This guy was on the side of the road hitchhiking on a very dark night in the middle of a storm. The night was roiling and no car went by.
The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him. Suddenly, he saw a car coming towards him and stop.
The guy, without thinking about it, got in the car and closed the door – and only then realized that there’s nobody behind the wheel!
The car starts very slowly. The guy looks at the road and sees a curve coming his way. Scared, he starts to pray, begging for his life.
He hasn’t come out of shock when, just before the car hits the curve, a hand appears through the window and moves the wheel.
The guy, paralyzed in terror, watched how the hand appears every time they are approaching a curve.
Gathering strength, he gets out of the car and runs all the way to the nearest town. Wet and in shock, he goes into a bar, asks for two shots of tequila, and starts telling everybody about the horrible experience he just went through.
A silence enveloped everybody when they realize the guy was crying, but wasn’t drunk.
About half an hour later two guys walked in the same bar and one said to the other: “Look, Pepe, that’s the asshole that got in the car while we were pushing it!”
One day a college professor of Psychology was greeting his new college class.
He stood up in front of the class and said, “Would everyone who thinks he or she is stupid please stand up?”
After a minute or so of silence, a young man stood up.
Well, good morning. So, you actually think you’re a moron?” the professor asked.
The kid replied, “No sir, I just didn’t want to see you standing there all by yourself.”
Joe grew up in Jamaica, then moved away to attend college and law school.
He decided to come back to Jamaica because he felt he could be a Big Shot at home. He really wanted to impress everyone. So he returned and opened his new law office in New Kingston.
The first day, he saw a man coming up the passageway. He decided to make a big impression on this potential client when he arrived.
As the man came to the door Joe picked up the phone. He motioned the man in, all the while talking.
No. Absolutely not. You tell those clowns in New York that I won’t settle this case for less than one million. Yes, the Appeals Court has agreed to hear that case next week. I’ll be handling the primary argument and the other members of my team will provide support. Okay, tell the DA that I’ll meet with him next week to discuss the details.”
The “conversation” went on for almost five minutes. All the while the man sat patiently as Joe rattled off instructions.
Finally, Joe put down the phone and turned to the man, “I’m sorry for the delay but as you can see, I’m very busy. What can I do for you?”
The man replied, “I’m from Cable & Wireless, the telephone company, I come to hook up your phone.”
I went to Kolkata with an upset tummy and returned with an upset husband. He had been very cheerful while we boarded the flight and the plane began to taxi. The air hostess started her routine, giving seat belt instructions and survival tips if the plane decided to take a dip into the ocean. My husband took a dip into his book when I asked him, “Where’s your briefcase?” I just remembered it wasn’t part of the hand luggage we had shoved into the overhead compartment.
He answered airily, “We checked it in,” and returned to his reading when what I said next made him forget his book for a long time. And that was some achievement. “We didn’t,” I persisted. “It was your carry-on baggage. Remember you left it unlocked because it would be with you?”
He turned ashen, clapped a hand to his mouth and jerked forward, straining his fastened seat belt and crashing back into his seat. “Oh no! I’ve left it behind! Where?” As he tried to figure that out, the plane accelerated and took off leaving his briefcase behind in Kolkata. “At the security check!” My husband exclaimed, looking aghast as he recalled his memory lapse.
He had forgotten to take it after the security check, having been pleased to collect his sling bag into which he had deposited his wallet, phone, pens and a notebook with a spiral spine, all guaranteed to beep if on his person. In fact, at the security check on our way to Kolkata, his pocket had behaved so much like an impromptu orchestra that on the return he had hit upon the idea of emptying his pockets into his shoulder bag before it was screened and, cock-a-hoop with its success, had completely forgotten his briefcase.
“What next?,” I asked. “No point informing the crew; no plane is going back for a briefcase unless it contained state secrets. And what’s in it?”
We racked our brains to recall the contents. Luckily my husband had emptied the case to accommodate the last minute shopping of the previous evening. So it didn’t have any important documents or cards. But it contained new silk saris, dress material, T shirts and a few knick knacks.
“So if we don’t recover it, we only lose these,” said my husband, looking relieved. “The saris!,” I cried in anguish.
During the flight we discussed the next course of action. I believed we would recover the case since my husband had chosen the best place in the airport to leave something behind – at the security check. Then I recalled that any abandoned piece of baggage is viewed with suspicion. “What if they immerse the case in water? Or something else?,” I was alarmed. “The saris!,” I cried out again. “They’ll be ruined.”
“Can you think only of saris?,” my husband snapped. The tension was getting to him. “One of them is your gift to me, that’s why,” I said and that mollified him.
We had more than five hours in Chennai before boarding the flight to Thiruvananthapuram. Earlier we had wondered how we would spend the time, but my husband’s ingenious briefcase plot took care of that. We explored the length and breadth of the airport putting in a few kilometres of brisk walking-cum hops, skips and jumps before learning what to do.
The airport manager, seeing my husband’s anxious face, reassured him, “Don’t look so worried, sir, you’ll get it back. Such things happen all the time.”
“‘Really?” Now my husband beamed, grateful he didn’t hold exclusive copyright for losing baggage.
The Lost and Found Department at Kolkata airport whom we called were close-lipped about the whereabouts of the briefcase but gave instructions on the procedure to follow in Thiruvananthapuram.
Once home, we revived our letter-writing skills what with the never-ending letters and e-mails we had to send to various addresses, describing the briefcase and its contents, all with scanned copies of the boarding pass and ID proof attached.
We also had endless calls to make and everyone wanted details. I was most relieved we had decent items inside the case and lauded my husband’s uncanny foresight that had made him remove his innerwear from it.
Lost and found
After many twists and turns in the plot in the next few days that would have done Jeffrey Archer proud, the briefcase, decorated all over with the Lost Property number, returned home. Bringing it in, my husband declared he wouldn’t leave the corporation limits again. Ignoring his loaded statement, I asked anxiously, “Are the saris intact?”
A fortnightly column by the city-based writer, academic and author of the Butterfingers series. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org
Source….Khyrunnisa . A
Six retired Floridians were playing poker in the condo clubhouse when Meyerwitz loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen comrade, the other five continue playing standing up.
Finkelstein looks around and asks, “So, who’s gonna tell his wife?” They cut cards. Goldberg picks the two of clubs and has to carry the news. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don’t make a bad situation any worse.
“Discreet? I’m the most discreet person you’ll ever meet. Discretion is my middle name. Leave it to me.”
Goldberg goes over to the dead man’s apartment and knocks on the door. His wife answers through the door and asks what he wants? Goldberg declares: “Your husband just lost $500 in a Poker game and is afraid to come home.
“Tell him to drop dead!” yells the wife.
“No problem – I’ll let him know,” says Goldberg.
A physician, an engineer, and a politicianwere discussing who among them belonged to the oldest of the three professions. Each one of them thought they had this in the bag
The physician said, “Remember, on the sixth day God took a rib from Adam and fashioned Eve, making him the first surgeon. Therefore, medicine is the oldest profession.”
The engineer replied, “But, before that, God created the heavens and earth from chaos and confusion, and thus he was the first engineer. Therefore, engineering is an older profession than medicine.”