Bear with Me

My father owns a camp in the mountains, and our family spends about two months there each summer. For the rest of the year, we have a caretaker, John, who lives on the grounds and maintains the place.

One winter, John called my father and asked if he could keep his beer in the camp kitchen’s industrial freezer. “I guess,” my father said, figuring, why not?

You can imagine my father’s surprise in July when he arrived in camp at the start of the season and walked into the kitchen. Homonyms can be tricky. And dead bears are gross.

Labels Are Not for People

Labels are supposed to clarify things, but that wasn’t working for the guy I saw in the women’s accessories section at Lord and Taylor. He was wearing a black hat and jacket and staring at the scarves and gloves and bling like he was lost, although he might have been trying to buy a gift for his wife, in which case he was a lost cause.

Eventually, he looked around and spotted me, an obviously frum woman. A look of relief washed over his face. He walked toward me holding a colorful scarf and appealed in desperation, “Excuse me, but is ‘silk’ a maileh or a chisaron?”

Heads Will Roll

I work as a sheitelmacher in a salon attached to my home. There’s a door separating the salon from the rest of my house, so the salon is completely private, although it’s not soundproof.

One day my son was home sick, so I settled him in the den on the other side of the salon door while I worked.

When I went to check on him he looked a little green. “What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“I never realized what you do in there,” he blurted.

I was confused, but, as it turned out, not as confused as he was.

“First, that lady came in and said she cracked her head,” he said, looking shaken. “And you said her head was so old you didn’t think it was worth fixing. Then the next lady said she lost her head. Then you said, ‘Don’t worry, I keep plenty of heads in the basement.’ ”

Fix It Man

As a computer programmer at a large company, I interface with many different departments. Instead of working in my own office, I move around, setting up my workstation near whatever department I’m currently involved in.

For a while, my desk was stationed next to the company’s in-house drug counselor. Although this was a financial institution, they employed a drug counselor to help employees who could benefit from that service.

There was a problem with the computer program, so I contacted the vendor, explained the problem, and asked if he could fix the program and send an update. Since I had no company phone at my temporary desk location, I gave him the number of the drug counselor who sat at the desk near mine.

The next day I received this message from the perplexed and slightly alarmed drug counselor: “Client services called to tell you your fix is ready.”