ON MAR­GIN

Finweek English Edition - - Piker -

TWO SO­CIAL WORK­ERS AT­TENDED A pro­fes­sional con­fer­ence to­gether.

They went for a walk dur­ing a break and came across a se­verely beaten and blood­ied man, croak­ing for help.

They walked on. “You know,” said one, “whoever did that to him re­ally needs help.” AN AC­TU­ARY IS WALK­ING DOWN THE hospi­tal cor­ri­dor ahead of his op­er­a­tion the next day.

Sud­denly he feels a mild twinge in his chest. Im­me­di­ately, he throws him­self over a ban­is­ter rail­ing, land­ing heav­ily on the floor be­low and break­ing a leg.

“What on earth did you do that for?” asks his com­pan­ion.

“Well,” says the ac­tu­ary, “the odds of get­ting a heart at­tack while stay­ing in a clinic be­fore an op­er­a­tion are as­tro­nom­i­cally high. But the odds of any­one get­ting a heart at­tack and break­ing a leg at the same time are quite sur­pris­ingly low.” REACH­ING THE END OF AN IN­TER­VIEW the HR di­rec­tor asked the young MBA ap­pli­cant what salary and ex­tras he would be look­ing for in the man­age­ment trainee job.

“Well,” said the grad­u­ate, “I’m look­ing for a start­ing salary of around R300 000, a com­pany car, pen­sion and med­i­cal aid ben­e­fits and 30 work­ing days’ leave a year.’’

“How about R500 000 salary, a Merc con­vert­ible and four over­seas trips an­nu­ally?” asked the di­rec­tor.

“Wow!” said the MBA, “are you kid­ding?”

“Of course,” said the di­rec­tor, “but you started it.” FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON’T LIKE THE ENGLISH: An 87-year-old man wanted to en­roll for a He­brew course. The univer­sity de­part­ment ad­vised him that it would take six years to mas­ter the sub­ject and that he might not be around to fin­ish the course. But he in­sisted.

“Why are you so de­ter­mined to learn He­brew?”

“Well, when I get to heaven I would like to be able to speak to Abra­ham and all the other He­brew-speak­ing guys who came af­ter him.”

“And what if you land up in the other place?”

“No prob­lem, my English is per­fect.” A SALES­MAN BOOKS INTO A mo­tor­way ho­tel. As he’s wait­ing for the lift, a highly at­trac­tive blonde ap­pears be­side him and sug­gests he might like some com­pany for the night.

He goes to the re­cep­tion desk and says: “By a re­mark­able con­ci­dence my wife has ar­rived here also. Please book her into my room.’’

He has a great night, wakes up to find him­self alone and goes to check out and pay the bill. It’s for R15 000.

“What’s this?” he de­mands. “I was only here for one night.”

“Yes sir, but your wife stayed for 14 days be­fore you ar­rived.” FOR­MER IN­DIAN CRICK­ET­ING “great” Su­nil Gavaskar has been rip­ping into the present Aus­tralian team, es­sen­tially for the on­field “sledg­ing” of some of its mem­bers. Many South Africans would agree. But cricket has never been idyllic. On one oc­ca­sion WG Grace sim­ply re­fused to move when the um­pire gave him out. “The peo­ple have come to see me bat, not to see you wave your fin­ger around,” said WG.

Then there was the time a Guyanan um­pire of In­dian an­ces­try turned down an LBW ap­peal by Fred Tru­man in a test match against the West Indies.

“Hey up, Gunga Din,” said an irate Tru­man, “that was mid­dle stump.”

Maybe it was. But Eng­land didn’t pick Tru­man for the next sea­son. So, yes, some things have changed.

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