Have you ever noticed that coincidences come in clusters? Every now and then I hit a cluster of coincidences that make me question my delusions about reality. I’m tempted to concoct an entirely new set of delusions just to make it all square up.
My current view of reality is that I’m in a coma someplace and this apparent reality is my dream. It’s not so crazy if you compare it to the alternative explanation that I really did become one of the top selling cartoonists of all time with no experience whatsoever. Or that my first two books were both #1 New York Times best sellers, and I’ve now authored more books than I’ve actually read. And those two examples aren’t even the most unlikely ones. The “good ones” are so bizarre that I generally don’t share them anymore because no one believes me when I do.
In my coma theory, the little runs of coincidences are the defects in my otherwise perfect delusion. For example, the other day I was at the health club, walking past the tennis reservation desk on the way to the lockers. The woman at the desk answered her phone, looked up, saw me, and said, “It’s for you.” And it was. The pro shop was calling at just that moment to figure out some billing issues on a racket I had purchased months before. They didn’t expect me to be walking past at that moment; they were just calling to ask the tennis desk which Scott Adams I was so they could bill correctly. I interpreted the experience to mean that the real me – the one in the coma – was getting a sponge bath.
Okay, it gets weirder. As I write this, I’m sitting at the bar of my restaurant (Stacey’s at Waterford, in Dublin CA) having lunch. My secondary mission today was to pick up a gift certificate that my fiancée asked me to get. I had totally forgotten about that honey-do until a woman sat down next to me and asked for a gift certificate. Now I might see someone buying a gift certificate here maybe once every two months, tops. So I’m writing about coincidences as a lucky coincidence happens that totally saves me. I interpret this to mean that the real me – the one in the coma – is being sponge-bathed again, this time in my favorite spot.
What’s your strangest coincidence? And how long have you been in your coma?