So, we’re in the elevator, we are. Sherlock and me. Sherlock is my guide dog. We’re on the third floor. We want to go to the first. The building has five. The door closes. We sit there. I press the bottom button. The door opens. “I need to learn Braille better,” I tell Sherlock.
I run my fingertips along the wall. I feel the bumps and the buttons. I think I find the number 1. The elevator starts going up. We’re headed for parts unknown. “I need to learn Braille better,” I tell Sherlock.
I stand tall and the buttons sit low. It’s hard to read Braille with my finger upside down. I drop to all fours. Sherlock thinks it’s play time. He puts his elbows on my back. He stands on his hind paws. Then, God bless his gentle soul, he begins to hump me. He has assumed the Southwestern Sidewinder position. While I’m thinking how I need to learn Braille better, I say to Sherlock, “Get off me.”
The elevator door opens. Half a tick later, someone screams. I shuffle forward. The woman steps back. “Can you help me?” I ask. The woman retreats down the hallway. The door closes and we sit.
I press another button. The alarm sounds. I press the button above that one. We go down.
“This is security. What is your problem?” The voice bounces around the elevator. I stand tall, remain mute and pat Sherlock’s head.
The door opens. We’re at the first floor. The crowd parts. We stride across the lobby. I read peoples’ minds. “Look at that self-assured blind man and his beautiful guide dog. We project nonchalance. “I repeat. This is security.” The voice gets dimmer. “What is your problem?”
“Problem?” I ask Sherlock. “What problem? We just need to learn Braille better, that’s all.”