What The Wind Blew In

Extreme windstorms in the desert blanket everything with dust. A brown haze hides the mountains, and people are urged to avoid driving if possible. I had a hard won appointment at the Apple Store with one of the computer experts at the “Genius Bar.”

Clutching my MacBook Pro, I blew into the store, brushed myself off, and sat at the “Genius Bar.” At the appointed hour, a red-haired, freckle-faced, 12-year-old kid (at least he looked that old) came through the inner door, where they hide their geniuses, and spoke my name. I described the problem and he said, “It’s time to toss your cookies.” That is when I first suspected that either the dust had blown into his brain, or that he graduated last in the genius class.

Before I could stick my finger down my throat, he explained that “cookies” are computer storage units, and that if I disposed of all 900 of them, it would help my problem. “Okay,” I said, “But can you promise me that I won’t lose the password on my website?” His freckles danced when he smiled and assured me, “That won’t happen.”

With a tap of his finger, my “cookies” flew into cyberspace---along with my password. “That’s it,” he said. But before he could leave, I grabbed him by the throat and he agreed to help me restore my password. I said, “You’re not going anywhere until I check all of the rest of them.” His red hair started to turn white. No more problems, and the not so cheery genius was happy to see me leave the store.

After this harrowing experience, I decided to reward myself for lunch at a nearby restaurant. Two waiters held the door open against the wind. I was ushered to a booth, and my waiter, “Cole,” took my order and said he would bring me a glass of water. As I waited for the water, I played a mind game to remember his name. I thought, “Nat King Cole, and who in the heck was “Cole Train?” Still no water on my table.

Covered with dust, had I turned invisible? I saw Cole, that merry old soul, running around far away on the other side of the restaurant. All my arm waving didn’t matter. Obviously, he couldn’t see me. I now knew that I was invisible.

A waitress named “Felicia”---or was it “Flicker?” At this point I didn’t care, put a glass of water on the next table, but I think no one was sitting there---unless he was invisible too---so I took the water and drank it. I asked the next person who walked past my table, “Can you please bring me my lunch?” She said, “I’m a customer, but I will try to get your waiter.” Obviously, the wind had died down, because the nice lady could see me. Eventually, Flicker put someone’s lunch on my table and filled my glass of water, but she didn’t say anything, so I suspect the dust had settled around me one more time. It wasn’t my lunch, but I ate it.

As you might suspect, I am still sitting in my booth, at the restaurant, waiting for my cup of coffee. No one can see me. 

Do you suppose I can disappear before paying the check?

Esther Blumenfeld (“The Shadow Knows!”)