Spitball Army

Today was a buy-your-lunch day, so I went gourmet and cheap: Taco Bell. It’s been a particularly rough couple of weeks, and, feeling a little positivity seeping back into me since the day so far hadn’t sucked too badly (yes, the standard for measuring a good day has fallen into the abysmal pits), I decided to have a little playful fun.

I pull up to the squawk-box. “How are you?” the young woman’s voice asks, probably expecting me to launch into my order.

“Why did the boy throw the clock out the window?” I ask back. Any of you who knew Bud Osuna know that that’s the kind of random childish silliness that he was capable of producing. I thought that as soon as I hit the question mark: in this way, also, am I my father’s son.

“What?”

I repeat. “Why did the boy throw the clock out the window?”

Pause. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Because he wanted to see time fly!” I used to laugh like hell when I told that joke when I was younger. Like, about five years old. But, five decades later, I’m more apt to wait for a reaction.

She was clearly unimpressed. “Yeah. Okay. Order when you’re ready.”

I was ready, so I did.

When I got to the window, the young black girl there had a big grin pasted on her face.

“Didn’t you like my joke?” I asked.

“I had to turn off my headset, I was laughing so loud, ” she said. “I was embarrassed.”

“I bet that doesn’t happen very often here,” I stated/asked.

“First time,” she said, smiling, handing me a bag.

Later, when I opened the bag, I found a little sack of unordered warm cinnamon pastry treats nestled in with my burrito.

Jokes are funny. Humor is sweet. Kindness is contagious. Laughter is warm.