I come from a family of jokers. Grandfathers on both signs were noted for loving to get one over on someone. I’ve mentioned elsewhere Grandpa Leo Donovan welding a nickel to a nail and then nailing it down to the wooden floor of his grocery store. He had hours of laughs watching customer reactions to spotting the nickel. Many contrived a story that, “Yeah, I thought I dropped something.” And they would stoop to pick up the permanently-placed nickel. Gotcha!
Grandpa Paul Smith always had a story to tell, and some actually repeatable. He also was great at rebuttals on the fly. One summer day, his neighbor, Lou (who walked around with his nose in the air), made the mistake of asking my grandfather why he always walked around with his head down, instead of holding it up in the air, like Lou.
“Well, Lou, it’s like a field of wheat,” Grandpa Smith reeled him in slowly. “The heads on the plants that have something in ‘em are bent down, while the empty ones stand straight up.” Lou stalked off, exasperated that Grandpa got the upper hand. And it’s too bad, as that may have been the same day my grandfather set fire to a witness pamphlet a religious zealot stopped by the farm and ill-advisedly shoved into his face, thus giving new meaning to “being on fire for the Lord.”
My heritage inspired a practical joke when I lived in a larger city and was a patron of its public library and friends of the library bookstore. While in the bookstore, I overheard the (volunteer) bookstore manager complaining to another volunteer about some unreasonable demand the library had just put upon their organization.
“Who do they think we are, Barnes and Noble?! Next thing you know, we’ll be expected to run a stupid café,” she sniped. “Nobody ever asks my opinion!”
Although I liked the manager, her complaining in front of patrons was wrong. It also sparked an idea. I went home and made up a convincing-looking flier that stated the library board had voted to institute a café within the friends of the library bookstore and needed donations of coffee, cups, sugar, powdered creamer, stir sticks and napkins for startup supplies. The flier directed supply donations to the bookstore manager.
On a creative roll, I made several copies of the flier on salmon-colored paper, folded one multiple times and shoved it into my purse for an authentically dog-eared appearance. The following Saturday morning, when the friends bookstore manager always worked, I filled a brown paper grocery bag with a canister of coffee, Styrofoam cups and some napkins. I carried my bag of café supplies into the bookstore, sneaking my stack of fake fliers into a literature rack just outside the door.
“Where would you like this stuff?” I asked the manager, placing my bag on the bookstore checkout counter. She looked puzzled.
“Some supplies for your new café,” I explained, keeping a straight face.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said. I whipped the flier from my purse and handed it to her. Her jaw dropped as she read.
“Bill, come and read this,” she cried to the other volunteer, the same guy to whom she’d been complaining the prior Saturday. “Now they’ve really done it!”
I moved behind a bookshelf and faked browsing so I could eavesdrop on their terse conversation about library administrators of illegitimate parentage who perpetrated asinine mandates on unsuspecting volunteers. I was dying trying not to laugh.
“Where did you get this,” the manager demanded. I demurely pointed to the literature rack just outside of the door. She snatched the whole stack of fake fliers, mumbling something about it being the last straw, and, “We’ll see about this!”
I let her stew another 10 minutes, but intervened when she began wild-eyed contemplating making phone calls to library officials. I admitted I had overheard her complaining conversation and come up with the joke. Eventually, she saw the humor in it, but I got the heck out of there before she could kill me.
Three practical joke lessons here: 1.Study your subject; 2. Play into existing fears; 3. Always have an exit strategy.