The doorbell chimed, and Ghurge Jones looked up from his paper. “That’s odd,” he thought, “I don’t have a doorbell.”
He got up with difficulty from his easy chair, and went to his door. “Huh,” he noticing the peep-hole he’d never had before. “I don’t have a peephole.”
Looking through the peep-hole, he saw a delivery man in the hallway, looking at a clipboard. “Hello?” he said suspiciously.
“Baloney Delivery,” said the delivery guy, without looking up from his clipboard.
“Baloney Delivery?” said Ghurge. “Do you mean bologna?”
“No.” said the delivery guy impatiently.
“I didn’t order any baloney,” said Ghurge.
“Ghurge Jones?”
“Yes,” replied Ghurge.
“Balogna Delivery, then,” repeated the delivery guy, quite stridently. “I’m here to delivery your balogna.”
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Ghurge considered his options. An hour passed. Finally he opened the door.
“Was that so hard?” said the delivery guy, extending the clipboard. “Sign.”
“I refuse to take delivery of balogna I didn’t order,” said Ghurge.
The delivery guy was taken aback. “Can you do that?”
“Can’t I?” said Ghurge.
The delivery guy considered the question. He took off his head and scratched his hat, and Ghurge made a mental note to try doing it that way next time. The delivery guy consulted his clipboard. “Don’t think so.”
Ghurge huffed. “Oh, alright.” He signed for it, and the delivery guy gave him a single slice of baloney and turned to leave.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.
“What do I care?” said the delivery guy.
Ghurge and the baloney slice were married in a small ceremony the following year.