A Tip

            “Excuse me,” I said, “you dropped something.”

            The woman turned around. “I didn’t drop anything,” she said angrily, in an accent I couldn’t place.

            “Right there,” I said, pointing down at the sidewalk.

            “Oh, my coin purse! Thank you.” She picked it up. She took a quarter out to give me a tip.

            “Oh, please, no, it was my pleasure.”

            “What, my money’s not good enough for you?”

            “Of course it’s good enough for me, but I don’t need it.”

            “What makes you so special that you don’t need a quarter?”

            “Nothing. Nothing makes me special. So give me the quarter.”

            She gave me the quarter. I looked at it. It wasn’t a quarter. It was foreign currency from I didn’t know where.

            “This isn’t a quarter,” I said, “it’s a foreign coin.”

            “Well, aren’t you hoity-toity!”

            “I was just letting you know, in case you needed it.”

            “How dare you insult me! Do I look like I need a measly schmonski?”

            “Did you say schmonski?”

            “Yes, why?”

            “I’ve been looking for a schmonski for years, for my collection! I thought they were discontinued.”

            “This is a novy schmonski. The government started issuing them last year because the people were nostalgic for the schmonski.”

            “What’s a schmonski worth these days?” I asked.

            “About a quarter,” she replied.          

Clowns

            Two clowns were sitting at the booth across from my table at the diner. I didn’t think there was a circus in town, so I figured maybe they were booked for a kid’s birthday party or something. I know clowns have a reputation for being gruff and nasty when they’re off-duty, but I figured I’d try to chat them up. I walked over to their booth.

            “Excuse me, fellas,” I said, “I couldn’t help noticing your costumes, and I was wondering where you were performing.”

            They seemed confused. One of them said, “Performing?”

            “Yeah,” I said. “Is there a circus in town, or are you doing a private party.”

            They still looked confused.

            “We’re having lunch,” the other clown said.

            “Yeah, I can see that. Are you coming from the gig or preparing?”

            “What gig?” the second clown asked.

            “The clown gig.”

            They were silent.

            “I was just curious,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch. I’ll just leave you alone.” I was about to walk away when the first clown spoke again.

            “You seem to think we’re performers,” he said. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

            “The clown costumes!”

            “Costumes?” the other said, “These are our clothes.”

            “But aren’t you clowns?”

            “Of course we’re clowns,” the second one said. “But we’re not performers.”

            “I don’t understand. If you’re not performers, what do you do?”

            “I’m a dentist,” the first one said, “and he’s an accountant.”

            “Then why are you dressed like clowns?”

            They both looked at me like I was from another planet.

            “Because we’re clowns!” they responded in unison.