Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • My Boss and I stopped a moment on Church Street. It is paved with bricks, lined with shops, pedestrians only. We’d just left our third meeting with lawyers that day. It was late in the afternoon. (Four days later the man who in a moment will light my boss’s cigarette called the office. We spoke for half an hour. He said we’d been dressed like we were going to a fraternity party. He didn’t know it was me that was there.)

    A colleague had ducked into a shop to use the bathroom so we stopped to wait.

    A man almost immediately approached us.

    “You fellas look smart.”
    “Looks can be deceiving,” said my Boss.

    The man had a thick mustache and four days of stubble. Greying hair, weathered skin. A faded canvas jacket.

    “You wanna hear a joke?”
    “Sure.”
    “What’s the difference between having a job for ten years and a being married for ten years?”
    “What?”
    “After ten years, your job still sucks.”

    We laughed.

    My Boss shook out a cigarette and walked over to some men. One gave him a light.

    The man asked me if I wanted to hear another joke. I said I did. My Boss came back.

    “So I worked for Champlain College for eight years and I liked to tell this joke there. It has to do with cum.”
    “Is that why you lost your job?”
    “It might have had a little to do with it.”
    “You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
    “I have.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Bob.”
    “Ok Bob, lets hear the joke.”
    “Ok. You fellas know who Monica Lewinsky is?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Ok. So I’d ask the kids, you kids know who Monica Lewinsky is and they’d say yeah and I’d ask em well how much can she hold in her mouth?”

    There was a pause and my Boss exhaled smoke and looked at Bob, who looked back at us.

    “How much cum?”
    “Yeah, how much cum. And they’d say fifteen ounces, twenty ounces. And I’d say no no some of you must have studied biology and then they’d say oh yeah one ounce, two ounces and I’d say nope. Nope. She can hold one American liter.”

    We laughed. Zach was back from the bathroom and he laughed too. He’d heard most of the joke.

    “You fellas want to hear another joke?”
    “Bob, that was a good joke but we need to hit the road.”
    “One more joke.”
    “You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
    “One more joke.”

    My Boss’s wife needed to use the car and he was an hour from home. We were supposed to have been back a couple hours earlier.

    “We need to get going. Bob do you want a job? Give Zach your number.”

    Zach took out his notepad.

    “What’s your number Bob?”
    “You want one more joke?”
    “No we really need to be going. Give Zach your number if you want a job.”

    Bob rattled off a string of digits in a goofy voice.

    Zach looked up from his pad. “Bob that’s eight numbers.”

    Bob used the goofy voice again.

    “Bob I can’t really understand you. Is it -3-3-2?
    In the normal voice: “Just -3-2.”
    “Ok, well thanks Bob.”
    “Just one more joke?”
    “They were funny jokes Bob, but we really need to go.”

    We walked away. It was late afternoon and the shadow of the stores along the west side of the street stretched through the doorways of the stores along the east side. Bob was standing alone when we left him and our Boss was in a hurry so we didn’t look back.

    -

    -

    [Photo of Church Street from Wikipedia]
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.