My husband said to me (one day after the cashier at our local office supply store passed up four people ahead of us to tell only us all about her divorce), “This never used to happen to me before I met you.”
When I was a teenager, one night the phone rang in the middle of the night. I picked it up waiting for the yelling to come from my parents’ end of the trailer and ready to kill one of my friends unless she was REALLY in trouble only to find it was a some guy who apparently had been dialing random numbers in the phone book trying to get someone to talk to him in the middle of the night.
He told me all about how he ended up working security at a mine instead of following his dream of being a musician after a wife and kids and responsibilities. I guess I was just willing to listen. I felt bad for him.
One day I was at the grocery store in the produce isle. I had just dyed my hair a dark red. I hear, “Top of the marnin’ to ye lassie.” Thinking I must be going crazy because who would say that to someone in the produce isle of the grocery store in the US, I ignored it. Again, “Top of the marnin’ to ye lassie.” I turn around and this man is standing there and now I can’t even remember what he looked like but he tells me this story: He went to Ireland to a meeting and he was imitating the Irish accent. The Irish guy hosting the meeting said, “I don’ talk to yew the way yew talk. So don’ talk to me the way I talk” (Irish accent). I didn’t really know how to respond. I think I may have grinned, raised my eyebrows and shook my head as if to say, “That’s what you get, I guess.”
I was walking down the street and noticed a guy in a wheelchair coming my way. He passed several people with barely a glance but when he got to me he said, “Hey, do you want to buy some pills?” I put my hands on my hips and looked at that man and said, “I saw you wheel past all those people. You didn’t say a word to them. Why are you asking me if I want to buy drugs???!!!” I scared him. He muscled those wheels so fast he was gone in a blink stuttering, “I..sorry…sorry.” I never found out.
Even in England it happened to me. I was walking the street in this tiny village and a man literally ran out of his thrift store to tell me about a church at the end of the street where the Templars used to hold secret ceremonies. Now I’m into the Templars, but he didn’t know that. I wonder if he just knew I was American and assumed all Americans were Dan Brown fans and therefore would like the story or was it just me?
I was working an event one day and this young guy came up and talked my ear off. He walked away and my coworker came up to me, her eyes wide with disbelief, “Wow. He never talks to anybody.” “What do you mean?” “I mean I’ve seen him here for at least two years and he’s never talked to anyone and he just talked to you forever.” I wasn’t sure what to think of that.
These are some of stories people have told me. There are many more. It’s like I’m a magic lasso and people can’t resist telling me stuff. Since I’m fascinated by the fact that this keeps happening to me, I keep listening. I’ve heard stories to make you cry, scare you to death and make your toes curl. You might hear some of those or maybe the ones I was involved myself. You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but I’ve had many different lives, each of them filled with their own stories. I hope as this unfolds you enjoy some of my tales. I guess I just felt like sharing.