Men at Work #98

Burt, an exterminator

I’ll make it a riddle: what’s worse than serving road kill to a trucker? Answer: what Lana did on our last wedding anniversary. She made me take her to a pishy-poshy, avant-garde restaurant with no menus; you eat what they feel like cooking. Got it figured already? The first course was some kind of black bugs, floured and fried. I told Lana she had a loose eyelash, and spread out my white napkin before she was halfway to the ladies’ room. When she returned, I was up to HOW ABOUT A DIVO, spelled out with black bugs.

Curtis, a composer

I have three world premieres this month, and my health will allow me to attend just the one that’s being performed here in town. It’s a piano concerto I wrote thirty-three years ago; the other two are a symphony I wrote twenty-nine years ago and a string quartet I wrote forty-one years ago. Does anything take longer to achieve than overnight success?