“Valid for One Blow Job…”

I used to do this bit in my comedy show where I give coupons to the audience members, guaranteeing “One blow-job by a well-experienced person in heaven.” In spite of how it may sound, it was actually an intelligent piece of social commentary, but I’m not going to get into it right now.

I don’t do that bit anymore, but I still have a million of these coupons laying around my house. Today I needed to transfer money to someone. I needed to write down their account info, so I grabbed the first scrap of paper I could find… which was one of these coupons.

You see, I hate wasting a whole sheet of clean white paper for just a few numbers. It’s part of my perfectionist, anal-retentive personality. So I wrote the information on the blank side of the coupon.

Then I went to the bank. Bank account numbers are very long, so instead of reading it to the teller, I just handed him the paper and let him go about his grey, boring job punching out the name and numbers into the computer… Ho, hum… la dee dee da da… I look out the window, making a list of the errands I need to get done… should I go to my yoga class today? Will I take a bike or walk? Is it gonna rain again? I should really eat more fruit…

“Is there anything else you need?” The bank teller’s voice, strangely tight-sounding, wakes me out of my daydreams. I look at him and see he’s trying to choke back laughter. I’ve never seen a bank teller’s eyes sparkle like that. Ever. They certainly weren’t doing that when I walked into the bank.

“No thanks. ‘Bye now.” I let him keep the coupon. Why not, if it makes him happy? Besides, you can bet your sweet ass I’ll never show my face there again.