Hitting a Sandbar

            “This killer whale and a dolphin swim into a sandbar. You think you know where this is going.” The man pauses. His eyes furtively dart around the shadows at the corners of the room. He is looking for his time.

            He screams, “Extinction!”, which just about kills the audience. He lets a wry smile crack his lips so that just then he resembles a twelve-year-old boy.

            The look is gone as the laughter fades. “I know, I know. Way to kill a joke, Daniel.” Some titters prove the last minute addition was worth it, at least to him.

            “So the whale and the dolphin are at the sandbar. And the dolphin doesn’t know it, but the whale really likes her. A lot. I mean he’s out of his flippin’ mind.”

            The joke falls flat and he proceeds as though he hadn’t noticed. “But the dolphin meets up with a real beast of a shark. You know, the kind with the hook piercings in the weird places.”

            The man is a pro, and he lets his audience enjoy the image they have inevitably pictured. He looks for the light at the back before speaking. “Count ‘em. One, two, three….nine, ten. Yeah. He’s frea-ky.” The high pitch brings peeling laughter from the front. “Whoa, ma’am, ma’am. Let’s not get carried away. It’s just a joke.” He says this but he’s smiling.

            “So. This beast of a shark has the hots for the dolphin. Usually he just finds dolphins delicious.” Outraged hoots only spur him on. “But of course the dolphin doesn’t know that, and thinks he just likes her for her personality… she’s not the smartest dolphin in the ocean.

            “The shark ends up talking to the dolphin, alone, on a whole getting to know you – you know the song: ‘Getting to know you, getting to –” The audience starts to laugh again, either at him or with him. It is clear he likes both crowds.

            “While the shark is getting to know the dolphin, the whale is having too many shrimp cocktails. He’s got problems.”

            “Krill!” a voice shouts.

            “Krill? Well, I’m not an oceanographer.” This turns out to be hilarious.

            “The whale can’t find the dolphin anywhere. The shark’s got her in his hooks. Aw, come on, you know that’s not supposed to be dirty.” Drawing the laughter is easy after he and the audience have gotten better acquainted.

            “The whale doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with himself. The dolphin’s left him. He’s just wailing around – I went there, ma’am, I did – he’s wailing as he’s swimming the length of the sandbar.”

            He takes a loud breath and holds it. Unconsciously the audience does the same. The two entities are connected now, although the red light at the back of the room is blinking thirty seconds until it all shuts down.

            He wails: “‘Whe-ere’s my-yy p-p-por-poise? Waah! What am I gonna do without my porpoise?’ ” Having gone this far together, the audience laughs as he’s laughing.

            “I mean, really, this killer whale doesn’t see his dolphin cornered by the shark. He doesn’t know the dolphin’s been with this shark – the entire time! – been with this shark that’s swimming up to him.

            “So this shark sees the whale and says to himself, ‘I’ve heard about these guys. They call them killer whales. I’ve got to be careful.’ The shark swims up to the whale and says to him, ‘Can you bring another friend next time?’ And the whale goes, ‘Huh?’ The man stops pretending he’s crying to imitate his characters. Anything he does not is just for himself, but the crowd is hooked. “‘I, uh, I guess. What’s your name?'”

            He bends toward the audience, then straightens abruptly. “I’ve been Daniel, everyone, goodnight!”