Every Easter our church stages an elaborate pageant. Last year the man who played Pontius Pilate had to work on the night of the dress rehearsal, and a chorus member substituted for him.
As we began rehearsing Pilate’s solo, the conductor stopped the orchestra. “Pilate, I don’t hear you,” he called out. “You’re not loud enough.”
“Pilate is at work,” a voice on the stage shouted back. “We’ve got our co-Pilate tonight.”
I’m employed at a computer security company and have a colleague whose name is M. Alware. His e-mail address is email@example.com.
My ex-boss’s name is R. Stone. His e-mail was firstname.lastname@example.org.
My name is James Pan. Every other permutation of my name was taken (e.g., jpan, jamesp), so I’m stuck with email@example.com.
During basic training, our drill sergeant asked for a show of hands of all Jewish personnel. Six of us raised our hands. Much to our relief, we were given the day off for Rosh Hashanah.
A few days later in anticipation of Yom Kippur, the drill sergeant again asked for all Jewish personnel to ID themselves. This time, every soldier raised his hand.
"Only the personnel who were Jewish last week can be Jewish this week," declared the sergeant.