Doug's anomalous experiences

I take that to mean you ask what I personally conclude.

That Doug has had some remarkably interesting experiences, I suppose. Other than that I'm not sure what you're getting at.

I dare say the question might be directed more broadly to others to offer their own views. Though I'm always personally cautious about opening up personal experiences, which after all reflect on family life and personal issues, to the same sort of debate one might have about a research project.

Fair enough.

Can't really comment cuz time but why does everyone insist that there must be a difference between the mundane and paranormal in their minds? It's all mundane to me.

Because some people have had no experiences in the paranormal-labeled realm.  Thus, the distinction.

Because some people have had no experiences in the paranormal-labeled realm.  Thus, the distinction.

Some people have never skydived either but they don't label it paranormal.

Can't really comment cuz time but why does everyone insist that there must be a difference between the mundane and paranormal in their minds? It's all mundane to me.

Often the term 'mundane' is a shorthand way of saying that what you thought happened didn't really happen.

Let's say someone unexpectedly hears the sound of a brass band playing. A mundane explanation is that someone was playing a record or listening to the radio. The non-mundane explanation might be that there was some celebration taking place and there really was a brass band playing in the next street.

In this example it isn't to do with paranormal, it is to do with finding alternative explanations, assuming that it would be very surprising for there to be an actual band there, but quite an ordinary thing to hear music coming from a radio.

Of course when we get into the paranormal area, often the alternative explanations are outrageously improbable, impossible in fact, but are a way to avoid allowing the possibility that the occurrence, whatever it was, actually happened as described.

02 - Flood lamp

[Apologies in advance for the long buildup, but I feel I need to share enough background information in order for readers to properly understand the irrational rage that grew within me, nearly causing me to explode.]


This is a more conventional incident that took place in Las Vegas in October of 1975, where I was a blackjack dealer at the Money Tree Casino. Business was slow that day, so it was probably a Monday.

Back in the day the Money Tree was a tiny casino, having just four blackjack tables and about a hundred slot machines. Tips were meager, and at times it seemed that every fourth or fifth blackjack player to come through the door was an obnoxious bastard. Some of them were degenerate gamblers who'd lost most of their money in the large establishments on the Strip. Others were better-paid dealers from Strip casinos who went slumming, intent on venting their own work-related frustrations on personnel working in little dumps like the Money Tree. A few players were nearly-broke alcoholics who shouted for cocktails before sitting down and placing their first bet, then played as slowly as possible while waiting to get their free drinks.

In addition to having to put up with so many unpleasant players, we dealers were expected to win. The management didn't want us to cheat (as if we even knew how). They just wanted us to win as often as possible, especially while dealing to the bigger bettors. We were told to change our shuffles or burn cards during losing turns at the tables, and one boss I worked under even took to switching dealers frequently when a table was losing big. When all else failed, he himself stepped in to deal. Of course, none of these measures had any real effect on the house's bottom line (although they drove away a lot of business from locals), but it was no use trying to explain this to that boss or to the owners. As you might expect, the work environment was often quite stressful. At times I felt like I was in an insane asylum.

That said, I'd worked at the Money Tree for about a year and a half, so I'd gotten used to most of the crap. In addition, I was very good at my job and highly valued by the owners and bosses I worked with. I should have been happy, but instead I was absolutely miserable on the day of the incident. That's because a coworker I was very fond of had quit her job and left the country a few weeks before. I missed her terribly and hated working at the Money Tree without her. I was seriously thinking of quitting my job too.

I was the only dealer at work that day. The other dealer must have called in sick, quit or gotten fired. Moreover, my pit boss was out too. I think he was in the hospital with a serious health issue. C, the slot manager/technician filled in for him, but he spent more time in the back room repairing slot machines than he did in the 21 pit. Normally I wouldn't have minded being alone, but in the afternoon that day I started losing, and my table began to fill up with players. In these circumstances it's good to have a pit boss behind you, just in case one of the players tries to rip you off. It's also good to have a qualified witness, in case you lose so much money that the owners might later call your honesty into question. Finally, when you're the only dealer on a busy table, you need someone to give you a break every so often, even if it just means standing in for you while you go to the bathroom.

Now it happened that the player directly opposite me was a loudmouthed jerk. He'd been the first to sit down, having bought in for ten or twenty dollars. He'd started winning early on. Before long his bets increased from one or two dollars a hand to five dollars or more, and I had a  dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wasn't going to beat this guy. From time to time in my dealing career I'd had that feeling, and it seemed to be a reliable predictor of immanent losses on my part. I'd also had the feeling as a blackjack player, and it seemed accurate in that context too.

