that was strange, it was. i met up with a friend visiting from out of town. we met at a random irish pub that i had never heard of. i was there on time, but he was late, as usual. an hour late. so i sat there, staring down the bar at the strangers. a woman walked in. i recognized her, i thought. i was not 1000% certain, though. so i just kind of stared, without being creepy about it. she was with a friend, and at some point she took an SLR camera out of her bag and took a picture of something behind the bar. i thought then that i would almost certainly be in that picture, based on where the camera was pointed and such. then i saw her checking her smartphone, and i thought she might be checking her facebook account. so i got on this phone and sent her a message, asking if she was at this bar right now, and if she is not there then her doppelganger was. she got the message later that night, and responded by saying that yes, indeed, that was her. so i told her about the picture, and that i might be visiable in the left corner, and she responded that i was1 i was in her picture, proving that i really was there. it was a funny little encounter, path-crossing. it turns out she was going to a photography class nearby and stopped in at this bar for the first time ever, making the randomness of the crossed paths all the more righteous.
another thing that happened was that when i got there i noticed a payphone by the door. waiting for an hour for my friend to show up i decided to look up the phone number for that payphone, using one of those internet search engine things, just to see what came up. hell yeah, my payphone web site came up #1, with a listing for the payphone number and its location at that bar. hilarious.
so then another weird thing happened, but i’ll keep that one close to the vest.
and the last odd thing was the next day. at a local pub i frequent i mentioned to the bartender that i had been to this particular pub the night before. he glowered at me. i thought he might get violent. i asked him, so, you know the place? in his irish voice he said “i fookin’ hate that place.” i asked him why, and he wasn’t going to tell me, but he did anyway. “the bartender is fucking my wife!” i said i was sorry i brought it up, but that the bartender was a fucking asshole. i tipped badly, which i never do, because the guy was such a prick. my friend was happy to hear me say this, adding that everyone he knew who crossed paths with this guy thought he was a douchebag.
so, several points of contact and randomness at a never-before-visited place.
