One quiet afternoon, in the kind of small convenience store where the bell above the door jingles louder than the number of customers inside, an unexpected visitor waddled through the entrance. It wasn’t a hurried shopper or a delivery driver—it was a duck. With calm confidence and an almost formal politeness, the duck approached the counter where the clerk stood half-bored and half-distracted. Looking up, the clerk blinked in disbelief as the duck politely asked, “Excuse me, do you have any grapes?” The question was so ordinary and yet so absurd in context that it took a moment to register. This was not a grocery market or a produce stand; it was a small convenience store stocked with chips, candy bars, and soda. The clerk, still trying to process the fact that he was being addressed by a duck, answered honestly. “Uh… no. We don’t sell grapes.” The duck gave a simple nod, as though the answer were entirely reasonable, then turned and waddled out without protest. The interaction was strange, but brief. The clerk shook his head and returned to his routine, assuming the encounter was a one-time oddity.

The following day, at nearly the exact same time, the bell jingled again. The clerk glanced up—and there was the duck. Same calm expression. Same steady waddle. The duck walked directly to the counter, as though this were the most natural pattern in the world, and repeated the same question: “Do you have any grapes?” The clerk’s surprise shifted to mild irritation. Surely the duck remembered yesterday’s answer. Surely this was some kind of joke. “No,” he replied more firmly. “We still don’t have grapes.” The duck responded with the same composed nod and left the store once again. Now the situation had transformed from strange to puzzling. Why would the duck return to ask the same question when nothing had changed? Was it forgetfulness? Determination? Mischief? The clerk replayed the exchange in his mind, half expecting laughter from hidden cameras. But the store remained quiet. No grapes. No explanation.

On the third day, predictably and yet somehow still astonishingly, the duck returned. The rhythm of events had become almost ritualistic: bell jingles, duck waddles, question asked. “Do you have any grapes?” This time the clerk’s patience evaporated. Frustration flared. Three days in a row of the same question felt less like coincidence and more like provocation. “That’s it!” he snapped. “You’ve come in here three days in a row asking for grapes, and every time I tell you the same thing! We’re a convenience store, not a fruit stand! If you come back here one more time asking for grapes, I’ll nail your webbed feet to the floor!” The threat was dramatic, absurd, and entirely disproportionate—but it reflected the clerk’s exasperation. The duck did not argue. He did not react with fear. He simply nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information, then turned and waddled out once again. His calm departure contrasted sharply with the clerk’s emotional outburst, setting the stage for something yet to unfold.

On the fourth day, the bell above the door chimed again. By now, the clerk almost expected the duck’s return, though he braced himself for confrontation. Sure enough, the duck entered with the same relaxed demeanor and approached the counter. The clerk stiffened, ready to unleash another warning. But instead of repeating the familiar question, the duck asked something different. “Do you have any nails?” The clerk frowned, caught off guard. The shift in topic disrupted the tension. “No… we don’t sell nails,” he answered cautiously. The duck paused just long enough to confirm the logic, then smiled in quiet triumph. “Perfect. Got any grapes?” In that instant, the entire pattern snapped into focus. The duck had not forgotten. He had not misunderstood. He had simply adapted. By verifying the absence of nails, he eliminated the threat before reintroducing the original question. The humor landed not because the request for grapes was new, but because the duck had cleverly neutralized the consequence first.

What makes this joke endure is its structure. It builds through repetition, escalating frustration with each identical inquiry. The humor grows not from the first question, but from the predictable return. Repetition creates anticipation. Anticipation builds tension. The clerk’s exaggerated threat heightens the stakes. Then the duck dismantles that tension with a single logical step. It’s not loud humor; it’s precise humor. The duck’s persistence is unwavering, but his method evolves. He demonstrates patience, timing, and the power of calm reasoning. Where the clerk reacts emotionally, the duck responds strategically. The punchline works because it feels earned. Three days of buildup culminate in one perfectly timed line. It’s a small reminder that sometimes the cleverest response isn’t forceful—it’s thoughtful.

In the end, the story leaves behind more than a laugh. It highlights how easily irritation clouds perspective. The clerk saw annoyance; the duck saw opportunity. The clerk issued a threat; the duck evaluated its feasibility. And when he confirmed there were no nails available, he returned confidently to his original mission. Whether or not he ever gets his grapes is irrelevant. The victory lies in the timing. So the next time persistence feels pointless or repetition feels frustrating, remember the duck in the convenience store. Sometimes the key to success isn’t changing the question—it’s changing the approach just enough to make the question unstoppable. And if nothing else, the image of a calm duck outsmarting a flustered clerk is enough to bring a smile.