Share an interesting true story.

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I think this would be cool sticky. A thread for sharing any type of interesting true story that you experienced personally.

Happy, sad, tragic, scary, awful, joyful, any type.

I'll start:

Years ago my wife and I moved to a small rural town and lived there for seven years. We started our family there. We had to travel about thirty miles to the next larger town to have our first child. After we took him home from the hospital my wife took him on his first walk in his stroller. I was at work. Much to her horror, my wife noticed that of the two wristbands on our baby's wrists one wristband had someone else's name on it while the other wristband had our name on it. My wife was beside herself. Did we have someone else's child? If so, where was OUR baby?! We were both wracked with anxiety. We called the hospital right away to discuss this. After looking into it, the hospital assured us they were certain we had the correct baby and apologized for the wristband error.

We believed he was our baby as well, but the wristband mix up cast some amount of doubt.

After some thought, we called for a meeting with the hospital administration and we asked that the hospital pay for a DNA test and that we wanted the test performed at the different hospital located in our small town. We also asked that the hospital he was born in pay for all of the costs we incurred from prenatal through post-birth which mainly accounted for our deductible and out of pocket coinsurance expenses. The hospital agreed to both terms.

We had the DNA test done at our local hospital. While there, we encountered a nurse who was a member of the church we belonged to. That nurse was not involved in our DNA test procedure in any way. She just happened to be in proximity to the lab we went into. We also encountered a client of my employer who was the intake coordinator for the hospital.

The DNA test came back confirming that he was our son.

For the remaining years we lived in that small town, only two of our four immediate neighbors where we lived were friendly to us and we were never really accepted by other church members even though we were both active and contributing members. It seemed that people were colder to my wife than they were to me. We were convinced that the nurse, a member of our church, found out that we were taking a DNA test (but didn't of course know the real reason why) and assumed that we had infidelity issues and most likely then spread the gossip around.

I once took a prostitute to a movie----but I didn't have sex with her.

I wanted it to be a "normal date," because I liked this woman. I wanted her to feel like a person.

This story is true.

Back when I was a teenager my cousin came round to my house and we somehow got onto the subject of the Bloody Mary thing, where you look into the mirror and say "Bloody Mary" three times and then you see blood on your face or something like that. My cousin tried it in the mirror for a laugh, and we thought no more about it (as we didn't really believe blood can appear on your face when doing that).

But about 3 hours later, we were outside playing with a tennis bat and a ball. I accidentally swung the bat and it hit my cousin in the face, right under her eye. She started crying, and when I looked I was shocked to see there was actually blood trickling down her face.

When we got her cleaned up and soothed, we wondered if that would have happened if we hadn't of done the Bloody Mary thing in the mirror earlier.

I know it may have just been a coincidence, but I'm still reluctant to ever do Bloody Mary in the mirror, and so is my cousin.

Here's another true story:

I was in my early twenties during the early nineteen nineties. My girlfriend at the time and I decided to take a day long summer drive up into Canada. We barely had any money at the time. Probably enough for gas money and a meal.

When we rolled up to the border I told the border guard that we were planning on spending the day in Canada and then driving back into the U.S. He told us to pull around to a separate parking area, park and come into the building for additional questioning. We went into the building and sat down to speak with an official sitting behind his desk who asked for our drivers licenses. No passports were required to enter Canada at that time.

Guard: "What is your intention for wanting to come to Canada today?"
Me: "Just to spend the day."
Guard: Do you have any money?"
Me: "Yes."
Guard: "How much?"
Me: "About $25."
Guard: "Do you have any credit cards?"
Me: "No."
Guard: "Visa, Master Card, American Express?"
Me: "No."
Guard: "I've decided that you simply do not have enough money to come into Canada. "
Me: "I don't understand."
Guard: "If an unforeseen event were to happen to you while you were here, you do not have enough money to meet whatever obligations you might have. You'll need to meet the guards that are at your car where you parked it and turn around and return back to the United States. That is all."

My girlfriend was largely silent during that exchange other than confirming her identity and indicating how much money she had in her pockets.

When we got back to my vehicle we noticed that two guards were searching the vehicle. We were told sternly to stand behind a very obvious painted line on the ground while they conducted their search. At that time I smoked and sometimes rolled my own cigarettes. I often kept them in a hinged metal throat lozenge container. At some prior point to that day trip, there may have also been a joint or two that had been put in that same container either by a friend of mine at the time or by me, but I don't recall for certain.