Anyway, the guy kept up a near-constant stream of verbal abuse, among other things, bragging that he was "going to take every chip in my rack", "beat me like a stepchild", and the like. His bravado was often comical, and would normally have had little effect on me, but on this day it only added to the misery I was already feeling. It also didn't help that he was winning and not tipping me. Mind you, I had no philosophical problem with stiffs not tipping, but I did tend to get angry inside at obnoxious stiffs who beat me for good money. If for no other reason, I felt I should be tipped for taking the abuse they dished out.

Over the next hour or so, other players found their way to the table. Eventually the table was full with seven players, and all of them were winning! They laughed themselves silly at the insults coming from the jerk in the middle of the table, and some of them added their own abuse for good measure. I don't think I've ever dealt to so many hostile, obnoxious and stiff players at a single time. No doubt they let loose on me because there was no pit boss around to keep things under control.

I'd been dealing to the guy in the middle for about an hour and a half and was getting fed up with him, as well as the other players. I was also getting fed up with the Money Tree and began to fantasize walking off my table and out the front door, never to return. C should have come out of the back room 45 minutes before to give me a break. Also, he must have known I had a full table of players, and he should have at least checked to see how I was doing. As things stood, I was down well over a thousand dollars and could have used a fill (i.e. a delivery of more chips to my chip rack). But he was nowhere to be seen, and I'd lost so much money by that point that I was afraid to tell one of the passing change girls to get him. I continued dealing in hopes of my luck changing, yet feeling ever more bitter over a situation that was rapidly becoming hopeless.

Before long the jerk in the middle was betting $20 a hand, the table max, and he was killing me! He must have had four or five hundred dollars in front of him. In addition, some of the other players were up as much as one or two hundred dollars each! These were folks who'd bought in for five or ten bucks and a match play coupon not an hour before and began playing with one dollar bets!

I also began to fantasize lunging over the table and strangling the jerk. He was a big guy, possibly as tall as me but a lot heavier and more muscular. He probably would have killed me if I'd attacked him. But I didn't care, given the emotional meltdown I was experiencing. I was seething with anger, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd either walk away from the table or go for the jerk's throat. I was trying to decide which way to end my career as a blackjack dealer.

Now the jerk started shouting "Bust!" every time I had a stiff hand and needed to draw a card. He kept shouting it until the round was over. Soon the other players joined the jerk in chanting "Bust! Bust! Bust!". After that I started to bust nearly every hand, while also losing most of the hands that didn't bust. The crowd then shouted "Pay me! Pay me! Pay me!" each time I lost. Finally, my chip rack was almost empty, and I'd had enough torture. I busted one more hand, and then I snapped...

What took place next happened in a split second, I suppose, but I can recall three distinct phases. First, after busting the last hand and paying everyone, then collecting the used cards and slamming them into the card rack, I stopped and glared at the jerk in the middle. The time for action had come, but I still couldn't decide whether to grab the jerk's throat or leave the table and walk out the front door of the casino. On top of the rage I was feeling, my indecision added a strong sense of despair. Then everything in view suddenly turned a shade of red (a blood vessel in one of my retinas must have broken). Almost simultaneously, I heard what sounded like a really loud gunshot. Instinctively I ducked for cover. I imagine some of the players did too.

After that the table was dark, and the round, convex bottom of the overhead flood lamp was lying a couple of inches in front of my chip rack, right where my dealer's cards would normally be placed. When the flood lamp exploded, the bottom broke cleanly away from the rest of the bulb and fell straight down to land where my dealer cards went.

On seeing the flood lamp had exploded, the jerk made a wisecrack which everyone laughed at, including me. Suddenly the sick feeling in my stomach was gone and a powerful sense of relief came over me. In addition, I no longer saw red.

At hearing the explosion, C finally came out of the back room and into the 21 pit. I handed him the glass bottom of the floodlight and nursed a cut to my hand caused by a tiny shard. It bled profusely for a few minutes before stopping. (Although I don't remember it, I must have taken a short break from the table to go to the bathroom and take care of the cut. C must have stood in my place at the table while I was gone, to guard what was left of the chips in my rack.)

After I resumed dealing, the insults stopped. Most likely this was due to C's presence in the 21 pit. I wonder, however, if some of the players had connected my enraged demeanor with the resultant explosion of the flood lamp. The jerk in the middle must have seen me tensing up and glaring at him just before the light exploded. Nevertheless, neither he nor any of the other players spoke about the incident. They just played on, making the kind of banter you normally hear at blackjack tables. I had the sense, though, that some of them were a little nervous after the explosion. But even if that's so, C's presence in the 21 pit might explain the behavior.

