Garbage collectors were picking up our trash as my wife walked back into our house. A particular barrel was very heavy.
“Lady, we can’t take this,” one man called out. “It’s way over the weight limit.”
My wife turned her eight-month-pregnant figure toward him. “It didn’t seem that heavy when I carried it out,” she said.
Without another word, the man emptied the barrel into the truck.
This guy loved living in Staten Island, but he wasn't crazy about the ferry. If you missed a ferry late at night, you had to spend the next hour or so wandering the deserted streets of lower Manhattan.
So, when he spotted a ferry no more than fifteen feet from the dock, he decided he wouldn't subject himself to an hour's wait. He made a running leap and landed on his hands and knees, a little bruised maybe, but safe on deck.
He got up, brushed himself off, and announced proudly to a bystander, "Well, I made that one, didn't I?"
"Sure did," the bystander said. "But you should have waited a minute or two. The ferry is just about to dock."
I was living in the mountains above Denver when my college buddy, Gary, arrived in his ancient Maserati sports car. He had just driven it from Ohio, and as he pulled into my driveway, the car broke down.
Calls to auto-supply stores and garages in search of replacement parts proved futile. The 1962 model was simply too rare. Responses ranged from "Mas-a-what?" to "You've got to be kidding." One guy just laughed.
I was at the end of the listings in the Yellow Pages when I dialed Victor's Garage. "Vic," I said, "you're my last hope. Do you carry any parts for a 1962 Maserati?"
There was a long pause. Finally, Victor cleared his throat. "Yes," he replied. "Oil."
One Saturday evening a man walked into a bar and said, "Excuse me, I would like a pint of beer." The bartender served the man his drink and said, "That will be four dollars." The customer pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the bartender.
"Sorry, sir," the bartender said, "but I can't accept that."
So the man pulls out a ten-dollar bill, and the bartender rejects his money again. "What's going on here?" the puzzled man asked the barkeep.
Pointing to a neon sign behind the bar, the bartender explained, "This is a Singles Bar."