Two years ago: I met an awesome man at Burger King. He was old, joke-filled and persistent. If you've forgotten who I'm talking about, then you can refresh your memory.
Present Day: I pull up to the post office with Maddie. A mexican kid starts in as soon as I open the door: "Hey mister! My grandpa wants you! Come here! In his car! He needs you! Hey, is that a steering wheel? Can I drive your car? Come on, he's over here!"
Repeat that last paragraph 10 times extremely fast. That's what this kid sounded like.
I have to wrench this kid out of my car. He takes me over to his grandpa, who is sitting in his car shaking terribly with oxygen tubes in his nose and swollen, purple ankles . It's Mister Joke Man. He asks if I know what happens if a duck flies upside-down.
"Of course! It quacks up! How are you? I bought your book! I have all your jokes!" I yell, pumping his hand. "Whassup my man?"
He seemed kind of out of it. It was a very sad portrait of a moneyless man that likes to inject the world with equal parts nervous laughter and awkward pauses. A guy that is supporting grandkids and a wife and can't get out of his car anymore to peddle his ramblings.
WWJD? He would ask for another joke book. He was out of them, so I did the second thing that Jesus would do and gave him five bucks. Am I a hero? Please. I just do what I can. Stop, really. I'm just a humble guy, making his way. Warning: If your comment calls me a hero, humanitarian, and/or Savior, it will get deleted. So just watch yourself.