago I was cruising through Illinois (could have been Indiana, I suppose) with my father, the truck driver on our way to California. I was staring at the eastbound lane, watching the cars/trucks/motorcycles, etc. It was very windy that day. Anyway, off in the distance on the eastbound lane, I see what looks like the kind of large containers (think “dumpsters”) they have at construction sites for scrapes. So I’m thinking, “Woo, construction. How fun. :rolleyes:” and waiting for the crossover when the eastbound traffic takes one of our lanes.
As we get closer, I realize that it isn’t a dumpster in the middle of the road, and those flashing lights aren’t construction crews. Since they were emergency vehicles, we slowed down. (And because we both really wanted to see what was going on. Call us nosy.) There was a semi crushed completely flat (no, the body was completely flat and not even connected to the frame anymore) and two trailers in the middle of the road. (The “dumpster”.) It was so horrible, mangled metal and shattered glass. The tops of both trailers were torn off and scattered across the interstate.
The driver had been pulling doubles (two shorter trailers connected to each other instead of one big one; companies who allow their drivers to haul doubles (and triples) do so because you can haul more freight without paying two drivers) and my dad and I decided that the wind caught the trailers from underneath, carrying them and placing them not-so-gently on top of the truck. I have never in my life seen anything quite so horrible. And we knew from the sight of things that there really isn’t anyway that the driver could have walked away alive. 
[rant] (Sorry, I feel pretty strongly about this)
Doubles and triples are NOT SAFE. In fact, hauling triples is illegal in MN (more states, too but that’s the only one I know of off the top of my head.) It is easy for a driver to control trailer activity when s/he has one trailer, because it’s connected directly to the truck. It’s easier to feel pulls and anticipate movement. It’s also easier to control the trailer in unexpected situations (like really strong winds) because you can feel inside the truck what the trailer is doing.
Trucking companies KNOW THIS. Sure, you have to have a special license to haul multiple trailers, but that doesn’t make the drivers psychic. I cringe when I see a car pass a truck hauling more than one, especially when it’s windy, just waiting for one of the trailers to come crashing down on them. (I’ve only seen this happen once, in a year of traveling. My dad, who’s been driving for AGES says it’s not very common. Still scares me though.) I am beyond happy that my dad refuses to pull multiples.
[/rant] (Really, I’m sorry this is so long.)
I’m like 99.9% sure that triples are illegal in all 50 states, 'cause i remember it was a big deal seeing them in Australia, they call them “road trains” (or something like that).
At one point Oregon legalized triples. I don’t know if this is still the case because I moved shortly afterward, but the negating initiative was put forward almost immediately (I still remember one of the commercials).
They are somewhat intimidating to drive next to.
My story (nothing spectacular, but it is the first that comes to mind):
I’m in the busy lobby of a movie theater waiting for baglady to finish with the restroom. There is a cute girl in the lobby, probably about 18 years old. She is holding two large (and you know what large means at the movies) sodas. Suddenly she lifts both cups up into the air and dumps the sodas onto her head. She sets the cups on a counter, runs her fingers through her hair and calmly walks out of the theater. Also, I had visual confirmation that she wasn’t wearing a bra, as her shirt was suddenly transparent.
All I could think was sorority intiation, but otherwise I have no idea.
As a sidebar: It was interesting to see how unaware most people are. This was a busy lobby and probably only 10 people were aware enough to have noticed.
No, they’re not although I feel they should be. I see them pretty often, mostly out west. (Montana springs to mind, but I can’t be sure. Can’t seem to find my atlas with all the listed restrictions either. Oh well.) I think that all drivers should refuse to haul them. Like I said, everyone knows they aren’t safe. If drivers refused to haul them, companies couldn’t assign them anymore. Problem solved. I think they should get rid of doubles, too. Not like trucking companies actually care about their drivers, so they won’t push for it. I suppose the DOT could step in, but they don’t exactly care either. Bastards. (Yes, I’m bitter.)
The year was 1985. The place, R.A.F Lakenheath in the UK.
I was in the U.S.A.F. I shared a dorm room with a co-worker from Luisianna whom we shall refer to as “Swamp Boy”, because that is how he refered to himself.
This story isn’t about him.
One saturday afternoon, I am sitting in our dorm room, reading a book. There is a knock on my door. I open the door to see a Friend of Swamp Boys’ from another squadron. (IIRC He worked as a Dental Assistant at the Base Hospital.) With him is his girlfriend, who was a senior at the base high school and daughter of some officer. They are there to see Swamp Boy. I tell them that he is gone, but should be back in a little while. They ask if they can wait for him there. I tell them that’s fine. Now, our room was laid out with beds on either side of the room with our lockers and dressers thru the middle to offer some privacy. At the end of the lockers were our lounging chairs and the cabinet with the T.V. The two go over to Swamp Boys’ side of the room and sit on the bed, talking softly. I return to my chair in the middle and continue to read. After a few minutes, I hear a squishy, squelchy sound coming from Swamp Boys’ area. I turn to look. The couple are engaged in a heavy lip wresling bout. Well, I was kinda wierded out, but I didn’t want to leave them alone in MY room, so instead of leaving, I just go back to my book. A few more minutes pass, and now I am hearing soft moaning. (Now keep in mind that the room is only about 12X10X10. Not very large at all.) I turn back again, and there they are, nekkid and humping away like rabbits in heat. Now I am too molified to move. I realize that I can see everything in the reflection on my T.V. screen in front of me. Completely at a loss for what to do now, and still unwilling to leave them alone in my room, (Hey, I had expensive stereo, video, and computer equipment in there! {and yet did I think to use any of this to record the act for posterity? NOOO!}) I continue to pretend to read my book.
