Tonight, for dinner, my father and I headed to Doug’s Cafe, inside the Hebrew Home Hotel, which is in the back entrance, by the side, where the girl sits, near the office, when the Big Guy, Jim J., comes by to say hello.
“Here’s trouble,” Jim says, seeing us.
“You know him?” my father, pointing to me, asks Jim. “He’s my son.”
And we’re off.
I decide to interrupt the proceedings by telling a joke because even though Jim has the patience of Shlomo Yitzchaki — aka Rashi if you’re scoring in a French shtetl — I figured he needed a break.
Two Jewish soldiers decide to kill Hitler during World War II. They case him out and discover he eats breakfast at the same restaurant at 10.30 a.m. every morning, which is when they decide to lay in wait, across the street from the pub. The day arrives. Ten thirty comes but the Führer is nowhere to be seen; 10.45 … 11.00 … 11.30, there is no sign of Hitler. At 11.45, it is clear Hitler is not coming, prompting one soldier to say to the other, “Gee, I hope nothing happened to him.”
Jim laughs, my father laughs.
“See,” Jim says to my dad, “your son’s funny.”
“Well, yeah, you know,” my father says, “he has the one-liners and you never know what the last thing is he’s going to say. That’s why it’s funny.”
(Ed. Note: Thank you, Aristophanes, for clearing up the mystery of comedy. We continue.)
After Jim talks about an electric car he’s thinking of buying, my father reminds me of all the Cadillacs he had with air conditioning problems, at which point Jim makes a graceful exit, just as our good friend, regular cast member, and activities director extraordinaire (and featured above) Chelsea comes by.
“Hello, Miss America,” my father says, “you’re looking very cosmetic today.”
“Cosmetic?” Chelsea and I ask in unison.
“Yeah, you know, you look … what should I say? Your skin, I don’t know. You hungry?”he asks her.
“No.”
“So goes your life?” he asks.
“Going well, Jack. How about yours?”
“Got a half hour I’ll tell you the whole story. You hungry?”
“No, thanks. I’m gaining weight. People always say my skin looks good when I gain weight.”
“I thought maybe you were pregnant the way you were holding your stomach. Anyway, you know my son?”
“We know each other, Dad.”
“Yes, we do, Jack.”
“Before I got here or after? You sure you’re not hungry?”
“No. Before.”
“How do you know each other?”
“We just do.”
“You hungry?” he asks her again.
“SHE’S NOT HUNGRY!”
“All right, don’t get so shook up. I just asked.”
“Dad, believe me, she’s not hungry.”
“You sure,” he asks her, quietly, “you’re not hungry?”
“No, Jack, I’m not hungry.”
“You want a drink, baby? You know, if you sit on my lap, we get faster service.”
He does have a point about a better way to get service...
That Jack! Always thinking of others.