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So there I was in San Diego, the 2nd week in January for some company meetings. MY primary objective for the weekend was to get down to Tijuana to track down an Elvis on Velvet for Logan's 17th birthday. After unsuccessfully searching the Internet for this elusive and desirable item, it occurred to me that I'd certainly be able to snag one in Tijuana.

I begged my friend, Chris, to accompany me across the border. That he did so grudgingly would be an understatement. Our last trip there, on which he joined me equally unwillingly, he vowed never to go back. He hated it and hated me for making him go. The only reason he agreed to go this time was to placate me...probably figured, "this too shall pass" and knew that the cost (2-3 hours, give or take) was worth the investment in my attitude for the rest of the week.

As soon as we crossed the border, I spotted a booth where a guy was handing out laser eye surgery pamphlets. I hauled Chris over, grabbed a pamphlet and asked the price. $900 per eye sounded too good to be true; Chris was skeptical, to say the least, but it was clear that his parsimony got the better of his xenophobia and he was intrigued with the idea. Generally speaking, mild interest in a subject launches Chris and anyone unlucky enough to be within range immediately into the "Platt Zone;" intrigue exacerbates this cosmic draw. From that moment on, the week was consumed by all things optic.

As we were now two individuals with conflicting objectives, I prevailed and located Elvis first. The methodology, however, was based on asking every street vendor two questions, "where can I find Elvis", and "where is the Codet Clinic Building?" Once we had three Elvi in hand, we were free to find the clinic.

At some point during this journey, Chris became Mexican. Having experienced his racial/ethnic transformations in the past, I was neither shocked nor horrified by this event. We wiled away a couple of hours enjoying margaritas and a hearty lunch serenaded by a mariachi band. It wasn't until after we'd eaten that I discovered the defining moment for Chris' epiphany and subsequent Mexicanization...the men's room in the restaurant was spotless - almost Platt-like in its pristine splendor.

We finally found the building and took a peek into the closed clinic waiting room where we saw an article for LASIK surgery. At that moment, Chris decided that this was the place for him. He figured that without much human intervention, the LASIK computer equipment would do as good a job in Tijuana as in the U.S., and the PRICE WAS RIGHT! Did I mention his legendary thriftiness?

Later that day, back in San Diego, I suggested that we look up some "local" clinics, assuming that if the price was so great over the border, it might be equally affordable in the U.S. We were surprised to learn that the clinics we called all shuttled their patients to the Codet facility, adding about a $500 fee to the cost of the surgery for round trip transportation and translation services. Chris, who by Sunday was a full-blooded Mexican, decided to forego the American escort and rely instead on his familiarity with the border crossing and his faultless Spanish 101.  

Because I, for one, was REALLY in San Diego on business, I was unable to accompany Chris on his exploratory visit on Tuesday evening. When I met up with him later for a drink, he was positively euphoric after his consultation and inspection of the clinic, the doctor and the equipment. Whether the Jack Daniels contributed to this euphoria or not, I can't really say. I have to assume, though, that his decision to go ahead with the surgery was based, at least partially, upon his discovery that the men's room at the Codet Clinic was as antiseptic as the one in the restaurant on Saturday. After his brief visit to the clinic, he reported he 

was most amazed by the courtesy of his fellow patients, mentioning a number of times how interesting it was to hear each new arrival being greeted with a hearty "buenos tardes" (which translated means, " may God, Buddha, and Allah watch over you and prevent you from going blind)". Since his appointment for surgery was for noon the following day, we reviewed other greetings in Spanish so he could fit in while waiting for surgery.

I agreed to be the "escort" on Wednesday for the trip to the clinic and the actual "event". We were in the car and on the way south at around 10:30 in the morning, and arrived at the border at about 11. 11 am on my clock is lunchtime, especially when accosted by the aromas of freshly cooked somethings right on the street. Since we had an hour to spare and the building was close enough that EVEN I could have hit it with a basketball, I suggested we stop for a quick bite. Unfortunately, this suggestion did not penetrate the Platt Zone and instead, we proceeded directly to the clinic, arriving at 11:10.

At exactly 11:45, after Chris had made his payment arrangements, a nurse? brought Chris a large pill which she said was valium. "Oh good", I thought, I'll at least have a little fun today...and began to do my "is the valium working yet" test which consists of rapid, repeated face slapping. It's been scientifically proven that once valium kicks in, face slapping is acceptable. Suffice to say, Chris let me slap him a number of times with no complaints. The valium didn't work, though.

[Editorial note: Apparently, in Lee's world, "Dammit, knock it off!" isn't considered a complaint.]

At 11:55, they outfitted Chris in a fetching blue cap and booties and sat him in what appeared to be the "on-deck" chair. At precisely 12:00, he was admitted to the inner sanctum and about 14 minutes later, emerged a new man.

During the procedure, another woman in the waiting room reported on his progress as she had her face pressed against the glass...after the first jackhammer blast, she said, "one eye done!" One more blast and that was it. I couldn't watch...eye surgery has troubled me since seeing "A Clockwork Orange" nearly 20 years ago.

We met up in the post-op room where my first question was, "are you blind?" to which Chris responded "I can see better now than I ever could with my contact lenses". Then the doc fixed him up with a nifty set of tape-on goggles and disposable dark glasses. We were out the door by 12:20, with Chris doing a respectable Stevie Wonder imitation the whole way home.

Thanks to Dr. Chayet and his terrific staff for Chris' new eyes!