One of the guards approached us while we were standing behind the line:

Guard: What was in this metal container I found in your glove compartment?"
Me: (my heart sank when I saw the container): "I roll my own cigarettes and keep them in there."
Guard: "Sit down on that bench over there. Do you have any drugs or contraband in your vehicle?"
Me: "No."
Guard: "Wait here until I come back."

The other guard continued to search my vehicle and we waited for about fifteen minutes. The guard came back and was talking in a louder voice:

Guard: "Did you ever have any drugs in this metal container?"
Me: "Not that I'm aware."
Guard: "No marijuana? Because that's what we found!"

He shoved a test tube in our faces that was filled with a transparent purple liquid.

Guard: "Both of you come with us into the building."

He directed me into one room with white walls, a white floor and a desk. He directed my girlfriend to go with a female guard into a separate but adjacent room. We were each in our own interrogation rooms by ourselves for a good fifteen minutes left for our minds to race and for us to panic. Finally, the same guard came in with another male guard:

Guard: "We found residue of marijuana in that metal container but did not find anything else in your vehicle. As a result, you'll both be subject to a strip search right now. If we do not find any drugs on you, you'll be released and be free to go."

I was elated. I knew I would be freed given that I had no drugs on me or in my car. I peeled one article of clothing off as directed after the other, handing each piece to the guard who inspected each article of clothing both inside and out with his hands. I heard my girlfriend's belt buckle hit the floor from the other side of the wall in the room she was in. When it came to my underwear the guard said:

Guard: "Just, um, put that on the top of the desk."

I did, standing their naked. The guard took the end of his pen and lifted part of my underwear to peer inside. The guard had me bend over and use my hands to spread my buttocks and then told me to get dressed, releasing us back to our car. When we turned around and crossed back into the U.S. the border guard there asked us how long we were in Canada. I told the guard that they said we didn't have enough money to go into the country even for the day and would not let us in. The U.S. border guard waved us through.

We pulled over at a scenic overlook a few miles inside the U.S., with each of us lighting a cigarette. We sat there for the duration of the cigarettes in silence staring blankly out the windshield of the car. Then one of us spoke first and said something like: "That was harsh." The silence was broken and we had much to say to each other recounting our own individual experience with the search.....

About 20 years ago I drove to L.A. from Rhode Island to become a screenwriter. Since I had little money, I slept in my car till I got a job. Once I got the job I moved into this flea bag of a hotel in Hollywood.

While in Hollywood I met this 19 year old street kid who I eventually learned to trust enough to live with me. We were both into drugs at the time and used to give "house" to dealers for a hit or two.

One night the street kid and I were so high we were paranoid out of our minds. Our main dealer was knocking on our door but we wouldn't let him in. He kept on knocking but still we wouldn't let him in.

The next day, that same dealer came by the apartment. When we let him in his head was bloody and he had a knife in his hand. He had us frozen with fear. He said he wanted to kill us both but, instead, he stabbed himself in the head to discourage his possible rampage.

After that, I immediately left Hollywood and found a motel in North Hollywood where no one, not even my street friend, knew where I was. I definitely learned a hardcore lesson that day.

It was the summer of 1971 and I was 13 years old. My mom like mom's then and today tried to get their "shy" kids to socialize. My dad was a teacher and worked at camps during the summer so we always went to camp. I had grown out of these camps but back then there was, fortunately, an option at the time called "teen trips". Since my parents were teachers I got a discount. They would take you on day trips to the beach, amusement park, baseball game etc. Once a month we would go on a four day trip. For August that year it was Boston. We stayed at unused dormitories at Simmons College three blocks from historic Fenway Park where the Boston Red Sox baseball team plays.

I had gotten the bright idea to ask two girls I liked into my room and they agreed. I had no idea about what any type of sex involved beyond that it was supposed to be this euphoric thing far better than any other life experience and it was supposed to be a natural thing that just happened. That is what the pop songs during that hippie era on my transistor radio said. The girls whom I now realize had a lot more to lose than I wanted a plan. I was too clueless to formulate any plan. Yes, the autistic guy did not want a plan and the presumably NT girls wanted one. Since I had no plan the offer to come to my room was rescinded. Of course, the girls were right and it was probably best for all involved that nothing such as getting two 13-year-old girls pregnant happened, but I have always wondered how my non sex life would have been different if nothing untoward happened and I lost my virginity via a threesome at age 13.

