Conference hydra::dejavu

    This all started one night on the Wellesley College campus during
    my freshman year at MIT.  A friend and I were stumbling around in a
    not atypical state of inebriation.  Our spirits were high in more 
    ways than one.

    We chanced upon a Georgia peach on her way to the student center.
    My friend, never shy, and even less so in his current state, began
    talking to her.

    "Hello, I'm Bob. Who are you?"

    "Susan James" <name changed>

    "Where do you come from Susan?"

    "Carlton, Georgia"

    "Which hall are you living in?"

    "Beebe."

    More idle conversation followed but she soon tired of two drunks and 
    went on her way.

    About *two* years later I was at a mixer (that is what we called them
    back them) and who did I see.  Susan James.  She would dance one dance
    with whomever asked and that was all.  Well being in one of my "moods"
    I decided I could get a few dances out of her.  I guess she had a BBH.
    (boyfriend back home)  So in my most debonair manner I step up to her
    and say:

    "May I have this dance, Susan."  (curiosity piqued, she accepts)

    "How did you know my name?"

    "You told me."  (she "never" saw me before, doesn't believe me)

    We dance the first dance and exchange idle chitchat.  She turns to 
    leave as expected.  I say:

    "Susan James, right?"  (got her attention!)

    "How do you know?"

    "You told me."  (she doesn't know what to make of me)

    We dance the second dance.  She turns to leave a second time.  I say:

    "From Carlton, Georgia, right?"  (hooked her again!)

    "Yaas, HOW did you know."

    "You told me."     (total incredulity)

    We danced the third dance.  She turns to leave one more time.  I say:

    "Do you still live in Beebe Hall?"  (her eyes widen...)

    "Yaaas, HOW do you KNOW?"

    "You told me."   (by now she thinks I am the devil or psychic and
		      is totally spooked and makes a hasty exit)

    Well having gotten my chuckle for the evening I went back to the frat
    house.  I related this incident to my friend, Bob, and we laughed for 
    a long time.

    Here is the final punch line.  A couple weeks later Bob went out to
    a dance a Wellesley and who do you think he saw.  Susan James.  Well,
    he began to go through the same scenario with her.  About half way
    through, she just royally freaked, and said;

    "Someone just did this to me."  and beat a hasty retreat.

    Some people just can't handle the truth when their memory is at odds
    with it!

    Any other amusing experiences out there?

    Stan

    About three years ago, my then-boyfriend pulled a good one on
    me ...
    
    We had only been seeing each other in Portland (Oregon) for a few 
    weeks.  My family had never met him because they lived about fifty 
    miles south of there.  One night he came over for a visit, and as
    we were watching television, he got this puzzled look on his face.
    
    "What does the number 2300 mean to you?" he asked.
    
    "Nothing, really, why?" I said, but thought to myself that the
    number was the address of my father's house in Salem.  I didn't
    mention it to him because there's no way he could know that.
    
    "The number keeps popping into my head.  Oh well."
    
    We continued to watch television.
    
    "What does the name Lincoln mean to you?" he queried.
    
    "You mean as in Abraham Lincoln?  Or Lincoln, Nebraska?  Or,
    well, it's the name of the road my dad lives on, but that
    wouldn't mean anything to you.  Why?"  I was kind of 
    suspicious at this point, but intrigued by the fact that
    he'd come up with my dad's address supposedly off the top
    of his head. 
    
    "I don't know.  Just keeps popping up.  What about Zena?  That
    mean anything to you?"
    
    With that question, I was convinced he had to be psychic because
    "Zena" was the name of another road near Lincoln Road.  My dad's
    phone number was unlisted and even if you somehow found it in an
    old phone book, the road was not even on the map.  So how did he
    know?
    
    "Okay," I said, "What's going on?"
    
    "I don't know.  I just keep getting these wierd pictures and names
    in my head.  Here," he handed me a pen and an old envelope that
    was sitting on the table, "draw the road to your Dad's house."
    
    I didn't have to.  He proceeded to describe it in detail.  Every
    turn, every hill, even the little country store you pass just
    before the turnoff.  I was amazed.  Then he went in for the sting.
    
    "Oh, there's another word that keeps popping into my head," he
    said.
    
    "What, what?" I anxiously inquired.
    
    He took the pen and envelope from me.  On it, he wrote, "Gullible."
    
