I am an inevitable magnet for strange happenings. Or awkward happenings. Whatever you want to call them.
For instance—not too long ago, I almost got hit by a deer.
No. I did not almost hit a deer. A deer almost hit me. On a sidewalk. In the middle of BYU campus. A massive buck galloped out of nowhere right into my path, and then into the parking lot from whence I came. Talk about your life flashing right before your eyes.
Or, the other night, when I was scootering about and stopped at a lonely red light. A fellow scooter pulled up next to me—in the same lane close enough for me to elbow him, had I felt so inclined—and upon it was a bearded man who said, "You're going down when the light turns green." I laughed awkwardly, he insisted he was completely serious, and when turned green, I beat him.
Also, last week I set off the alarm on my way out of the library, during its most crowded time, on account of a rogue book which so happened to have an uncomfortably large semi-nude photograph on the cover. No, I wasn't aware of this when I put the book on hold, and I especially wasn't aware the [really attractive] security guard would have to yell after me by the name of "green backpack" and thoroughly inspect my books before I could leave. (Thanks a lot, Annie Leibovitz). Then, of course, came the inevitable Hey, your backpack is Swedish. When I served my mission in Sweden...
To be continued. I promise.