The Joker
‘Right, listen. I’ve got another one.’
Undeterred by the groans, the sighs and the unimpressed faces that looked back at him from all around the table, he rubbed his hands together and leaned forward.
‘My Grandad always used to say “When one door closes, another one opens.” Lovely man, but…’
‘I knew your Grandad.’ Someone kindly interrupted. ‘Nice guy.’
‘Yeah, couldn’t really fault him.’ Agreed another voice.
‘Was he in the bowling club?’
‘Nah, but he played the darts every Monday night. Was absolutely rotten at it as well.’
‘I think he just did it to get out of the house.’
‘Ken. Bit of a hobby and that. Keep yourself alert and active and all that nonsense.’
The original speaker was watching the conversation spiral away from him and tried to bring it back.
‘No, listen. Right. So, he used to say, “when one door closes…”’
‘Yeah, another one opens. That’s not a joke really, is it?’
‘Aye, that’s pretty garbage, man. You cannae just roll off a saying and pretend like it’s a joke. That’s no use.’
‘Is this a joke then? “a stitch in time saves nine?”’
‘It’s better than most of his jokes anyway.’
The joker’s head was propped up in his hands. They were giving him the old routine again, pretending like they didn’t realise he was trying to finish.
‘Look, are yous gonna listen to this all the way through or not?’
‘Aye.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Calm your ham.’
‘Keep your hair on.’
‘Settle, petal.’
‘Right.’ He rubbed his face. ‘So, he used to say that when one door…’
Just then, as if on cue the door opened and a familiar face walked in. To anyone not in the know, it must have seemed as though he was the most popular man in the pub because the group at the corner table immediately erupted in cheers, shouts and wild gestures. As it happened, he was just a few hours late and they were already drunk. He made his way across to the table and the greetings and insults were traded around.
‘Ladies.’
‘Aye, very good. You get held up at the nail bar aye?’
‘Handbag convention ran over time?’
‘Getting your hair done?’
‘Had to stop for tampons?’
‘Your missus leave the handcuffs on too tight?’
The newcomer bore it all with the good grace of a man who knew he had only to wait half a minute and the attention would soon shift.
‘You know how it is boys…’ he popped his jacket over the back of the seat and got comfy, ‘…can’t leave the house until my make-up is perfect.’
The laughs were now with him instead of at him. He was jostled from all sides and punched in the arm good-naturedly. In the land of the steaming, the tipsy man is king. Eventually the noise tailed off until the mood was brought crashing back down by another attempt at getting the end of the joke told.
‘He used to say, “when one door closes, another one opens.”’
‘Who used to say this?’ The newcomer asked. ‘My mum says that sometimes.’
‘His Grandad.’
‘He used to play darts with me.’
‘Any good?’
‘Nah man, stinking. Good guy though.’
‘I see.’
‘I think it’s meant to be a joke.’
‘Ah. Well. I’d better get the round in first then you can finish, eh?’
He stood up and went to the bar. Two people went up to help and another snuck off towards the jukebox. That only left two at the table.
‘You want to just tell me your joke, mate?’ he offered. ‘It’s probably not going to be worth it after all this.’
‘I dunno.’ He was studying the pint glass between his hands. ‘It was a belter like.’
‘Go on then.’ His audience of one smiled encouragingly. ‘Something about your Grandad and a door.’
‘But everyone else won’t hear it then.’
‘You’ll struggle to get them all to be quiet for long enough to get it out.’
Ignoring the fact that this was a fair point, he decided to persevere. He waited patiently as they took their time coming back to the table with pints. Between unannounced toilet breaks and talking to other people on the way back, it was a full ten minutes before they were all settled back down. They were still all shouting and joking amongst themselves and someone had put music on. He made another attempt at getting everyone’s attention, beckoning them all inwards so that they could hear. There were varying degrees of resistance but eventually they all managed to lean forward and listen.
‘Right. My Grandad used to say that when a door closes, another one opens.’ He paused for the inevitable interruption but none came. Whoever opened their mouth had their leg kicked under the table. ‘A lovely man, but… hang on a minute, where’s my pint?’
‘Oh come on!’
‘You were nearly finished.’
‘Really?’
‘Mate, I’m getting fed up of this.’
Undeterred by the anger he was facing and more concerned about the lack of beverage, he saw it was still sitting on the bar.
‘Nice. I’ll just get it myself, eh?’
He stood up to muttered apologies and stifled giggles. Someone was definitely kicking people under the table and he wasn’t sure why. He walked across to the bar where the girl was holding his pint up for him to take.
‘Thanks.’
Before he could turn away, she called out to him.
‘Ummm, the guys told me to say that your Grandad was a good man but a terrible submarine captain?’
The laughter from the corner was ludicrous. There were tears streaming down a few faces and the table was being banged so hard that the drinks were in serious danger of toppling. He smiled at the barmaid and walked back to the table.
‘Fair enough, fair enough. You got me there.’ He got himself settled and took a long drink from his glass. ‘Right, I’ve got another one…’
