The Missing Guest Joke
The phone rings on the wall of Mrs. Gerda Weinblatt’s kitchen in her apartment at 303 Avenue S in Brooklyn.
“Mrs. Weinblatt?” a voice says. “I have Worthington Rosecroft of Lakeview Capital on the line. Please hold.”
There’s a pause and then a man’s voice comes on the phone. “Mama,” he says.
“Stanley,” she says.
“Mama, where were you? It was Beatrix’s birthday last night and she so wanted you to come. She kept asking for her grandmother.”
“I was there, Stanley, I was there,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“Listen, Stanley,” she says. “I left the house at four o’clock. I walked over to the D train. I took it to Fulton Street and walked about three blocks underground to get to the Lexington Avenue IRT. I took that up to 77th Street. I got out. I walked over to Park Avenue. I went into your lobby at 895 Park. I sat there for three hours. Then I went home.”
“What?” he says. “Why on earth didn’t you come upstairs?”
“I couldn’t remember your name.”