It was a calm afternoon at the lake, the kind where the water barely rippled and families drifted lazily in rented boats. The manager of the boat-rental concession stepped to the shoreline, lifted his megaphone, and called out loudly, “Number 99, come in please. Your time is up.” His voice echoed across the water, turning a few heads, but the lake stayed quiet.
Several minutes passed. Boat number 99 didn’t move an inch toward the dock. The manager frowned, raised the megaphone again, and shouted even louder. “Boat number 99, return to the dock immediately or I’ll have to charge you overtime!” Still nothing. Other boats floated by, parents waved, kids laughed — but number 99 was nowhere to be seen.
That’s when the assistant, who had been watching the scene unfold, leaned closer to the manager and lowered his voice. “Boss,” he said carefully, “something is wrong here.”
The manager snapped back, annoyed. “What do you mean something is wrong? I can’t find boat 99!”
The assistant pointed toward the dock, where dozens of boats were tied up, each clearly marked. “Boss,” he said, trying not to laugh, “we only have boats numbered one through seventy-five.”
The manager froze.
He slowly lowered the megaphone, stared out at the lake, and then looked down at the rental clipboard in his hand. After a long pause, the realization hit him like a wave.
He turned back to the water and shouted, “Boat number 66… are you okay?”