    He then confessed to having found out where Dad lived, and how he
    had driven down there one night, using a new map which had included
    Lincoln Road.  
    
    My only consolation in the thing was that a neighbor had run him
    off the property with rifle.  
    
    I wish I'd have been there to see that.  It would've made the 
    "gullible" sting a little less painful.
    
    -joella
    
    

    Mac, a  close friend of mine, seems to be able to read my mind...sometimes
    word-for-word.  I find this "ability" of his rather creepy and
    one day told him to knock it off.  He gave me this innocent look and said
    "What are you talking about?  I can't read your mind...you're going
    crazy!  Stop imagining things."  Later that night he, I and some other
    friends (one of whom he married, btw) went out to eat. 
    The waiter, who was sweating profusely, took our orders.  I remember
    thinking "man, he's sweatin' like a pig!" (an expression I never
    use).  I turned to MAC to make this very comment.  Before I could
    say a word MAC looked at me nonchalantly and quipped, "pigs don't
    sweat, John." 
    
    Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg!
    
    John M. 

    I too have the ability to "read minds" at least where my husband
    is concerned.  When we were in Florida we were sitting by the pool
    at the bar, just having a dring under the cabanna type building.
    My hasband noticed the thached roof and started to say "they should
    name this building" and in interrupted him and said "that's really
    sick - MARGARET!!!"  HE WAS DUMFOUNDED.  
                          
    
    MAC
      
    
    
    p.s. for thos of you who didn't get it "MARGARET THACHER."
    

    This doesn't amaze me at all.  There were about 4 or 5 of us in
    the frat house that would sit around and do nothing but this sort
    of thing for hours.  It was more of a (il)logic game for us.  It
    almost entirely included plays on words which lead to another quantum
    leap in logic, which lead to another....  We never had a name for
    it, but it was like 4-way verbal volleyball.
    
    If someone walked into the room, they couldn't follow the conversation
    and thought we were crazy.  Of course, as the game progressed we
    would be laughing at the puns and word games and get pretty silly.
    Sometimes, a couple of beers would help kick it off, somtimes just
    good spirits.  Maybe they were right, maybe we were crazy.  I miss
    it.  It was good mental exercise, mostly trivia based.
    
    The whole game was predicated on being able to keep up and knowing
    each other well enough that from small clues we were able to make
    the same (il)logical leap that the latest contributor had made.
    It was easy to get left in the dust, but we were able to keep it
    up for a long time.
    
    Stan

    I was working for my brother in law at the appliance service center.
    My job was to answer the phones and set up appointments for him
    to go to peoples houses and fix whatever appliance they were having
    trouble with.  
    I got a call from a woman who said that her dryer wasn't heating
    properly.  She gave me the address and the time that she would be
    home the next day so my brother in law could go in and fix it. 
    The next day he left in the morning with his list of service calls
    and I got a call a short time later from him.  There was no answer
    at the house when he knocked and rang the door bell.  He was going
    to be running late soon if he waited any longer and he wanted me
    to give her a call and reschedule.  
    I called several times that day with no answer.  Finally that afternoon
    someone answered the phone, I heard a sleepy voice say "hello" 
    and I proceded to explain that we were going to have to reschedule
    because she wasn't home when the service man was there.  The woman
    on the other end had no idea what I was talking about.
    Here's the weird part...
    I asked if I had the correct number, and told her what number I
    was calling.  She said that was the right number.  So I told the
    address that was given me, and that to was correct.  I then told
    her the name of the woman gave me when she called.  The woman on
    the other end asked me if "this is a joke?" I said no.  She then
    told me she "knew" the woman who called, that was who she bought
    the house from 15 years ago!  And then proceded to tell me that
    the woman had died a few years after she purchased the house.  And
    then added, "I don't even own a dryer".  I apologized for waking
    her and hung up.
    When my brother in law came in at the end of the day I told him
    that it appears to me that we have some how fallen into the twilight
    zone, and told him my phone conversation.  He insisted that I must
    have called the wrong person, and that the lady who made the
    appointment will call back to reschedule, she probably had to go
    out unexpectedly and didn't have time to call us.  He told me to
    tac her slip up on the bulluton board and when she called back just
    change the slip and schedule her in.
    I was about a year after that day when I went to another job.  And
    even on the day I left the slip for that service call was still
    hanging on the bulluton board, a bit yellowed, waiting for the call.
    (I didn't want to take it down, just in case).