Before I got started, I received a text from the site police. “We’ll need to verify it’s you.”

“Why can’t I just say ‘It’s me?” I typed.  The snarky reply text said “That is a question that not only shows your ignorance in a time of Pandemic and Pandemonium, it shows, well, your farouking ignorance if you know what I’m saying, which you probably don’t.”

Okay, to verify it was me, I had to answer one of the secret questions I answered when I registered on this site last September. When I signed on, the site police selected one of those questions and I had to enter the exact answer I gave last September.

For example, one of the questions posed last September was “Where did you and your spouse first meet?” That sounded like a simple question with probably a simple answer to remember. The problem is, I couldn’t remember the exact, simple answer that I used. And I felt uneasy. So I stalled by typing “Who says I have a spouse?”

Came an immediate reply: “Internet security is no joke pal, because jokes are funny. While accidental funny can be funny – sometimes even hilarious —  it’s usually followed by the kind of impotent rage that requires us to dispatch a krakken.”

“Okay.” I typed in the very tiny box reserved for very tiny comments. “I have a spouse.”

 “Error. Your answer does not match our records. Try again. Meanwhile, we are alerting the krakken.”

I got nervous. Did they mean try that same question again? Or try a different question? Maybe try a different spouse? I typed in “It’s very complicated. My spouse and I never actually met that first time. See, I had a blind date that night and when I went to meet her, her roommate said she was out for a walk with a friend. I asked who was the friend. She told me some guy named Sal. I said ‘Wait. My name is Sal.’ The roommate said ‘You don’t look anything like the other Sal.’

‘That’s because I’m not the other Sal,’ I said. ‘I’m the Sal who looks like me and who is also looking for his blind date.’

‘She’s not really blind.’

‘That’s a relief. I’m not blind either.’

‘Although the other Sal did have a seeing eye dog.’

‘Wait. How do you know it was a seeing eye dog?’

‘I asked him.’

‘You asked the dog?’

‘Dog’s can’t talk. I didn’t think I’d have to explain that.’

‘Hold on. You see a guy with a dog and you just assume he’s blind? The guy, that is.’

‘Your point?’

‘That’s kind of rude, don’t you think?’

‘That’s what Harriet said.’

‘Who’s Harriet?’

‘She’s the one out walking with Sal. Duh.’

‘But I’m supposed to meet Lorraine.’

‘Who’s Lorraine?’

‘Uh, my blind date?’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I thought I did.’

‘I didn’t actually hear the word ‘so.’

‘So,’ I said. ‘Now what?’

‘Hold on. Some krakken just texted he is getting out of his car. You might want to look behind you.’

I began to think something was amiss. I hit the EscK (escape the krakken) button and the screen went blank. I looked behind me.  Coming up the walk from the curb was a krakken. I’d never actually seen a krakken, but I remembered the old saw: If it looks like a krakken, it’s either a krakken or Donald Trump, Jr. I knew I had no other choice. I simultaneously hit the Ctrl-Alt-Delete keys and I vanished.

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Ahhhhhhhh!”

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2021, all rights reserved.