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Comments

Carlos

Richard Bandler tells this very same story in his NLP seminars.

¿Isn't it funny both of you are into hypnosis and tell the same story about someone having a great time reading your own books while in a plane?

No... It's not funny.

JayneMarie

Goody...I wanna share one of mine, too. I am a mostly retired college professor. During the dotcom boom, I was mostly telecommuting but went into the office a couple days a month. One day, I happened to be there and the secretary buzzed me to tell me a reporter for the Chronicle wanted to interview someone about the social programs we had. As that was my arena, I took the call and answered "This is Jayne xxx. How may I help you?" and there was a pause so long, I asked "hello?" again. The young man said, "Oh, I am sorry. Your name surprised me. My favorite teacher had the same name you do." you can guess the rest... :)

jmc

Since we're telling stories from the other side (brushes with famous people) here's my favorite. It's pretty short:

I bumped into Dr Who in a Marks & Spencer Simple Food. Literally.

Details: I was in London for training, and was in the Euston Station M&S looking for a bite to eat. It was busy, and I was passing along the aisle, I bumped into a tall, darkly dressed man. Looked up, said "excuse me", then my brain froze in shock as Christopher Eccleston made his escape.

All I could do is run outside, call my Dr. Who fanboy husband, and tell him what happened. He didn't believe me!

jmc

Thanks, Scott, that was a great story!

Anju

hey i hv read this story of urs earlier... but i cant recall where!! may b some book of urs.. is it?

DL From Heidelberg

Similar story alert. Back in 1977 when I wore a beard and long hair it seemed every German under the age of 25 assumed I could sell them drugs. During a wine festival a friend visiting from the U.S. got to witness the phenomenon. A week later my friend and I were on the night train from Frankfurt to Dusseldorf and in the next sleeping car I heard a man tell his traveling companions the story of how he tried to buy drugs from an American at a wine fest in the same village when I recognized he was talking about me. Now what were the chances?

Andrew

So I was studying late into the night my last year at school in Boston and decided to take a study break. A buddy of mine and I took a short walk from our building down Mass Ave. to the convenience store. I had a terrible cold at the time and was constantly blowing my nose and coughing up phlegm.

This was about one in the morning and the streets were empty. After hacking up a big loogey, I decided to go for distance. The texture was just right and there was a steady tailwind. As my wad of phlegm was flying through the air, a stranger wearing tight black jeans turns out of an alley and the loogey splatters perfectly on his crotch.

My buddy and I are mortified. We run up and start apologizing profusely. The man is completely bewildered. He keeps saying, "No, it's okay guys. Really. No problem." He keeps trying to walk away with the phlegm hanging right there on his package.

He did not realize that he had been hit. And we did not realize that he had no idea what we were talking about.

At this point, in a panic, I pull the wool hat off my head and I reach forward to daub the loogey off his pants. When my hand goes for his crotch, the man jumps two feet in the air and starts backing away yelling, "What the fuck? What the fuck?"

He finally looks down, sees the phlegm, and realizes what is going on. I offer him my hat to wipe himself, but he refuses it, under the impression that I was offering my hat as some sort of compensation. He storms off with the loogey still dangling there.

My buddy and I spent the rest of the night re-enacting the scene for the pleasure of our dorm mates and the story has since become legendary.

Another story (not mine but one I know to be true):
Man on a first date is driving home from the restaurant in his mini-cab pick-up. He has terrible gas and fearing permanent damage to his colon, decides to lift a cheek and sneak one out. The cab is immediately filled with a nasty, nasty funk. His date starts to gag and after jumping out at a stoplight, she vomits in the gutter.
They eventually got married.



Arturo

I still sign autographs for some crappy video games I wrote in the 1980s.

That's a lot worse then having a number one bestseller and somebody recognizing you.

Judith

That was a very interesting story. I'm actually a fan of Dilbert myself.

Judith Sullivan
judithsullivan2002@yahoo.com
www.LasVegasREO.net

Attie Naude

My best story involves Mentos and Diet Coke...

Don't let me bore you with the details.

But "The human fountain" was all fun and games until I ended up in hospital.

Those were the days...