When you have a group of 13-year-olds away hundreds of miles from their parents with no devices to track them they stay up all night and we sure did. The following day after walking around downtown Boston we got back to the dorm at 4 and were told to meet the bus in 1/2 an hour for a trip to an amusement park. I figured I'd get a catch up on a little sleep and be woken up when we were ready to go. When I woke up I could tell by the low sun angle it was not 4:30, it was 7:30, they had forgotten me. I knew Fenway Park was just three blocks away and I was a baseball fan so I told the campus security where I was going, walked to the game, bought a ticket from a scalper my age enjoyed the experience and walked back to the dorm. When the group came back I was mobbed like a rock star by the other guys. The consolers told me not to tell anybody and I gladly complied in their cover-up by not telling anybody else until I was in college. Their gross negligence made this person usually excluded or bullied be the coolest guy in the group, why would I want them fired for it? The adults were amazed I did not panic but looking back I believe my autism helped. I was used to doing things I liked by myself.

Image if that happened today. The security guard would never allow a 13-year-old kid to walk city streets alone at night. The other kids would have posted that they forgot ASPartOfMe and it would have gone viral. News helicopters would broadcast and live-blogged the bus coming back and the counselors might whose names and pictures would be all over the place would have never found work again. The camp would have been sued and forced to close.

There was more that happened on the trip. We took a day excursion to Cape Cod. On the way back the bus got sideswiped by a speeding drunk driver.

That trip was defiantly interesting.

I worked as an unarmed night security guard when I was in my early twenties exclusively in the public housing project high rises. Sometimes I had a partner and other times would have to guard a building solo. We would deal with many different kinds of people including people with severe drug and alcohol problems, gang activity, etc. Roaches of different sizes were common in the buildings.

The shift was three days on with 6pm-6am shifts and then a four hour shift. That was nice having more time off with the shortened work week.

I liked it most of the time because it was quiet at night. Once the commons areas of the buildings were closed to the residents, we had the keys so we would lock ourselves inside the commons areas, shut off the lights and be able to watch the grounds, talk, etc. while we sat in total darkness between our rounds.

There was an incident, however, that resulted in me leaving the job abruptly. A resident held a barely pubescent girl hostage and tried to rape her. Other residents called due to hearing her screams. My partner and I arrived but were instructed to wait until the police got there which they did a few minutes later.

The girl struggled to get the door open since the resident was forcing the door closed from the inside. She wiggled her way free and stepped into the hall completely naked and crying. She said: "He's got a gun!" We were against the wall on either side of the door and could not see the resident or inside the room. One of the police officers kicked the door in enough that he was standing in the doorway. Whatever he saw prompted him to start shooting his .45 caliber pistol, several shots, into the room. The sound was deafening and my hearing more or less stopped for a time. Then....that policeman turned, did not say anything to us, and started to run down the hall. We had no idea what was going on and we started to run as well. While running down the hall and not looking backward we heard several shots being fired toward us from the resident. Deafening again. We got to a stairwell and adrenaline took over. Leaping down five or six steps at a time with perfectly placed feet. We made it out of the building just as many police cars rolled up with police running toward the building-- guns drawn and shotguns carried.

They were able to take the resident into custody without further incident.

The other guard and I were taken down to police headquarters to give our statements to some detectives of what happened. We never learned why the police officer turned and ran without saying anything to us and leaving us there unarmed potentially to die.

When we were dropped off by police squad back to our post we went up to the floor the incident occurred on to assess any damage. It was then that we realized the shots we heard from the resident missed our heads by approximately two feet as evidenced by the divots the bullets made in the concrete of the hallway.

One of the security company supervisors, whose job was to drive from building to building across the city and monitor the guards was a very "gung ho" kind of person. One who liked, in theory, the concept of confrontation. He asked the both of us: "So how does it feel to be heroes you lucky SOBs?" My partner and I looked at each other both thinking the same thing: "Are you kidding?? You think you would have LIKED being in that situation?? You're crazy!!"

I quit shortly after that when the company gave me a cheap watch for the "bravery" I'd exhibited. The job paid just above minimum wage at the time and I realized it wasn't worth it.

Magna cum laude!

I like the narrative style. Have you ever read "The Basketball Diaries"?

I liked it when I read it. It's not a happy tale, really, though.