There is a shortage of characters in this country of ours. I am not referring to stand-up comics who are only funny when the camera is rolling or cocktail comedians who get laughs by using four-letter words. I mean genuinely funny people who can make you laugh so hard your teeth hurt just by being themselves. Like a friend of mine who told a stewardess that we were dressed like cowboys because he was a gospel singer and I was a famous televangelist from Oklahoma City. After providing us with several rounds of free drinks, the stewardess asked my friend to sing a gospel song over the airplane’s public address system. He responded by singing the only song he knew all the words to, The Castration of the Strawberry Roan.

As a writer it is my duty to collect characters, and I can tell you they are getting as scarce as lawyers must be in heaven. I have yet to meet an honest to goodness character in a bank, a committee meeting or any restaurant that serves tofu, plant burgers or untuna sandwiches. A truly funny person wouldn’t be caught dead in such a morbid place! A real character in a fancy restaurant would wipe his chin on the tablecloth, fill the salt shaker with sugar and would call the fire department if a waiter lit his dessert on fire.

If you want your very own collection of characters, the best place to start is at a truck stop. The jokes and practical gags start with the waitress at the counter and continue in the restroom where etched into the hand blower it says, “press here for a message from our president.”

I added two priceless pieces to my collection at a truck stop in a small town I spent a year in last week. Over a chicken fried steak, a rancher invited me over to his house for dinner. “You must be getting tired of restaurant food,” he said, “how would you like to come over for dinner?”

“That is awful nice of you. What time do you want me for dinner?”

“Around noon,” the rancher replied.

“I thought you said dinner, isn’t dinner your evening meal?” I asked.

“That is supper,” he explained.

“So, you call dinner supper,” I said, “but when is lunch?”

“Lunch is at dinner,” he explained with a twinkle in his eye, making me feel like the straight man in the “Who’s on First?”  classic comedy routine.

About that time the waitress came up to the counter and asked the elderly gentleman sitting to my right the usual question, “How do you like your eggs?”

“Oh, I like them just fine,” said my newest character collectible.

The waitress ignored him, and wanting to know how he preferred his eggs prepared she asked, “Cooked?”

“Yeah, that would be even better,” replied the senior citizen prankster.

“Look, buddy, I ain’t got time for this game,” snapped the waitress. “You want to be on stage there’s one leaving in five minutes, in the meantime what do you want to eat?”

“I’ll have a wiener sandwich,” said the old man.

“You mean a hot dog?” asked the waitress.

“Yeah, I want a hot dog with lots of mustard because I’m cheating on my wife.”

“What does that got to do with me, honey?”

“My wife doesn’t like me eating this stuff so every time she’s not around I cheat and eat whatever I want. Ha, ha, ha.”

The waitress was not amused and I’m sure she had heard the same routine before. Probably from the same guy. But I thought it was all quite entertaining.

I don’t know if there are more or less characters these days than there used to be... I just know there aren’t enough of them.