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A fisherman walks into the Squire in Chatham, pulls up a stool, and sets a leather case about a foot square on the bar. He opens the case and out jumps a tiny man in a tuxedo, less than a foot tall. The fisherman reaches into the case and pulls out a perfect grand piano, just the right size for the little guy in the tux.
The fisherman orders a drink for himself and asks for a short one for his tiny friend. As the barkeep fixes the drinks, the little guy in the tux sits down and starts playing. Pretty soon, everyone in the place in listening. The little guy is whipping through all the classics—Cole Porter, Gershwin, Sinatra’s standards, early Beatles. Everyone is enthralled. People start buying the fisherman and his little friends drinks and the cheery music continues into the night.
Finally the bartender musters the courage to ask the question on everyone’s mind. He leans over and asks the guy how he came to have this amazing little friend.
The fisherman says, “It’s the same old story. I was a GI in Desert Storm. As my unit was making its way out of Kuwait, I came across a brass lamp in the sand. I gave it the obligatory rub, and sure enough, a genie appeared in a cloud of smoke. He thanked me for freeing him from a thousand years of captivity and offered to grant me the usual one wish. And what he thought I said I wanted was a ten-inch pianist.”
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