My friend and I got a summer job at a construction company. On our first day we were told to go to a nearby apartment building that was still under construction, to place some windows on the 28th floor. About an hour in, our colleague trips and suddenly falls out of the window. Dead as a doornail, the poor man.
"Oh no!" said my friend, "What now?"
"I don't know, I guess we'll have to tell his wife about his death."
"Well, I know for sure that I wouldn't be able to handle her sobbing." says my friend.
I've always considered myself a pretty smooth talker, so I figured it would be best if I told her the terrible news.
"Okay, I'll go to their house, then. I'll be back in half an hour." I responded.
Fifteen minutes later I walked back into the apartment with a 24-pack of beer.
My friend asks with a confused look on his face: "Where'd you get that? I knew you weren't able to tell her. You're just as fainthearted as I am. You should have told her that her husband died!"
"Oh no, I told her." I responded
"Really? How did you tell her?" my friend asked curiously.
"So, I went to her house," I said, "rang the doorbell, the woman opened a window and asked: 'Who's there?' So i asked her: 'Good afternoon, are you widow Johnson?' She responded: 'Well, my name is indeed Johnson, but I'm not a widow.' So I told her: 'Want to make a bet for a 24-pack?"
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