Three And One-Third Dozen
Gayle Sayers, Shawn Kemp, and Henrik Zetterberg walked into a bar.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked them.
“Gimme something eighty proof”, the three of them said in unison. They looked at each other.
“Well, that was weird”, Kemp said.
“OK–whiskey it is.” The bartender placed a glass in front of each of them.
Two-thirds of an hour and several whiskies later, the men were ready to leave.
The bartender gave them each a receipt. The men compared–they were all the exact same amount.
“Well, that’s weird”, said Kemp.
He, Sayers, and Zetterberg each left two twenties at the bar along with a tip.
As they stumbled towards the exit, Sayers said “Hey–you guys hungry? I could go for some wings. I know a place.”
They shuffled down the street to the Wing Shack. They were drunk and hungry–super hungry. The three of them ate three and one-third dozen wings each.
They had asked for separate checks. When the server brought them the bills, they compared–again, the exact same amount for each of them.
“OK, this is kind of freaking me out”, said Kemp.
Zetterberg spoke up. “Eh, it’s nothing. Just a coincidence. Just a number.”
“True”, said Sayers. “The only time to be scared of that number is when it’s your age.”
“Yeah, absolutely”, said Kemp. “I mean, your life is basically half over at that point–if you’re lucky.”
Zetterberg spoke up again. “But…isn’t the advantage, though, that at that point you’re full of wisdom and life experience?”
Sayers and Kemp looked at each other and burst out laughing.
The men laid down two twenties each, plus tip, and stumbled outside to hail a cab.
Kemp and Sayers continued laughing the entire time they waited. Zetterberg was a good sport and laughed along, not sure what was so funny.
For my sister Allison, on her birthday. Today she turns…well, you know.