KirkH

I snuck into the World Series in San Diego in '96. Seven of us dressed up as hot dog vendors and walked in the employee entrance like we owned the place. Nobody stopped us. Got some autographs from the Padres. I did almost get fired from my fake job though when security said they were going to call our "boss" for being lazy.

Try that post 9/11 and you'll likely end up tazered while Dogbert chews on your balls at Guantanamo.

Ed K

My best story: In the summer of 1976, my much older brother (who incidentally is the same age as Scott) would often go to the local high school gym to play pickup basketball games. I was 8 years old that summer, and one day, I tagged along to shoot baskets and watch the games. While I thrusted up shots from various short distances on a side basket, a rather friendly but really big guy came up to the same basket to shoot hoops with me. (well, everyone looks big to an 8-year old, but this guy had the thickest legs I've ever seen) I soon quit shooting myself and simply just rebounded the big guy's shots for a while. He says to me, "Hey kid, good job on the rebounds, nice going..." Soon after, he left the side basket to join the rest of the adults in the main pickup game.
Afterwards, my brother comes over to me and hands me a piece of paper - it was the big guy's autograph. You see, he had just finished his rookie year playing for the Chicago Bears... and I was just young enough to not recognize him at that moment. He went on to become perhaps the greatest NFL football player in history. The autograph read... "To Ed - Greetings! - 'Sweetness', Walter Payton."

annie

that was interesting to read haha!
made my day!
very amusing

BDKives

On Sunday, July 11th 1982, I was going to take my first real business plane trip. I was flying from New Orleans to San Fransisco. I was slightly nervous because I easily get motion sick. I wasn't looking forward to pitting my stomach against an airplane ride.

Two days earlier, July 9th 1982, a plane went down in Kenner, La. (a suburb of New Orleans). The crash killed 145 of the plane's passengers, and an addition 9 people in Kenner. My girlfriends parents lived a few miles from the crash site.

Now I was nervous about getting airsick and paranoid about plane crashes. I found out that all of my girlfriends relatives were safe, and then I refused to listen to any of the news about the crash. And the news of the crash was everywhere, and it was all anyone wanted to talk about. But I managed to survive the weekend with my head firmly buried in the sand.

Sunday, on the way to the airport, we passed an 18 wheeler towing a flat trailer. On the trailer were two huge mashed jet engines, along with a thousand strips of metal. Most of the strips were about the size of a beer can. I was looking at the remnants of the plane.

The plane crash fear really kicked in. Somehow they managed to get me on the plane, and the takeoff was uneventful. This was going to be OK. And I was seated next to a really cute young female; very nice, and very talkative. This was going to be very OK. She heard my story about seeing the shredded plane on the way to the airport. I then found out that she was a reporter sent to cover the crash, and she was on her way back home. She had entirely too much fun telling me all about all of the details that I had spent the last two days avoiding.

Still the flight wasn't too bumpy, that is till we hit the clear air turbulence while flying over the desert...

JB Singh

I was just an intern, a newly minted Doctor when I got carried of explaining the concept behind treating Bronchial asthma to a guy who later on turned out to be a Professor of Medicine at a premier Medical School -- Just because his very pretty daughter happened to be travelling along.

amelianeoh

Ahhh... the life of a superstar..

D. Mented

I don't have a particular best, but there's a favorite exchange that happens every so often at work...People still don't expect to see women on a construction site, so I sometimes get comments from someone who's had a partial view of me like "You have an ass like a woman!" (this is a friendly greeting between strangers if given in the right tone) or some other 'you're girly' comment, to which I turn to face them and say "There's a reason for that."
D. Mented

KM

Three or four years ago, I was flying home from D.C. and arrived at the airport a few hours early. After killing time in Sharper Image, I happened to find a Waldenbooks in the airport.

My brother had given me a Waldenbooks gift card for Christmas, and there aren't any around where I live. So I spent close to two hours picking out a book for the plane, finally choosing Edward Jones's "The Known World." (Really great book---it went on to win the Pulitzer that year, and also the National Book Critics Circle award.)

I got to my gate about ten minutes before boarding and started the book. When we boarded, I got on, then pulled out my book again. Just before takeoff, someone tapped my shoulder--the man sitting in the aisle just behind me.

"Pardon me," he said. "are you reading The Known World?"

