Did anyone call for a gag writer? There's a gag writer at the door.
He's a nervous chap, with a crooked smile, & he's holding a small box which appears to contain a lot of differently colored index cards.
He speaks so softly! Bernie said he had a kind of feminine giggle.
You wouldn't think it - this is an old neighborhood, there are so many retirees here - but he says that, yes, he often gets calls from folks who want a joke here & there. Many jokes, he says, are started by the person who requests him, but they can't think of a punchline.
Tanya asks him if he sings, & he blushes & says, Oh no.
It's not hard, he says, to think of funny things. What's hard is that people find different things funny. We make him a cup of tea & he sits down, keeping the box of index cards on his lap.
He's very polite, Bernie notes, & though he appears ill at ease, he smiles & listens intently to our comments, & answers all of our questions.
He realizes he got the address wrong - we're a road & he was looking for an avenue - & he is apologetic, hoping he did not put us out in any way.
He gives me his card, & I can't help thinking that if he had a hat - well, not only would it cover his bald spot - but he'd tip it as he left. He seems like that kind of guy.
He gets into his beat-up Ford Fiesta, backs into our driveway to turn around, & chugs off down the street.
It's funny, Tanya says. We had a gag writer here & never even asked him to tell us a joke.
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