Some friends and I once met in a bar where we sometimes converged. Being peckish, I ordered a bowl of chips and was given a wooden spoon with the order number 8 on it. The food came and the spoon was taken. A few minutes later, more friends arrived, ordered food at the bar, and came to our table with the spoon of 8.
"8s always follow me around," I declared. "I was born on the 8th of the 8th, '80, which meant I was 8 on the 8th of the 8th, '88."
"Oh yeah," retorted a cynical friend, looking at his watch.