Optical Delusions
I took Hayley to the eye doctor today (luckily they have late appointments on Tuesdays so I could take her after I finished work). I'm always a bit nervous going to the eye doctor.
You wouldn't think I'd be nervous because #1 this appointment was for Hayley and not for me, and #2 even if the appointment was for me, I actually enjoy getting my eyes examined, except for the part where the dr puts the drops in to dilate my pupils. And that isn't so annoying since I had dilated eyes for 8 years when I was a kid, so I am used to it.
What makes me nervous about going to the eye doctor is the person who we have to deal with to purchase eyewear, both contacts and glasses. Whenever I go in, I get the largish woman with weirdly dyed hair and severe glasses. She looks like she was once a goth, but as she has neared her middle age (and she is probably close to my age, and maybe she's younger by a few years), she toned the look down a bit, but only just enough so she could get a decent job. I don't mind the adult goth look; what wigs me out is that she is SO FRIENDLY. Way too friendly. Friendly to the point of her asking personal questions of me and then answering them on my behalf. The worst thing is most of the time she gets it wrong, but I am always too uncomfortable to correct her.
So I was relieved tonight when the insurance rep/sales guy was someone different.
My hopes of a quick painless glasses-buying session for Hayley were dashed when he started asking Hayley if she had any nicknames. I think both of us were uncomfortable when, once she told him one of them, he started calling her by that nickname! No one wants their optical salesperson calling them "Peaches." Then Hayley spilled the beans about my 6th grade nickname and I had to spend the rest of the evening being called "Sarge."
To top it off, we were stuck at the front desk while my credit card was being authorized, listening to him muse out loud about mating dragonflies who, while in the process of coupling, mangle their mates.
Oh sweet baby Cheezits, mating dragonflies who kill their mates. His point was: "wouldn't you think the other dragonflies who were watching would be less likely to try to procreate?"
I think I'll just let myself go blind from now on. Hayley too.
You wouldn't think I'd be nervous because #1 this appointment was for Hayley and not for me, and #2 even if the appointment was for me, I actually enjoy getting my eyes examined, except for the part where the dr puts the drops in to dilate my pupils. And that isn't so annoying since I had dilated eyes for 8 years when I was a kid, so I am used to it.
What makes me nervous about going to the eye doctor is the person who we have to deal with to purchase eyewear, both contacts and glasses. Whenever I go in, I get the largish woman with weirdly dyed hair and severe glasses. She looks like she was once a goth, but as she has neared her middle age (and she is probably close to my age, and maybe she's younger by a few years), she toned the look down a bit, but only just enough so she could get a decent job. I don't mind the adult goth look; what wigs me out is that she is SO FRIENDLY. Way too friendly. Friendly to the point of her asking personal questions of me and then answering them on my behalf. The worst thing is most of the time she gets it wrong, but I am always too uncomfortable to correct her.
So I was relieved tonight when the insurance rep/sales guy was someone different.
My hopes of a quick painless glasses-buying session for Hayley were dashed when he started asking Hayley if she had any nicknames. I think both of us were uncomfortable when, once she told him one of them, he started calling her by that nickname! No one wants their optical salesperson calling them "Peaches." Then Hayley spilled the beans about my 6th grade nickname and I had to spend the rest of the evening being called "Sarge."
To top it off, we were stuck at the front desk while my credit card was being authorized, listening to him muse out loud about mating dragonflies who, while in the process of coupling, mangle their mates.
Oh sweet baby Cheezits, mating dragonflies who kill their mates. His point was: "wouldn't you think the other dragonflies who were watching would be less likely to try to procreate?"
I think I'll just let myself go blind from now on. Hayley too.
Comments
That is such a great story, though.