I should add that almost immediately after the explosion, the jerk and a couple of the other players started tipping me. Eventually, most of the players wound up doing the same. Some of the tips went straight into my pocket. The rest were bets for me, placed in front of the players' bets. Sadly, most of those lost because my luck had changed, and I started beating them mercilessly! In less than an hour I won back most of the money I'd lost previously. One by one the players left until the table was empty, and I had time to ponder what had taken place. Needless to say, I was grateful that the flood lamp exploded, because if it hadn't, I would have exploded instead. That bulb saved me from ruining my dealing career, and it might have saved my life.

Over the years, I've wondered about the incidence of exploding flood lamps. I can say that it must have been exceedingly small from the 1970s onward, because the average casino uses dozens of them, and I've spend a lot of time in casinos over the past 40-plus years. I can't remember ever hearing a flood lamp (or any other bulb, for that matter) explode in a casino.

About my mental/emotional state at the time, I can say that I've never felt so miserable, so despairing and so angry as I was just before the explosion. Fortunately, the confluence of circumstances that led to my meltdown has never occurred again since that day in October, 1975.

It's readily apparent to me that my emotional state brought about the explosion. Unfortunately, there's no way to prove my contention. All I can say in favor of it is that I'm not the only person to experience this phenomenon while under great stress. Sandy B. used to mention blown light bulbs on her old blog. I don't recall if any of her bulbs actually exploded, though. But I think there must be at least a few cases of exploding bulbs in the literature, under emotional circumstances similar to mine, and probably dozens of cases involving blown light bulbs.

Along these lines, I can also say that I believe I often have an adverse effect on the electronics around me when I'm feeling extremely anxious.

Some people have never skydived either but they don't label it paranormal.

I've seen people skydive.  Its commonplace.  Its mundane.

But you knew that and I think you get my point as well.

Often the term 'mundane' is a shorthand way of saying that what you thought happened didn't really happen.

I am not sure I entirely agree with the first sentence. Mundane in this context (ie my application of it) refers to a 'material' explanation as opposed to one which requires non-material explanation (although it could also be used to mean 'a more likely' explanation). It seems to me use of the word 'mundane' here isn't about what happened, but rather what caused the reported event. 

If what Doug thought happened was the shoelaces moved then I think it would be hard to gainsay it (other than by someone calling him a liar, drunk, high on something else, telling a tale or mis-remembering of course (there are probably other ways to suggest what he thinks he saw, didn't happen)). This is perhaps more about what could be the cause of the effect observed. Mundane here might include trickery perhaps.

I don't think the 'music analogy' really fits as both explanations are generally accepted as possible. This isn't the case with the shoe-lace scenario as there is no clear generally accepted alternative explanation for how the laces might have moved (ie a non-material explanation). 

The general sceptical position seems to me to be that unless it is accepted that there may be some way of explaining the phenomena other than by a material explanation, it's the end of the line and must be fraud or error. This is convenient for some as it means there is no need to entertain the disturbing thought that there is something outside the security of their model of the world. That in turn leads to ridiculous contortions in logic and probability in order to satisfy themselves that their model of the world isn't threatened. It's almost a religiously fanatical approach - "I have the truth, therefore anything that conflicts with it must be false, even if I can't explain why".

02 - Flood lamp

[Apologies in advance for the long buildup, but I feel I need to share enough background information in order for readers to properly understand the irrational rage that grew within me, nearly causing me to explode.]


This is a more conventional incident that took place in Las Vegas in October of 1975, where I was a blackjack dealer at the Money Tree Casino. Business was slow that day, so it was probably a Monday.

Back in the day the Money Tree was a tiny casino, having just four blackjack tables and about a hundred slot machines. Tips were meager, and at times it seemed that every fourth or fifth blackjack player to come through the door was an obnoxious bastard. Some of them were degenerate gamblers who'd lost most of their money in the large establishments on the Strip. Others were better-paid dealers from Strip casinos who went slumming, intent on venting their own work-related frustrations on personnel working in little dumps like the Money Tree. A few players were nearly-broke alcoholics who shouted for cocktails before sitting down and placing their first bet, then played as slowly as possible while waiting to get their free drinks.

In addition to having to put up with so many unpleasant players, we dealers were expected to win. The management didn't want us to cheat (as if we even knew how). They just wanted us to win as often as possible, especially while dealing to the bigger bettors. We were told to change our shuffles or burn cards during losing turns at the tables, and one boss I worked under even took to switching dealers frequently when a table was losing big. When all else failed, he himself stepped in to deal. Of course, none of these measures had any real effect on the house's bottom line (although they drove away a lot of business from locals), but it was no use trying to explain this to that boss or to the owners. As you might expect, the work environment was often quite stressful. At times I felt like I was in an insane asylum.

