I went to Bascom Palmer Eye Institute yesterday for my semi-annual checkup. I always make my appointments on Thursdays, so I can have lunch at the weekly farmers’ market that sets up on one of the campus walkways.
Yesterday, I took my bibimbap, and Hania carried her Argentinian kebab, to the courtyard, where we asked two young men in scrubs if we could join them. They were surgical residents, we quickly learned, and enjoyed the market as much as we did. I told them that my bibimbap was delicious, but that the stall had no chopsticks, only forks.
“I’ll get you some chopsticks,” the one resident said, and immediately got up from the table – he had finished his lunch – and went off into the crowd. He returned a couple minutes later with a pair of wooden chopsticks.
Heading to Bascom Palmer, we followed a shady sidewalk that I thought might lead to the outdoor terrace. A young man in a white coat exited the gate, which immediately locked shut. “Too bad we weren’t a little quicker,” I said to Hania, and, as soon as I finished the sentence, the man returned, swiped his badge, and unlocked the gate for us.