When I turned around, he tapped his chest and said: "I wrote it. Would you like me to sign it for you?"

Darth Geoff

The way the story was going I thought you were going to say the guy reading your book was the author of the book you were reading....

Glenn

Great story, Scott. The first present I ever gave my wife (when she was almost my girlfriend) was The Dilbert Future. But that's not my story, this is my story...
I'd just gotten off the train home from work one night and was walking to my car in the parking lot when a young lady asked me for directions back to her hotel. It was a fairly long walk and not particularly well lit, so I offered her a lift. She jumped in and off we went. To exit this particular train station in the direction of her hotel, the road becomes a dirt track that follows the train line for a little while through some trees before emerging on a main road. I thought nothing of it as I headed off into the darkness and thick trees in my beaten up 4x4, until I turned to her to make some small talk and realised that she was scared...really scared. I think she was simultaneously praying and contemplating jumping from the moving vehicle. Fortunately we then exited to the main road and she actually sighed out loud in relief. In short time we were there and she got out at her hotel, very relieved. About a minute up the road it suddenly started to pour down with rain, really bucketing down. I hope she saw that rain and laughed as much as I did.

Pato

J. Jetzen....W...T....F???? Why would you tell the story of almost killing your friend with a BB gun? Did you want to let us all know you are psychopathically stupid? What has it got to do with anything?

Get a life bro

Pato

err....Jeff...I'm pretty certain Stephen King is still alive. In fact I know he is.

What kind of drugs are you on thinking he died when the car hit him? He survive and wrote about it. Maybe you confused reality with one of his stories?

Perhaps you should venture out into the sun a bit more and regain your grip on reality.

skraps

Heh, does Stephen King know he's dead?

Linuxiac

Your work is great, and gives us great pleasure. I advocate Open source Software, including all GNU/Linux and *BSD distros, handing out fully functional LiveCDroms with hundreds of programs, Suites, and games on them.

But, in my wife's work with the Navy, she insists that she must use the resource consuming, in-efficient product-from-hell, Microsoft, which burdens me as I am the technician for all computers in our home and businesses.

It presents a quandary around our home, most funny, like the great cartoon of the Linux spouting alien being fired by Dogbert, which she has posted as a reminder, on her door.

Thanks for the comic relief, otherwise life would be too dull.

Jim

My then-girlfriend/now-wife and I were camping on a lake in Northern CA (not Central CA where you are, Scott) in the late fall. I grew up in the area and knew there were bears around but never worried about them much. This campground, however, had a fantastic number of "Warning: Bear Country" posters stuck on every possible surface. Starting at the main entrance, continuing to the parking lot, on garbage cans, along trees down to the campsite... well you get the picture. We both made a few jokes about getting eaten, but soon bears slipped from our mind.
We had a good time swimming (although a little chilly), roasting hot dogs on sticks, drinking some good beer, all the normal stuff. We had set up our cheap nylon tent when we got there and eventually we hit the sack, not once having seen so much as a squirrel. We both fell quickly into a deep sleep.
Sometime during the night I began having a very vivid dream that there was a scraping of huge claws on the outside of the tent. I couldn't see it but I just KNEW that there was a bear trying to get in. I tried to cry out "bear!", but in true nightmare fashion I couldn't make my voice work. I kept trying, however, and as I became more alarmed in my dream I began to slowly regain conciousness. As I drifted up out of sleep, I gradually regained use of my vocal cords, but not just in my dream. Apparently I was actually mumbling "beeeearrrr" out loud. This was just enough to begin waking my wife up, but not to make her fully concious. Just as I fully awoke I made one last heroic effort to shout "bear!!", and this time I got full volume.
This brought my wife to a full upright and locked position, certain that our deaths were imminent. Somehow, as intense as it had been, this dream left me with no residual panic at all. I think my wife shouted "where is it!?" a few times, but I was already on my way back to sleep. I mumbled "sorry, I was just dreaming" which is the last I remembered until I awoke, fully refreshed, in the morning.
She was not so refreshed, however, having not been able to get back to sleep for over an hour after my "incident", and I don't think it was a good sleep when she finally did. We laugh about it now, but she was sure grumpy on the ride back home the next day!

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