That said, I'd worked at the Money Tree for about a year and a half, so I'd gotten used to most of the crap. In addition, I was very good at my job and highly valued by the owners and bosses I worked with. I should have been happy, but instead I was absolutely miserable on the day of the incident. That's because a coworker I was very fond of had quit her job and left the country a few weeks before. I missed her terribly and hated working at the Money Tree without her. I was seriously thinking of quitting my job too.

I was the only dealer at work that day. The other dealer must have called in sick, quit or gotten fired. Moreover, my pit boss was out too. I think he was in the hospital with a serious health issue. C, the slot manager/technician filled in for him, but he spent more time in the back room repairing slot machines than he did in the 21 pit. Normally I wouldn't have minded being alone, but in the afternoon that day I started losing, and my table began to fill up with players. In these circumstances it's good to have a pit boss behind you, just in case one of the players tries to rip you off. It's also good to have a qualified witness, in case you lose so much money that the owners might later call your honesty into question. Finally, when you're the only dealer on a busy table, you need someone to give you a break every so often, even if it just means standing in for you while you go to the bathroom.

Now it happened that the player directly opposite me was a loudmouthed jerk. He'd been the first to sit down, having bought in for ten or twenty dollars. He'd started winning early on. Before long his bets increased from one or two dollars a hand to five dollars or more, and I had a  dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wasn't going to beat this guy. From time to time in my dealing career I'd had that feeling, and it seemed to be a reliable predictor of immanent losses on my part. I'd also had the feeling as a blackjack player, and it seemed accurate in that context too.

Anyway, the guy kept up a near-constant stream of verbal abuse, among other things, bragging that he was "going to take every chip in my rack", "beat me like a stepchild", and the like. His bravado was often comical, and would normally have had little effect on me, but on this day it only added to the misery I was already feeling. It also didn't help that he was winning and not tipping me. Mind you, I had no philosophical problem with stiffs not tipping, but I did tend to get angry inside at obnoxious stiffs who beat me for good money. If for no other reason, I felt I should be tipped for taking the abuse they dished out.

Over the next hour or so, other players found their way to the table. Eventually the table was full with seven players, and all of them were winning! They laughed themselves silly at the insults coming from the jerk in the middle of the table, and some of them added their own abuse for good measure. I don't think I've ever dealt to so many hostile, obnoxious and stiff players at a single time. No doubt they let loose on me because there was no pit boss around to keep things under control.

I'd been dealing to the guy in the middle for about an hour and a half and was getting fed up with him, as well as the other players. I was also getting fed up with the Money Tree and began to fantasize walking off my table and out the front door, never to return. C should have come out of the back room 45 minutes before to give me a break. Also, he must have known I had a full table of players, and he should have at least checked to see how I was doing. As things stood, I was down well over a thousand dollars and could have used a fill (i.e. a delivery of more chips to my chip rack). But he was nowhere to be seen, and I'd lost so much money by that point that I was afraid to tell one of the passing change girls to get him. I continued dealing in hopes of my luck changing, yet feeling ever more bitter over a situation that was rapidly becoming hopeless.

Before long the jerk in the middle was betting $20 a hand, the table max, and he was killing me! He must have had four or five hundred dollars in front of him. In addition, some of the other players were up as much as one or two hundred dollars each! These were folks who'd bought in for five or ten bucks and a match play coupon not an hour before and began playing with one dollar bets!

I also began to fantasize lunging over the table and strangling the jerk. He was a big guy, possibly as tall as me but a lot heavier and more muscular. He probably would have killed me if I'd attacked him. But I didn't care, given the emotional meltdown I was experiencing. I was seething with anger, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd either walk away from the table or go for the jerk's throat. I was trying to decide which way to end my career as a blackjack dealer.

Now the jerk started shouting "Bust!" every time I had a stiff hand and needed to draw a card. He kept shouting it until the round was over. Soon the other players joined the jerk in chanting "Bust! Bust! Bust!". After that I started to bust nearly every hand, while also losing most of the hands that didn't bust. The crowd then shouted "Pay me! Pay me! Pay me!" each time I lost. Finally, my chip rack was almost empty, and I'd had enough torture. I busted one more hand, and then I snapped...

