Story Sent in by Bob:
Sara and I met while waiting in line at a post office. The line was long, and there was only one person working the window, so we were there for a while. She was shipping an enormous package, and I had about a dozen letters to send out. The silly standing-in-line smalltalk turned into a bona fide conversation, and a little while later, I walked out of there with a dozen fewer letters and her number.
We went out to dinner and it was pretty great, although she said a couple of things that sent up little warning flags. She asked, "You think, if we get married, that it should be at the post office where we met?" and "Do you know if postal workers can officiate at weddings?"
I was pretty sure that postal workers weren't ordained in anything except bureaucracy. I didn't think too much of her questions at the time, made some sort of joke or other to brush them off, and the date ended with me looking forward to date number two.
I called her up with the intent to plan a second date (I had a few ideas) and she asked if we could meet at the post office. I thought she was suggesting it as a good place to meet and then go off on the date, as it was essentially centrally located.
When I arrived, though, I discovered that she had something different in mind. "It's locked," she said, "But maybe we can just stand out here and reenact our first meeting?"
"You want to reenact our first meeting? Why?"
"Because it was special. Come on."
I played her game, lined up behind her at the locked front door to the post office, and breezed through the bits of our very first conversation as best as I could remember. She corrected me every now and again, reminding me of things I had forgotten. I was amazed at how much she remembered from it... and a bit frightened.
She said, "Then you scratched your face, after you said that... no, the other cheek."
After about 10 to 15 minutes of this, I grew tired of it and asked her if she was ready to move on from there. She was hesitant, but went along with me to dinner. My plan was for an early dinner and then a gallery walk, which was going on that evening.
At dinner, she asked me if we could return to the post office, after dinner, to "finish what we started," as in, finish reenacting our first conversation.
I didn't want to do that, and I told her. She then said that she couldn't make it to the gallery walk, as "something came up."
"Something's come up?" I asked her, "But you've been sitting here with me the whole time. Before you said that a gallery walk would be fine. What could've come up between then and now?"
"Something. After dinner, I've got to go."
She blasted through her dinner, I paid the check, she gave me a hasty, weak hug goodbye, and scurried off, presumably to the post office. But I don't really know.
I went on the gallery walk myself, had a nice time, and never saw Sara again.
Story Sent in by Bob: