Eighteen Stories With A Touch Of Humor

by Mario V. Farina

disturbed while immersed in a book.

  I could try bumping into her as both of us were leaving. No, there would simply be two excuse me’s and that would be the end of the encounter.

  I could send her a note. No, she’d think I was a masher.

  I might ask Trudy to introduce me? No, Trudy might feel this was not a role she should be expected to exercise as a server in a restaurant.

  I couldn’t let the woman go. I might not see her again. Trudy had brought coffee but not my meal yet. I could go to her booth and ask what was the book she was reading. I was mulling over that idea when my food was delivered. I slowly began to partake.

  The meal didn’t go well. I kept scolding myself for having been so ineffective. Now, she would finish eating, and I would finish eating, and we’d both leave, and that would be the end of today’s opportunity to meet the woman I found myself so strongly attracted to. Yes, I could come back tomorrow at the same time but there was no assurance she would be here again.

  Shakespeare, through Brutus, had expressed my thoughts better than I could when he wrote something like,

  There is a tide in the affairs of men.

  Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

  On such a full sea are we now afloat,

  And we must take the current when it serves,

  Or lose our ventures.

  This might be the day I would remember as the day I had let the girl of my dreams turn my dreams to a sea of regrets.

  I continued eating and kept glancing at the woman from time to time. Once she looked in my direction and I quickly averted my eyes. I didn’t want to let on that I had been watching her. I resolved to be more careful.

  I berated myself for having failed so miserably. The only plan I could formulate for the future was to come back tomorrow and embroil myself in the same ordeal. I ate without enjoying the food, or even being aware that it was being consumed. I saw Trudy bring the young woman a check. She paid her bill and left some folding money on the table. I returned to my food seething inwardly.

  “Pardon me, may I sit here with you?” I looked up. It was her! It was her! I felt myself flushing in several colors. “N-no, n-not at all,” I stammered. “Please do!” She sat at the opposite side of the booth.

  “My name is Emily,” she said. “I couldn’t help noticing you. You seemed so deep in thought. I was over there reading,” she said pointing to where she had been sitting. “I couldn’t focus on the words in my book thinking about you. Are you a professor?”

  Now that she was closer, I could smell faint scents of perfume. “I-I teach at the high school,” I said. "In my spare time, I-I do a little thinking,” I said, realizing, with some humor, that this was as incongruous as stating that Fred Astaire danced a little.

  “I eat here every day at about this time,” Emily said. “I bring a book to keep me company but I’d rather talk to someone. Shall we sit together tomorrow so you can tell me what you think about? I would like that.”

  I readily agreed. Emily and I did meet for breakfast many times afterward. And for many years! Today, as I write this, we’ll be celebrating the thirtieth year of our marriage.

  Fifteen Minutes Of Fame

  Michael W. Butler was awakened at two in the morning. He was startled to hear a voice though he saw no one. "Mr. Butler, your day has arrived. You're entitled to fifteen minutes of fame. We need to know what kind of fame you desire."

  "I can't see you," stammered Michael. "I don't know what you mean. What's going on?"

  "You should know by now," the disembodied voice responded. "You've heard of Andy Warhol, haven't you? We're from Way Up Here. You're going to receive fifteen minutes of fame today. We can give you almost any kind you want!"

  "You're from Way Up There? Do you really mean Way up There?"

  "Exactly, we at Way Up Here have the power to grant you the fifteen minutes of fame that you're entitled to. Do you want fame for inheriting a fortune, inventing something, writing best seller, what?"

  "A fortune would be good. Make me famous for that!"

  "OK, but we can't give you any money. You would get the fame but there would be no fortune. We don't have any money Way Up Here."

  "How about me marrying Ms America?"

  "Fine! But, there could be no such event. You would get the fame but not the girl! You might get ridiculed afterwards! We don't have any control over Ms. America's life Way Up Here!"

  "Oh, I see how it works. Could I get fame for having raised a prize rooster at the county fair? That actually happened two years ago."

  "No, not really, too trivial. How about fame for wisdom? Have you ever said anything that was wise?"