What took place next happened in a split second, I suppose, but I can recall three distinct phases. First, after busting the last hand and paying everyone, then collecting the used cards and slamming them into the card rack, I stopped and glared at the jerk in the middle. The time for action had come, but I still couldn't decide whether to grab the jerk's throat or leave the table and walk out the front door of the casino. On top of the rage I was feeling, my indecision added a strong sense of despair. Then everything in view suddenly turned a shade of red (a blood vessel in one of my retinas must have broken). Almost simultaneously, I heard what sounded like a really loud gunshot. Instinctively I ducked for cover. I imagine some of the players did too.

After that the table was dark, and the round, convex bottom of the overhead flood lamp was lying a couple of inches in front of my chip rack, right where my dealer's cards would normally be placed. When the flood lamp exploded, the bottom broke cleanly away from the rest of the bulb and fell straight down to land where my dealer cards went.

On seeing the flood lamp had exploded, the jerk made a wisecrack which everyone laughed at, including me. Suddenly the sick feeling in my stomach was gone and a powerful sense of relief came over me. In addition, I no longer saw red.

At hearing the explosion, C finally came out of the back room and into the 21 pit. I handed him the glass bottom of the floodlight and nursed a cut to my hand caused by a tiny shard. It bled profusely for a few minutes before stopping. (Although I don't remember it, I must have taken a short break from the table to go to the bathroom and take care of the cut. C must have stood in my place at the table while I was gone, to guard what was left of the chips in my rack.)

After I resumed dealing, the insults stopped. Most likely this was due to C's presence in the 21 pit. I wonder, however, if some of the players had connected my enraged demeanor with the resultant explosion of the flood lamp. The jerk in the middle must have seen me tensing up and glaring at him just before the light exploded. Nevertheless, neither he nor any of the other players spoke about the incident. They just played on, making the kind of banter you normally hear at blackjack tables. I had the sense, though, that some of them were a little nervous after the explosion. But even if that's so, C's presence in the 21 pit might explain the behavior.

I should add that almost immediately after the explosion, the jerk and a couple of the other players started tipping me. Eventually, most of the players wound up doing the same. Some of the tips went straight into my pocket. The rest were bets for me, placed in front of the players' bets. Sadly, most of those lost because my luck had changed, and I started beating them mercilessly! In less than an hour I won back most of the money I'd lost previously. One by one the players left until the table was empty, and I had time to ponder what had taken place. Needless to say, I was grateful that the flood lamp exploded, because if it hadn't, I would have exploded instead. That bulb saved me from ruining my dealing career, and it might have saved my life.

Over the years, I've wondered about the incidence of exploding flood lamps. I can say that it must have been exceedingly small from the 1970s onward, because the average casino uses dozens of them, and I've spend a lot of time in casinos over the past 40-plus years. I can't remember ever hearing a flood lamp (or any other bulb, for that matter) explode in a casino.

About my mental/emotional state at the time, I can say that I've never felt so miserable, so despairing and so angry as I was just before the explosion. Fortunately, the confluence of circumstances that led to my meltdown has never occurred again since that day in October, 1975.

It's readily apparent to me that my emotional state brought about the explosion. Unfortunately, there's no way to prove my contention. All I can say in favor of it is that I'm not the only person to experience this phenomenon while under great stress. Sandy B. used to mention blown light bulbs on her old blog. I don't recall if any of her bulbs actually exploded, though. But I think there must be at least a few cases of exploding bulbs in the literature, under emotional circumstances similar to mine, and probably dozens of cases involving blown light bulbs.

Along these lines, I can also say that I believe I often have an adverse effect on the electronics around me when I'm feeling extremely anxious.

Thanks Doug that's very interesting. I suspect it may be more common than is thought. 

I remember reading about a person who was attempting to establish whether they had had contact from a deceased relative or friend. At one point, in an emotional outburst they shouted "I need clear cut evidence" and immediately a glass paper weight in front of them on their desk split cleanly into two. Subsequent analysis could not determine the cause other than that it was not caused by the application of physical contact. Interesting no?

I don't think the 'music analogy' really fits as both explanations are generally accepted as possible.

It fits in the context I was using it, which was in reply to Mediochre. I was definitely not referring to the case presented by Doug, and that is why I deliberately chose a fictional example.  

I think we are somewhat at cross-purposes, your intentions and the points you make are well-taken and are fine. But I don't think that means we disagree, only that we were talking about different things.

It fits in the context I was using it, which was in reply to Mediochre. I was definitely not referring to the case presented by Doug, and that is why I deliberately chose a fictional example.  

I think we are somewhat at cross-purposes, your intentions and the points you make are well-taken and are fine. But I don't think that means we disagree, only that we were talking about different things.

Yes of course. I don't mind being in disagreement with genuine parties like yourself in any case - it's how I learn