Messages from a ghost restaurant?

Many years ago, one of my favorite restaurants offered a small “birthday gift” of a bowl of soup or salad if visitors signed up for that service. I signed up, and got an emailed certificate every year since then.

Several years passed, and the restaurant closed. They did not move or relocate … the owner disappeared, and the restaurant was vacant. Yet, I continued to get emailed “birthday gift certificates” for the nonexistent restaurant.

More time passed, and a new restaurant moved into the location. New name, new menu, new ownership. Yet, I continued to get certificates for the OLD restaurant, that did not apply to the new one.

The new restaurant did not last long. It too closed. Months passed, and yet another restaurant opened at the location. It has survived several years now … and I still get birthday gift certificates from and for the original restaurant, that has been gone for more than a decade now.

(I have naturally curly, thick hair, and it’s been my mother’s source of frustration for many years. I’m a girl.)

Mom: “Look at this hair, I hate it!” *yanking at my hair, pulling a chunk out* “Oops…”

Me: *sobbing*

(Preteen me:)

Mom: “Your hair looks awful! That’s it, I’m going to cut it off!”

Me: “No you’re not!”

Mom: “Wanna see?!” *grabs scissors and chases me around until was distracted by something and stops*

(Teenage me:)

Me: “Mom can I buy some gel?”

Mom: “All you need to do is brush your hair and it wouldn’t be such a mess!”

Me: “I tried!”

(The ironic thing was, she had a perm and brushed it out every day, so it’d look like a big poofy mess like mine! Everyone would comment on it, even her boss about how terrible it looked. I guess she thought she looked great in it and I didn’t.)

(I enjoy reading “mindbenders” I find online, mostly written by people who are high but still have a point. My friend hates them.)

Me: “No matter how many lasagnas you stack on top of each other, you will always end up with only one lasagna.”

Friend: “Stoooop.”

Me: “Minty is just cold spicy.”

Friend: “Stop it!”

Me: “There is no proof that today is Thursday. We just trust that someone’s been counting correctly since the first time we decided to use weeks to mark time.”

Friend: *chucks her binder at me*

This story takes place about 20 years ago. At the time, you could undertake 3-Unit Mathematics in Year 11, and then in Year 12, optionally take on 4-Unit Mathematics. This takes place towards the end of Year 11 when the teacher is asking a student if they are planning on taking on 4-Unit.

Teacher: *student*, are you doing 4-Unit next year?
Student: ummmm…
Teacher: c’mon, you’ve got the marks, are you doing it?
Student: ummm….
Teacher: *student*, what are you doing?
Me: (loud enough for the entire class to hear) He’s sitting there with his hands under the desk and a smile on his face. I think it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.

At this point, the entire class cracks up, the student quickly raises both hands into the air and the teacher leaves to regain her composure.

(We pull pranks on each other all the time. Today, I lock the internal garage door before she gets out of the car.)
Wife: *knocking* “Hey!”
Me: *innocently* “Something wrong?”
Wife: “I can and will-” *pause* “-do something annoying!”
Me: *laughs* “You realize the keys are still in the car, right?”
Wife: “…shut up!”
Me: *unlocks the door and smiles*