After about an HOUR of this, and some serious gymnastics, they finaly finish. They dress and, as they walk by, he says something to the effect that they didn't want to wait anymore and to tell Swamp Boy they had stopped by, **AS IF NOTHING HAPPENED**!!!!!
Being an 19 year old virgin at the time, my jaw was on the floor.
She was hot, too.
My jaw just dropped again, because after I finished this litle missive and hit the “send reply” button, IE friggin crashed. Fortunatly I was able to do a select all/copy before I lost it all.
I hate friggin windows…
My friend Jim use to live very close to Carter-Finley Stadium in Raleigh. Since it was so close, when concerts were held there we all just sat on his porch rather than pay for it. One night in the early 90s we sat at his place listening to one of the Who’s farewell concerts. We crashed and when I was leaving the next morning, I walked out of his house to find a naked girl passed out on his front lawn. I went and got Jim and we stood around watching her for about an hour (hey, we were 20 and she was hot), he woke her up and gave her a beach towel and she wandered away.
hey, varlosz, one more casey story, puhleeze?
obfusciatrist - a sorority initiation? Maybe that explains the nude young woman standing in the doorway of a Seattle pawnshop, in December.
But what made my jaw drop wasn’t her nakedness, it was that my husband was so intent on the goodies in the window, he didn’t even notice. Totally missed it.
As for behavior, last year a young man who worked at the plant was killed in a car accident on his way to work. We heard about it just before first shift. Someone said “better tell Kim”. Kim was the young man’s girlfriend, and was pregnant.
We didn’t want her to hear about it in casual conversation on the line, so we brought Kim to the nurse’s office and broke the news.
Kim was asked “Is there anyone we can call for you? Someone to come and take you home?”
Kim’s response (sobbing): “Can you get my husband please?”
My jaw dropped. It dropped again when hubby came in, hugged her and took her home. And yet again when she had the baby a few months later and named it after the dead boyfriend. Not his name, but his name spelled backward. (And no, it wasn’t Bob.)
Yeah, more Casey stories!
I live in Southern CA, where so much weird stuff goes on daily that one hardly notices things like naked people in public (I used to work in downtown L.A., where naked people can occasionally be seen wandering around Pershing Square; don’t ask why).
The other night, I watched a program on UPN called “When Chefs Attack,” which focused on what happens in restaurant kitchens (courtesy of hidden cameras). I couldn’t believe what some restaurant workers do to the food they are about to serve - they spit, vomit, urinate, defecate and ejaculate on it. In one segment, a half-naked woman sat on a food cart (I think it had salad on it) and had sex with a co-worker. In another segment, a bartender picked her nose and then stuck her booger-covered finger into a drink she had just prepared. In yet another segment, a short order cook took hamburger buns (or maybe they were English muffins), stuck them up his shirt, and wiped his armpits with them.
Ugh! This certainly made me think twice about going out to dinner…and I think I will stick to fast food restaurants where one can see the food being prepared.
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That Budd Dwyer press conference. Ay.
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My grandparents, cousin and I were heading home from a fishing trip to Quebec in 1988. Heading south on Route 11 coming into Toronto, we hit a brick-wall-solid traffic jam. After about two hours in the jam, we finally got up to what was causing the obstruction: a large steel roll, about 8 feet in diameter, had rolled off the back of a flatbed truck, crushing the front of a car flat. The engine had been flattened to about six inches high.
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When a bunch of us were at the first cricket nets of a new season, and the first ball Dave bowled at Zain hit a bump on the astroturf and nailed Zain square in the face, triggering what can only be described as a fountain of blood.
Driving down I-90 near Albany, NY on a Greyhound bus in a blinding snowstorm last spring, we got caught in a rather large traffic jam. Eventually, we got to the source of the obstruction, and what do I see?
A smallish car, Accord sized, smashed up against a guardrail, and, just beyond, a car carrier type truck (you know, the kind they use to deliver cars to the dealership) empty, thank god, hanging cab first off of the overpass that the highway went over.
- I was eating dinner in a restaurant in Seattle with a bunch of my family. (Salty’s, for those of you who know the PNW.) Beautiful night, beautiful view from their extremely large windows that overlooked the Sound.
Then there was a lightning storm. Nothing quite like eating the best meal of my life while the Space Needle was being illuminated…
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I was looking around the webpages of some of my classmates. Normal stuff. Then I found the Aryan Nation propoganda… These were kids that I’d known since grade school. I couldn’t stop shaking.
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The first time I saw two girls kissing in real life.
I was once a passenger in a car and the driver went directly toward a stand of 3’ tall pipes sticking up in the V of an off-ramp verge. I was sure we were going to have iron bars through the window, but it turned out they were grey rubber. He knew this, of course, and was trying to give me a jolt. He was just lucky I didn’t try to pull the steering wheel away from him.
Literally? I can only think of one instance. I had walked to a nearby gas station late at night to make a phone call, and then I saw a bright green fireball fly across about 1/3 of the sky. By bright, I mean it hurt my eyes to look at it. I guess it was a meteorite with a lot of copper in it or something.
Hmm the only thing I can think of at the moment is when last Sunday some lady in a van not paying attention rear ended me. Didn’t hurt either one of our vehicles but it sent her kid flying over the seat (he did some sort of weird inverted backflip/corkscrew).