A Factual Casualty

A fact walks into a bar. No one raises an eyebrow. The fact sits down at a table in the corner and waits for the cocktail waitress to acknowledge it, but that doesn’t happen. Every time she comes near, it tries to wave her down and make eye contact, but to no avail.

After 21 minutes the fact moves to a table in the middle of the bar, thinking perhaps it isn’t noticeable. As in any good bar the lighting is dim in the corners, so maybe it is hard to see. Still, the cocktail lady ignores it. At one point the fact even stands up and claps its hands in front of her face as she walks by. She just keeps going.

Getting cranky, the fact then moves to the bar right by the bartender. The bartender, however, is in the process of mixing an Old Fashioned for a little lady at the other end and therefore has his back to the fact. After he serves the woman her drink, the waitress comes up to the bar and whispers something in his ear.

The bartender turns to the fact and says:

“My colleague says you are harassing her.”

“What?” the fact asks; baffled.

“Yes,” the bartender goes on. “She says you were in her face.”

“Well, I am a fact,” the fact points out. “Where else would I be?”

“The thing is,” the bartender says, “she kind of doesn’t feel you are right, so maybe you should just leave her alone, Buddy.”

“But, but…” the fact stammers in disbelief. “I am right. I am a fact. There is no way, I am wrong.”

“Now, please calm down,” the bartender says, standing up a little taller and wider. “The lady isn’t into you, so please back off, or I am gonna have to ask you to leave.”

The fact is staggered.

“I can’t leave!” it says. “Once I am here, I cannot go anywhere until you adapt to me.”

“Well,” the bartender says. ”That ain’t gonna happen.”

The bartender resumes pouring drinks, while the fact sits there with its head in its hands.

[This post first appeared on the www.voluble.me blog]