When I was 14 I had a Vespa motor scooter. One day I drove into a Fina gas station for a fill-up. The local Fina stations were having a promotion going on with KELI, a pop radio station: they were handing out a small plastic trash bag to each customer. Each bag had a unique seven-digit number. If KELI called out your number and you were the lucky listener, you won a hundred dollars. As a joke, the gas station attendant gave me a trash bag for my motor scooter. The number on the trash bag was 1690245 — which exactly — exactly — exactly exactly exactly — matched the license plate on my motor scooter. Blew my mind big time. Still does.
One day in May when I was in college I was hanging out in the backyard with four of my housemates when suddenly apropos of nothing I said "You know, I've never had a bird shit on me in my life." Less than two minutes later a bird flew by and — splat! — all over my right shoulder! We were all suitably impressed: "Dude!"
Through a horoscope darkly
In my life I've had three astrologers read my natal chart. All three were Vedic astrologers; each reading was free of charge. Nor did I request any of the readings: in each case the astrologer approached me out of the blue. And this all happened within a period of six months centered around my fiftieth birthday. Go figure.
Darlene and I once drove up to Ithaca and the first thing we did was walk into a carry-out diner; as we approached the young woman behind the counter to place our order, she looked at me and said "You're Lawrence Clark." I didn't know her from Adam. We were all dumbstruck.