Asklemmy

About 1984, I got arrested in Cobb County Georgia for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had a little weed on me, which I had shoved into my skivvies before I was handcuffed. While in the holding cell at the jailhouse with a few other new arrivals, I decided I needed to get rid of it before I got processed in and sent upstairs, so I broke it out and surprised my temporary cellmates with a little treat in a home-made pipe fashioned from the foil out of a cigarette pack. It was cool. If nothing else, the 4 or 5 of us were a little less stressed about our current situation. One of the guys in the cell with me was especially memorable, because he had been arrested for drunk driving while he was at a lake partying with his friends, all because his keys were in the ignition so they could listen to his radio. He wasn't even in the car when the cops showed up.

Fast forward about 2 or 3 years and I'm back home in the Florida panhandle. At that time, I drove a cab for a living and one evening I was out with a fellow cabby hitting up some titty bars and stuff. We're driving in his car, and I told him the story I just told y'all, down to the details about the poor guy and his DUI. About the time I finish the story, we're stopping at a gas station for cigarettes or something, and we get out of the car to go inside and out front of the store are two scroungy looking dudes selling clumps of mistletoe (it was near Christmas time). I'll be damned if one of those guys wasn't the exact same guy in my story. I recognized him immediately and about crapped myself and was like "Holy shit this is the guy!!" He totally remembered me, and we had a fun little mini-reunion of sorts during which he totally confirmed my story about smoking weed in a jail cell to my friend...

I was 16, on a road-trip in the US with my dad and my sister. We're French. First time in the US. Get to NYC after a month. That was before Internet existed: we had booked a room in the Central Park YMCA by mail. Reception goes: "Yes, you're in the book. LastName, 2 people, today through next Saturday."
"Err, no, sorry, the dates are right but there are 3 of us."
"Oh, we must have written it down wrong, no problem, we'll give you a bigger room." We get to our room. 5 minutes later there's a knock on the door. My sister opens it. My dad's jaw clatters on the lino floor. It was his estranged dad and very much estranged step-mother. He hadn't been in touch for 20 years; I had met them once when I was 3; my sister, never. They had booked a room under the same LastName (duh), for the same 6 nights, in the same hostel, for their first visit to the US.
We did spend some time with them in NYC, but it didn't lead to any happily-ever-after, family-healing breakthrough, because they were jerks or, to be honest, monsters.

I've got two:

1. The Cat-Call

   Not quite the same level as yours, but: once I saw my cousin's cat meow at its kittens to call them for milk.

   On a spur of the moment random impulse, I meowed the same way, inadvertently replicating the mother cat's meow down to some exact degree of mimicry such that all the cats turned to look at me; the kittens stopping mid-stride to look at me for a source of milk, their confusion expressed in a footfall hesitations of whether to come to me or not.

   The mother cat meowed again, and the kittens resume their journey to her, and she threw me an irritated look.

   I have not once been able to replicate this. It was just one of those once a million moments where all the odds of the universe stacked up in favor of me, and paid out in the most realistic cat sound known to either man or cat.

2. Call to Prayer

   This one has more hidden steps: once, when I was a kid, I was bored watching endless TV coverage about the Royal family

   It was a show about the latest gossip on Princess Dianna, and there was literally nothing else to watch on another channel. So I did what any well-adjusted kid did, and that night I got down on one knee and prayed for her die. Prayed. I'm not religious nor was I raised religious in any sense.

   Anyway, one week later, she popped off. The guilt stayed with me for a while, until I decided that if God's taking messed up requests, then that's on him and not me.

How are your business cards his legacy?