  "I said that anything you get for free is well worth it!"

  "No, too mercenary. What else?"

  "We get born and then spend the rest of our lives trying to stay out of the poorhouse."

  "No, too pessimistic."

  "Let me think. I got it! How about Fortuitous events prognosticate contingent futures."

  "Sounds wise! What does it mean?"

  "I just made it up. Doesn't have any meaning yet!"

  "Might be OK. Call WTZ-TV at eight and tell them that. If they accept it, your fame will begin an hour later."

  Michael dialed the station and was shunted directly to the station's manager.

  "Fortuitous events prognosticate contingent futures," said Michael. There was a moment of silence, then, "Deep!" commented the voice at the other end. "Do you mind if we announce this over the air tonight?"

  "No, I'd be pleased if you did!"

  At nine, Michael's statement was being heard on TV stations all over the country. He tuned in to CNBC and viewed the announcement.

  "Michael W. Butler of Fleecewood Hollow has caught the attention of the world with his profound statement, Fortuitous events prognosticate contingent futures." Michael smiled broadly. He was enjoying his new-found fame.

  His phone began ringing. The statements from callers were uniformly praise-laden. Several were asking whether Michael would agree to speak at their high school graduation exercises. The calls continued unceasingly. Fame was overwhelming for Michael. He stopped answering the phone.

  A reporter came to the door, "Tell us more, Mr. Butler. What does this statement mean?"

  "Nothing special that I can think of," retorted Michael, "It just came to me and sounded good."

  Within moments, Roger Foxx was seen speaking on CNN. "Michael W. Butler, has just admitted his pronouncement has no meaning. He told us, it simply sounded good." Roger appeared horrified as he broke the news.

  It was nine-fifteen. There were no more calls. Michael's heretofore-celebrated statement was never heard of again.

  They Were Just Being Polite

  I'm 93 and retired from a full-time job when I was 90. I kept working because the idea of retiring never occurred to me and nobody ever mentioned it

  .

  Every so often one of my supervisors would engage me in conversation and say something like, "It was tough coming to work today. I wonder if being retired would be a pleasant change. Do you ever feel that way, Andrew?" I'd say, "Yes, I feel that way at times." He or she would give me a strange look and go away.

  Other times, a manager might say, "Andrew, have you ever yearned to do some traveling? Wouldn't that be fun!?" I'd say, "Yes, I have yearned to do that." He or she would give me a strange look and go away.

  One day, Fred, a co-worker who sat at a nearby desk said, "Andrew, did you know that a lot of people your age are retiring!" This remark caught my instant attention. No, I had not known this! I asked Fred to tell me more. He did. During the next hour or so, he revealed to me that many people leave their jobs as early as age 60 or 65 to begin a new kind of life. The more I heard, the better I liked the idea.

  At home, I said to my wife, "Angie, how would you feel if I retired?" Her face took on an appearance I had never seen before. It was a combination
shock, dismay, horror.

 

  "Whatever made you think of that?" she managed to ask. "Everything in our lives is going to well. Why change anything that isn't broke?"

  "I'm 90," I responded. "Fred told me that a lot of people my age are retiring and they like it!"

  "What does Fred know?" she retorted. "He may simply want to get you out of the way so he can take your job," she suggested.

 

  Nevertheless, I mulled over the thought and decided that if I retired, I would not have to get up so early any more, I could watch a lot more TV, I wouldn't have to shave every day, I could just walk around the house in undershorts all day, stop wearing my hair piece! Retiring was definitely for me. But I wasn't sure and wanted to try some experiments.

  Saturday, Angie and I were getting ready to go out to a restaurant we'd heard about from my brother, Tony, but had never patronized. Acting on a sudden thought, I said, "I'd like to see how it feels to be retired. I won't wear the hairpiece today."

  "You'll do nothing of the kind," she retorted. "You've hit a new high of foolishness!"

  At work I wore a hairpiece because I wanted to appear as contemporary as possible. The office was hiring younger and younger people nowadays. The older folk were being transferred or something. I was not seeing any around