It was a crisp, starry evening in the heart of the city, and the soft glow of candlelight flickered across the white linen tablecloths of a luxurious 5-star restaurant. A husband and wife, dressed to the nines, sat at a corner table overlooking the bustling streets below. The clinking of fine china and the murmur of elegant conversation filled the air as the waiter gracefully set their meals before them. The husband, a man of hearty appetite, rubbed his hands together and exclaimed, “Our food has arrived! Let’s eat!”
His wife, ever the voice of tradition, gently placed her hand on his arm and reminded him, “Honey, you always say your prayers at home before dinner. Shouldn’t you do the same here?”
The husband paused, glanced around the opulent dining room, and replied with a mischievous grin, “That’s at home, my dear. Here, the chef knows how to cook.” The wife shook her head, half-amused, half-exasperated, as they both dug into their exquisitely prepared meals.
Meanwhile, in a completely different part of the country, in the vibrant city of New Orleans, a man with a peculiar request walked into the produce section of his local supermarket. He approached the young boy stocking the shelves and said, “I’d like to buy half a head of cabbage, please.”
The boy, who had been working there for only a few weeks, blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir,” he replied politely, “but we only sell whole heads of cabbage.”
The man, however, was not one to take no for an answer. “Surely you can make an exception,” he insisted. “Why don’t you ask your manager?”
Reluctantly, the boy nodded and headed to the back room, muttering under his breath, “Some old stooge outside wants to buy half a head of cabbage.” As he finished his sentence, he turned around—only to find the man standing right behind him, having followed him into the back room. The boy’s eyes widened in panic, but quick as a flash, he added, “…and this gentleman kindly offered to buy the other half.”
The manager, who had been listening to the exchange, raised an eyebrow but nodded in approval. “Alright then, let’s make it happen,” he said. The man, satisfied, paid for his half-head of cabbage and left the store with a smirk on his face.
Later that day, the manager called the boy over. “I have to say,” he began, “I was impressed with the way you handled that situation earlier. We value quick thinkers here. Where are you from, son?”
The boy straightened up, clearly proud of his roots. “Canada, sir,” he replied.
The manager’s eyes lit up with interest. “Canada, huh? Why did you leave?”
The boy hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, sir, there’s nothing but pr*stitutes and ice hockey players there.”
The manager’s expression darkened. “Is that right?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “My wife is from Canada!”
The boy froze, his mind racing. Then, with a sheepish grin, he asked, “Really? Who did she play for?”
The manager stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Kid,” he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder, “you’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.” And with that, the boy knew he’d somehow managed to talk his way out of yet another awkward situation.