I had an eye exam yesterday, and the bastards dilated my eyes. Much like a gremlin (a good one like Gizmo or a naughty one like Stripe), I do not like bright light under normal circumstances. Dilate my eyes and I want to climb in a coffin until nightfall.
So what they do is put the drops in your eyes and then leave you in the lobby in front of a huge sunny window and under the brightest indoor lights known to man and they wait…they peek at you periodically, waiting for your eyes to be optimally dilated. They know you’re ready to visit with the optometrist when you’ve made every attempt to crawl under the lobby chairs far far away from the light that’s searing into your brain and you’re trying to dig an escape hole in the carpet. Fun stuff.
The optometrist—I have no idea what he looks like, he’s a blurry man as far as I know—then proceeds to shine lights in my eyes until what little sight I had is gone…he then offers me a copy of the photos of the inside of my eye (“look, that’s your optical nerve!” “ummm, I can’t actually see anything you’re pointing at, sorry.” “I can make a copy for you to take home on CD.” “What a Christmas card that would make! No thanks.”)
Completely blinded, I’m led back to the lobby where I’m now supposed to shop for new eyeglass frames. WTF? I’ve decided it’s a ploy because they don’t want you to see how much the frames cost. Even without sight, I can put my hand on the most expensive pair of frames in every display the salesman has; it’s a gift, a talent.
It’s time to pay and I am running my hand over the cards trying to tell the difference between a Visa and a BiLo Bonus Card while the salesman calculates how much money he’s made off the blind that day. Lots, I’m sure. It’s easy to rob the blind. Bastards.