A few weeks ago, I went into a Blockbuster to rent some videos, and left with Pirates of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl, Home on the Range, and a belief in the sixth sense.
Here's what happened: I was in the middle of checking out, when the cashier, a guy in his mid-twenties, said, "Can I ask you a weird question?" (in itself a weird question). I replied "okay," and braced myself for something along the lines of "Do you like to eat keys?".
But what he said was, "Did you have anything to do with 9/11? I mean, were you there?".
I was stunned. I was there. I worked in Manhattan, a mile from the World Trade Center, in 2001, the only year I have ever lived in New York City. I told him as much.
"Yeah," he said, "I got an image of you sitting on a curb, or something." I had sat on a curb that day. Several, in fact.
The cashier's co-worker stood there frozen and slack-jawed. "Dude," he muttered. "Dude, that's crazy."
"Are you serious?" the cashier asked me.
"Are you?" I said.
When he didn't budge, I told the cashier, with a completely straight face, that he had super powers. Then I left the store, unsure of how to continue the conversation.
And I still don't know what to make of it. No one who's heard the story has offered an alternative to paranormality except my friend Steve, who proposed that, although my rental card listed my previous address in Madison, Wisconsin, my entire history as a Blockbuster customer might have popped up on the cashier's screen. Did this supposed psychic see that I registered for my first card in Brooklyn in 2001? Or did he read my mind?
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