Prove You're Human

The wise man in the elevator and the CAPTCHA clusterfuck

The other day, I went to see an ophthalmologist about a cyst on my right eye. Because I’m a human who struggles with anxiety, I convinced myself that the diagnosis would be malignant, the surgery would go poorly, and my vision would be history. Basically, the worst scenario. But the ophthalmologist said it was nothing to worry about it. “We’ll keep an eye on it,” he said without acknowledging the pun. Then he told his assistant to schedule me for a follow-up in six months.

I was feeling good as I left the ophthalmologist’s office, so I struck up a conversation with an old man in the elevator.

“I like your shirt,” I said. “Very cool.”

He was wearing a short-sleeve silk shirt with a fantastic comic book print. I squinted to see if I could make out the comic, but let’s face it, even with the all-clear from my eye doc, my vision has always been lousy.

“I’ll tell you where to get it,” the old man said. “How well do you know Burbank?”

“Pretty well. I’ve been getting lost there my entire life.”

The old man laughed. I could tell he liked the cut of my jib. The feeling was mutual.

“OK, here’s what you do. On Hollywood Way, just north of a little street called Clark, next to a Chevron station that you don’t want to go to because, well, they can be schmucks at that Chevron, there’s a bookstore called Dark Delicacies.”

“I know Dark Delicacies! Great store. But I thought they were on Magnolia.”

“They were, but The Man raised the rent. Not cool. But they did one of those GoFundMe deals the kids love, and it worked. It’s nice when people help people. Anyway, they moved to a new location around the corner. That’s where I got the shirt.”

“It’s a very cool shirt,” I said.

Just then, we reached the first floor, and the elevator door opened.