I lent a friend of mine R100,000 for plastic surgery and now I don’t know what he looks like.
While working at Baskin-Robbins, I helped a woman, who was full of questions about the flavors and types available, pick out an ice-cream cake.
As I was boxing it up for her, she had one last question:
“How long do I bake this?”
John, a neighbor of mine, was annoyed because he had to search for his newspaper each morning after the paperboy tossed it. Often he would find it, covered with dirt, under the car in the gravel driveway. Then one-day the paperboy’s mother mentioned that her son’s ambition was to play professional basketball. John had an idea.
When he got home, he attached a basketball hoop to a post on the front porch. Sure enough, the next morning there was a resounding “plunk” as the newspaper sailed through the hoop and landed by the door.
John never had to search for his paper again.
Hygiene is in the eye of the beholder, I’ve decided. While waiting for my lunch, I watched the woman in the sandwich shop spreading mayonnaise on my bread and noticed part of her grubby work shirt was dragging across it.
“Excuse me,” I ventured. “Your sleeve is in the mayo.”
“No problem,” she reassured me. “I need to wash it anyway.”