Tales From Exit 22 by Al Batt
I hadn’t had the wrapper off the day for long.
The fellow sitting next to me on the Sardine Airlines (Motto: “If you want room to change your mind, step outside”) Flight 101 to Atlanta asked, “If you don’t mind me asking?”
I knew what he was going to ask. It’d be one of two questions. “Would you mind changing seats with me? I’m not comfortable in the middle seat.” or “How much did you pay for your seat?”
He hit me with the latter.
I also knew that no matter what I answered, he’d have gotten his ticket for a lower price. If I’d said that I didn’t pay a cent for it, he’d have claimed that the airline paid him to fly.
I told him that I’d forgotten and employed my pillow to lean against the window and try to fall asleep before he asked me to change seats.
There once was a fellow from near Bath, Minnesota who was all gussied up and running late for church. He had a Buick, only a week old, and he’d put the pedal to the floor. The speedometer had hit 90 miles per hour when he spotted the cherries and berries in his rearview mirror. A police car!
It was against his religion to get a speeding ticket.
He pulled over. His car made sounds as if it were breathing sighs of relief.
The policeman approached the driver’s door.
“Is there a problem, officer?” asked the driver.
The policeman said, “Sir, you were driving at an excessive speed. May I see your driver’s license?”
The driver responded, “I don’t have one. It’s been revoked.”
The policeman wasn’t surprised. “I see. May I see your vehicle registration papers?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
The policeman asked, “Why not?”
“I stole this car.”
“Open the glove box,” said the law officer.
“I don’t want to. There is a loaded pistol in it.”
The officer used his radio to call for backup. Within minutes, another police car showed up. A senior officer, with gun drawn, slowly approached the Buick.