I forgot to mention one…it’s not terribly exciting, but my wife, my daughter and my stepmother all have the same birthday.
In line with that, my grandmother died at midnight, new year’s eve, 1999 -> 2000. My cousin and aunt were there to mark the time. It was years before any of us started saying that she wasn’t Y2K compatible, though.
This story isn’t so much amazing coincidence, but it might make a good subplot on a sitcom.
I used to work in a really tall building, more than 40 floors. A coworker and I were coming back from lunch one day, and we go on the elevator. Among other people, there was a gorgeous blonde on it as well. The coworker and I were a wee bit piggish, and were kind of checking her out. And not subtly. Surely she knew that we were. She’d have to have been a complete moron not to. But hey, chances were she was getting off on a different floor and we’d never see her again.
As it turns out, she got off on the same floor. Oh, shit. Well, maybe she was visiting a different company.
An hour later, the coworker and I were called into someone’s office. “Hey, guys, I’d like you to meet your new supervisor.”
I grew up in Texas, ran into a neighbor at a mall in San Diego, about a year later ran into the same neighbor at a bar in Japan.
Sorry, but everything after the quoted line is just too rich for me.
Two weird coincidences I can think of off the top of my head:
SO and I took a red-eye fight from California to Pittsburgh and ran into a co-worker from CA who was waiting for a plane back to Calif at 5am.
One of my students from Pakistan was telling me about her cousins who own a gas station in a rural town in Ohio. It turned out to be the same town I had lived in for two years (pop. 3,800).
This one has, I’ve noticed, turned into a joke/internet meme, but this is true: my SO has seen and talked with the same Peruvian-indio street band in San Diego, Rome, and Dublin.
What does that mean?
I could fill a book with these kinds of stories. Just a few to get you going:
In high school, my cousin and I were very close, although we hung out with different crowds. After she went off to college in Atlanta, she didn’t come back to visit much (her mother gives the batshiat insane catlady community a bad name) and so I only got to see her on very rare occasions.
One Monday, I was talking to a good friend of mine who was telling me about his weekend. He told me about this amazing girl he had met at a party who reminded him of me. He said that they had really hit it off, but that he didn’t expect to see her again, as she was only in town for the weekend from out of state.
Two days later, my cousin called and began telling me about this amazing boy she’d met at a party. It only took a moment for me to ask “was that party at <schoolmate’s> house here in town?” She was a little taken back and apologised for not calling while she was in town, but then I asked her if the boy’s name was Tommy. I told her he had already told me everything except her name – neither of them knew the connection I had with the other.
…
Also while in high school, one night a good friend called to see if I wanted to go “hang out.” Of course I was bored and had nothing better to do, so I agreed. He asked if I knew anyone that might want to go with us, as his friend had just moved back to TN from LA and was hoping to meet a girl. We called another girl and did the double-date thing. When they came to pick me up, the boy started freaking out and asked me if my name was <my first name that I haven’t used since 4th grade>. I admitted that it was and asked how he knew. He handed me a bracelet that I had lost when I was maybe 5 or 6 and said that some women had walked up to him before he left Baton Rouge and asked him to return something to someone for her. She had given him the bracelet and told him that he would know the owner when he saw her and told him my name. He had had a dream about me the night before he met me.
…
When I lived in Salem, OR, I went into a McDonald’s for dinner one night. While I was ordering, one of the cashiers looked over at me and called me by name. She had grown up in a town about 5 minutes from mine (in TN) and we had had mutual friends. She had just moved to the PNW about 2 weeks before I did.
…
My daughter’s birthday is 8/8, which is just 6 months and one day after my birthday on 2/7, which is just 6 months and one day before her father’s birthday on 6/6.
…
If you add up the digits in birthdates and break it down to a single digit the way you would for a numerology reading, mine is a “1.” (2+7+1+9+7+2=28, 2+8=10, 1+0=1) My husband’s is also a 1 (1/26/1972), and my daughter’s (8/8/1992). Too bad my son’s turns out to a 9 – that would be way cool.
(bolding added)
Come again? The way you’ve stated this, your daughter and her father should have the same birthday.
Pretty sure it means he ain’t buying it. I kinda had the same reaction, myself.
Not as spectacular as some of these, but we had an obit for the wife of a locally well-known guy (former school administrator who now sits on the board of a bunch of philathropic and arts organizations in town) and it said that they had been born in the same hospital room on the same day. That is just a fantastic coincidence to me, but they were married for more than 50 years so it must have been right for them. 
ETA: Oh, hi, spammer. Nice of you to join us.
Idiot reported.
Idiot SMASHED.
Mod Smash!
Mod mean.
Mod could have waited until someone told us where to get drugs.
It’s been a long day.
Bear with me, kinda long…
When I had first moved to San Francisco in 1992, I had a Saturn SL1. In 1994, it had some minor problems and had rather high miles, so I donated it to the San Francisco SPCA and wrote it off.
Fast forward to 2005. I lived in a Duplex and a good friend lived in the lower unit. As I walked out to the driveway on my way to work, there’s a Saturn in my driveway. I think to myself “heh - same color year and model as my old Saturn”…then I took a closer look. It was mine. Same old parking sticker on it, and more importantly, same LICENSE PLATES. In CA, the plates follow the car.
Stupefied, I drove to work, thinking I’d never see it again. (Cars sometimes park illegally in my driveway, then head into Golden Gate Park. Since I rarely use my other car that’s in the garage, I sometimes let them stay until I get home, at which time I call and report them if they’re still there).
Some time later that day, I got a call from my downstairs neighbor. He called to ask me if I remembered my old license plates in the Saturn. I did, and after laughing, he explained:
He picked up some girl in a bar in a completely different part of town (The Marina, which if you know SF may as well be on the Moon for how often I would go there from my neighborhood in the Haight) and took her home. This was the next day and they decided to keep hanging out, and when he saw that parking sticker he thought it might be my car.
The woman didn’t buy it until he put it on speaker and I read her the plates, asked if the gas gauge was broken, estimated how many miles it probably had, and asked if it used to have a Cardinals sticker on it.
Turns out she just moved to SF, lived in ANOTHER part of town (North Beach), and was just meeting friends at this bar. She used to live in Union City, miles away across the Bay, and bought it from a mechanic friend of hers that had bought it at…an SPCA auction ten years earlier.
What do you suppose the odds are of a car getting donated 10 years earlier, to someone that lives in a completely different part of the Bay Area (population around 7 million), who then sells it to a friend, who then moves to SF, who then meets friends in a different part of town, who then meets and goes home with my friend who lives in another different part of town, who happens to live downstairs from the guy that donated it?
Crazy, man.
Ugh, sorry, it was a long day at work – the dates are correct – he is 8/6, six months and one day before me, I am 2/7, six months and one day before our daughter who is 8/8.
A lot of people have had a fish get away, but I’ve had a fish escape. One time I was fishing with a friend, and, for some reason I can’t remember, we put a fish we’d caught into a cooler, with water in it, with the lid closed on top of it. A couple hours later, as we were wrapping up, my friend took the lid off the cooler. The fish immediately jumped out, flopped across a flat area at the back of the boat, and flew back into the water, never to be seen again.
Wah? Did you disappear a post?
Beadalin, I took Isosleepy’s comment to mean something along the lines of TLDR.
No. We just sent the poster to a farm upstate. He’ll live with your aunt and uncle and have lots of farmland to run around on.