Driving back from Vermont, I stopped at a vegetable stand. It was deserted except for a sleeping German shepherd.
I stepped over the dog, helped myself to some corn, then opened the cash box to pay.
Taped to the inside of the lid was this note: "The dog can count."
I was in small-claims court when I listened in on the case of a woman who held a good job but still had trouble paying her bills on time.
“Can’t you live within your income?” asked the judge.
“No, Your Honor,” she said. “It’s all I can do to live within my credit!”
A local charity had never received a donation from the town’s banker, so the director made a phone call. “Our records show you make $500,000 a year, yet you haven’t given a penny to charity,” the director began. “Wouldn’t you like to help the community?”
The banker replied, “Did your research show that my mother is ill, with extremely expensive medical bills?”
“Um, no,” mumbled the director.
“Or that my brother is unemployed? Or that my sister’s husband left, leaving her broke with four kids?”
“I … I … I had no idea.”
“So,” said the banker, “if I don’t give them any money, why would I give any to you?”