Bar Stool

The other night at the bar an old guy came out from the bathroom and sat down next to me. “Did I take your seat?” I asked.

“It’s right here,” he said, stood and lifted the stool he had been sitting on.

He was by himself and kept muttering. Finally, when he asked for his bill, he insisted it come in a red leather bill fold. Well, all they had were black plastic, which he didn’t want. The bartender had to chase down a waitress to ask for a red leather bill fold. She only had black.