Feb. 22nd, 2007

fearlesstemp: (cary kate net)
The latest thing I'm stressing out about is my eyewear. I've had the same pair of glasses for five years now, and due to wear and tear and the passage of time, they're both unfashionable and crooked. A new pair is vital, and so when I went for my yearly eye exam, I started browsing for glasses as well.

After a few minutes, a salesguy came up and was all, "Why don't you try these? They work with your face shape" and I looked in the mirror and liked them better than anything that had come before. I looked at three more frames, got called into my eye exam apointment, and when I came out the salesguy was all, "So you like these frames? That'll be four hundred dollars."

Okay, so it wasn't quite that quick, but it felt it, esp. with my eyes still smarting from the numbing drops and my contacts out so I could no longer really see the frames I was trying out. And so I just went along; this is why I could never be a freedom fighter, and also why my credit card bill is so high.

That wasn't the really mortifying event of the day, though. I also wanted to get my contact lens prescription set, so I went there wearing my contacts but forgot a case (natch), so the optometrist guy had to give me a free trial kit for one of the contact lens solutions when it came time for the lenses to come out. He put me in a little room with a mirror and the sealed box of contact lens accessories, and I set about removing my contacts. Shouldn't be a big deal, right? I do this every day! Except of course I couldn't get the bottle of the lens solution open. To be more accurate, I couldn't get the stupid protective plastic off of the top. I spent five minutes poking at it and digging in my pockets for something sharp to use, until eventually I looked around to make sure no one was looking and started in on the bottle with my teeth like an animal. This is what we who bite our nails are reduced to, quite often, and why people are (justifiably) grossed out by us.

Of course I couldn't get the bottle open quickly enough. The optometrist came in out of nowhere, all, "How's it going?"

I wiped the bottle on my shirt. "Oh, fine! Great! Just, you know. Having a little trouble getting the bottle open."

He nodded understandingly and said, "Oh, those can be annoying. I know a trick," and held out his hand. "Let me."

I didn't want to let my saliva-slimy bottle go. I desperately clawed at the plastic with my dull, edge-less nails. "That's okay, I can get it!"

"No, I can do it."

And then he looked at me all expectantly, and I had to hold it up and show him the gnawed-off edge of the plastic, "No, see I used my teeth to open it, and now it's all gross, so."

He looked at me like I was something he found on his shoe for a split second, and then his professional, friendly demeanor returned. "Oh, of course! I'd be happy to help, etc etc."

I tried for a minute or two but still couldn't get the GD bottle open and the guy had to take it from me eventually. I wanted to die. You can't take me ANYWHERE.


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February 2009

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