“Mr. C, an elegant retired art dealer, was hospitalized overnight with a small stroke. The next morning, he felt well and was discharged. Within moments of returning home, he phoned my office in a panic . He was certain that his favorite antique desk had been replaced by a cheap Levitz reproduction . "Hurry over and see for yourself. " He lived near my office; I dropped by at lunchtime. The desk in question was a massive eighteenth-century Italian refectory table that took up most of his den . It could easily seat a dozen; just lifting it would require a minimum of several men . And it was far too wide to fit through the doorway without removing the French doors . I quickly pointed out the impossibility of someone sneaking in, moving out the desk, and substituting a fake. Mr. C shook his head . "Yes, I admit that it is physically impossible that the desk has been replaced . But it has. You have to take my word for it. I know real when I see real, and this desk isn't real. " He ran his hand along the grain, repeatedly fingering a couple of prominent wormholes . "It's funny, " he said with a puzzled expression . "These are exact replicas of the holes in my desk. But they don't feel the least bit familiar. No, " he announced emphatically, "someone must have replaced it." He then delivered the cognitive checkmate : "After all, I know what I know."”
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