That’s real fine. 
I’m at work and bored and was just now reading through thread titles. I was thinking I wished I had some chocolate. Just as I read this thread title, someone walked up and handed me two Reese’s Pieces. 
I want a cold beer
I want a cold beer
I want a cold beer
I want a cold beer
I want a cold beer
Damn it.
I once bought a used paperback book and when I opened it to read, it had my first name and last initial written inside.
I’ve only dived through 4 dive centres, all in different countries. There’s a guy on my course now who spent a year working at one of the places I went, in Australia, he regularly shows up to class wearing their logo hoodie.
Haven’t mentioned it to him, he’s kind of a dick.
I met someone yesterday who was born in my hometown. So what, right? Well, I was born in Juneau, AK when Alaska was still a territory. So was she. We both lived in the same apartment building (of which there was only one at that time) and were born in the same hospital. And we’re both genealogists with Mayflower ancestors.
In my 71 years I’ve met very few other people outside of the state who were born in Alaska, and none who were from Juneau. The only reason I met this person is that I was wearing an Alaska t-shirt that I’m fond of and she commented on it.
A coincidental pair of coincidences, hotel/TV related.
During a period when I was making frequent business trips to Paris, the company would usually put me up in a dingy joint called the Kuntz, overlooking Gare de l’Est. On one trip, I had just a short layover before flying out the next morning, so they got me a room at CDG airport instead. Bored in my room, I turned on the TV and started watching some sort of French police series. At one point, the lead character, playing a plainclothes detective, ducked into a seedy hotel near Gare de l’Est to meet with an informant. Yep, it was the Kuntz.
A few years later I went out to Vegas to attend a friend’s wedding. We were all staying at the Luxor (the big pyramid at the south end of the Strip).
When I got to my room, I flipped on the TV and it happened to be showing an episode of COPS. The ep was set in Vegas and was showing a guy being arrested for disorderly conduct on a street corner at the south end of the Strip. The Luxor was clearly visible in the background and sure enough, when I looked out the window I could see that exact street corner from my room.
When I was moving from California to Memphis, my sister and I stopped at a Las Vegas motel after dark one night. In the morning, I made the comment, “I’m moving to the only city in the U.S. with a pyramid”. Then I opened the blinds, and there, across the street in all its pyramidal glory, was the Luxor.
I really had no idea.
I met a guy who was from Mansfield, Ohio, a tiny little town about halfway between Cleveland and Columbus, while in my hometown of Houston, TX. We eventually moved to Mansfield, married and had a son. Years later we divorced, and I moved back home with my son.
My son was nearly 19 when I met a guy in a bar (what a cliche, huh?) and we got to chit-chatting, where are you from, that sort of thing. Yep. He was born and raised in Mansfield, Ohio! The kicker? Both our mothers are named Dorothy, and called “Dottie” for short.
So of course I had to marry him, and we have lived happily ever since!
(No, he didn’t know my ex.)
Rudolph Isley of Isley Brothers fame was once in our office, and he and I had a marvelous talk about the early days of rock music and the tour they did with the Beatles right before the group hit the big time.
Flash forward a decade later: I’m on a bus one Saturday night, and the young male passenger and the driver are talking about the early days of rock music. i join in, and mention the above conversation with Rudy Isley. The young man asks “Do you know who I am?” I say “No. Should I?”
Turns out he was the grandson of one of the Isley Brothers! I still see him from time to time, and we talk about music.
Shortly after we moved here, my wife was talking to the woman across the road, and mentioned that she’d lived here as a child, and named the street.
“Oh, my parents live there! What number did you live in?” My wife told her the number of the house.
“That’s my parents’ house! That’s where I grew up!”
“Did you sleep in the little front bedroom?”
“Yes!”
Wife and I were riding on the Blue Ridge Scenic Railroad in Georgia. We met an older retired couple who traveled all around the US to ride other scenic and tourist railroads. We introduced ourselves, and he had the same first and last name as me.
One day I had to pay someone (ABC for example) some money ($12.34 for example). But first I had to pick up new plates for my car. When I looked at the plates, they read “ABC 1234”. The odds of that happening are 1 in 175,760,000.
This American Life did a whole show about coincidences. Worth a listen if you enjoy these kinds of stories.
Not me but my parents. They took a trip to Europe in their retirement years. The first week of the trip was in England. They were going down a very long escalator in a London tube station and saw on the other side coming up the escalator a couple from their church back home. The other couple saw them and they yelled and waved as they passed by each other.
Just now I was watching James Taylor on youtube, and the song was Up On the Roof. I Googled the song to reassure myself that it was written by Carole King. Then I turned on the TV. What came on was an episode of Full House titled* Up On the Roof.*
I am right now sitting in a hotel room waiting for my teenage daughter to get out of the shower so we can get the day started. Guess what song she had playing from her phone when I read this post?
Back in 1999 I pulled 3 quarters from my pocket, dated 1974, 1975, and 1976.
Doing insurance sales a few years ago, one of my clients had the same first name as my wife and I… and the same birthday as each (but not the same year).
I lived in Californi until I was about 11 years old, when my parents moved the family to Virginia. I attended junior and senior high there and never returned to CA. Seven years later, I enrolled at a college in Boston. By sheer chance, it turned out that my assigned suite-mate was from California. He asked if we might know anybody in common. The very first person I mentioned was Sally Smith (not the real name), who I had a big crush on in the third grade. He immediately responded, “Sally Smith was my date for the Senior Prom last year!”
Yep, same person. They didn’t even live in the same city or attend the same high school. He had met her at some student government conference.
25 years ago, wife and I went to California for my brother’s wedding. We spent a day by the Sequoias. While staring up at General Sherman I heard someone calling my name. Looking around, I saw my sister. I did not know she was in town yet. She lives near Miami and I live in Wisconsin.