Fill in the blank: Three people walk into a bar . . .
. . . . .and take seats on the stools along the counter. They stare moodily at the countertop, none of them speaking. The bartender comes up to them and says, “What’ll it be, fellas?”
“Root beer for all of us,” pipes up Billy, the one in the middle. “On the rocks, please.”
“Comin’ right up. Say, you guys are new in the neighborhood, right? I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”
“Yep. We’re new. And nobody wants to play with us. We don’t like this new place. None of the other kids are very friendly.”
“Huh. Well, that’s too bad. Most of the kids who come in here seem friendly enough.” The bartender slid three frosty mugs of rootbeer in front of his three dejected customers. He leaned on the countertop, thoughtfully wiping moisture from the bar.
“Since you boys are new here, these root beers are on the house, ok? You guys all brothers, are ya?”
“Yep,” replied Sammy, on Billy’s left. “We’re triplets. Can’t you tell?” He grinned up at the bartender, but only for a moment. Then his face fell back into the same dejected lines as his brothers. “We asked if we could play ball with some other guys, but they said they didn’t need any more players.”
“Yeah,” added Tommy. “And we play ball real good, too. Those guys don’t know what they’re missin’!”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” says the bartender. “Why don’t you guys finish up your root beer, and then you run home. Two of you change into different shirts so the three of you are all wearing something different. Then maybe the guys will let you play.”
“Why would that matter?” asked Billy.
“Well, I was just thinkin’ maybe the other boys are worried, that if they let you play the way you’re dressed right now, they wouldn’t be able to tell. . . . . .Who’s on First!”