We all seem to have that one friend who always gets into weird, sitcom-like situations.

Their lives seem like an episode of “Three’s Company,” with all kinds of hijinks and misunderstandings. Their theme song should be “Yakety Sax,” the 1963 novelty instrumental most closely associated with the long-running UK ribald comedy series, “The Benny Hill Show.”

Sometimes, I’m that friend.

Who else but yours truly would order Door Dash at work, leave his phone on silent, forget about the order and then suddenly remember … only to discover a big, fat raccoon feasting on his double-chicken bowl from Chipotle right in front of the newspaper’s main entrance?

Guilty as charged. Just for the record, that didn’t happen at this particular word factory. But a couple of weeks ago, I did watch a groundhog emerge from beneath a fence and scuttle down Franklin Street toward parts unknown. Thankfully, this latest wild-animal encounter posed no threat to my dinner.

There have been other “that could only happen to you” moments for me, but none can top what happened to a friend of mine last Saturday. This guy has been among the league leaders in that category for almost as long as I’ve known him. We’ll protect his identity here by calling him Dave, in honor of the eponymous off-tackle run the Youngstown State football team ran during Jim Tressel’s 15 seasons with the Penguins.

Dave’s greatest hits include:

Texting the wrong “Randy” in his phone to invite him over for a bonfire — twice. Then having to labor through the poor guy’s incessant stories about an ex-wife he still hates more than 20 years after their divorce.

Booking a motel in Detroit sight unseen when he and a friend — not me — scored tickets to watch his favorite team, the Minnesota Vikings, play the Lions. Let’s just say they weren’t staying at a Holiday Inn Express. The night before the game, they ordered pizza and invited an apparently homeless guy to share a slice and some beer. At some point, the guy stole Dave’s credit card and was selling fill-ups at a nearby gas station for $10 bucks each.

Taking his son to school — after the kid missed the bus — and signing him in without realizing he looked like Jim Carrey in “The Mask,” because he was still sporting a green-ish overnight mask.

Most recently, he texted me to tell me that his car was stolen at the local superstore. You know the one — owned by billionaires and often staffed by folks who barely make enough to get by — a huge place with 25 checkout registers that are never open, so you have to scan and bag your own stuff.

Which reminds me of the time Dave scanned all of his items, loaded them back into his cart and walked out to the parking lot — then realized he hadn’t paid. He walked back in and explained the predicament to an employee and apologized.

The guy responded, “Yeah, we saw you.”

Dave replied, “Why didn’t you say something?”

The employee told him that their orders are not to confront shoplifters. So he rescanned the items and paid.

On this particular Saturday, Dave went to buy a few things and came out to find an empty spot where his car had been. So he called the police and his wife, who helpfully pointed out that, “None of this would have happened if you had stayed home.”

Not to be outdone, I asked if he’d locked the car, since it was one of those vehicles that starts with only the push of a button. He didn’t respond.

Curiously, a nearly identical vehicle was parked nearby. Dave was already thinking the worst … that his car was being chopped up for parts or wrecked by some joyriding kids, but his wife — clearly the better detective in the relationship — believed that the owner of the other car had mistakenly got into his car and drove away without noticing.

Dave’s wife nailed it.

A couple of hours later, the police ran the plate on the other car, contacted the owner and within a few minutes, a man sheepishly returned to the parking lot with the “stolen” car. His own wife was the culprit, but she made him return the car because, well, why not?

All’s well that ends well, as William Shakespeare wrote. Just another day in “Dave’s World,” which sounds suspiciously like a marginally funny sitcom from the mid-1990s.

Ed Puskas is editor of the Tribune Chronicle and Vindicator. He can be reached at epuskas@

tribtoday.com or at 330-841-1786.