The Hidden World of the Optician.

I, unfortunately, would never survive in the wild.

Yes, this is partly because I am generally terrible at being outdoors. Really. I'm not even ashamed of it. I am rubbish at nature. I give a big thumbs up to the old 'from trees to cave' category we picked as a species way back when we gave that glitzy ol' evolutionary wheel a spin.

Its also slightly because I don't feel I'm prepared enough in the ways of knots- it seems so vital to be an excellent knot do-er in the wild, though I do remain unsure why. Perhaps you can knot yourself a meal. Or knot a sword in times of battle. I'm not judging the world of knots, to be sure, but there are very few times when i REALLY NEED something to attach to a rope. But not just need, but need TO THE MAX. To the point where the knot that everyone does (under over squeezy squeezy until its bigger than your fist) is no longer sufficient.

But I'm getting off the point. Knot my best opening. ahaha well done me and all is forgotten. Anyway, my point.
My point is, I cannot see.
Not even a bit.
My talent for seeing is slim to none. Its not on my CV and I dont boast about it to my friends and colleagues.
I find this very frustrating, as personally, I really enjoy seeing. I bloody love it. And I cant do it. Embarrassingly, I need eye crutches. And I've never been happy about this.

So you can imagine, upon entering an opticians at any time, I'm a little on edge. I always feel a bit like I'm about to enter an exam, and I didn't revise nearly enough. No, its not even that, I feel like I'm about to enter an exam, and I know that they're going to give me a towel to write with. Its the injustice of it all. But there's no getting around the damn thing, I need an update on how supremely crap my eyes are, and they are the only ones who can give it to me. In I go.

Now, my Mum, who is sympathetic about the failure of my eyes, as she too has suffered a similar fate, is generally very good about getting me to and from the opticians. However, she does make me go to Asda opticians so she can get a shop in at the same, and considering she GAVE me the damaged optical goods in the first place, you think we could splash out on specsavers. I don't know what it is, but sometimes I just really, really feel as if I should have gone there. Who knows why.

But anyway, I'm only so grouchy about it because I hate the opticians so much, and to be honest, the prospect of an off the cuff kinder bueno post eye raping is enough to keep the forced smile on my face at any time. The problem is, and the reason I write this to you today, considering what a horrendous ordeal going to the opticians is (and it is, lets not get all spoonful of sugar about this) the women who worked there genuinely seemed to believe they had not only the most wonderful, but bizarrely, the most hilarous jobs in the world.

It began with an attendant type (eye nurse? who even cares) making me sit in a chair and among other things, have a machine blow air suddenly and violently into my eye. Over and over again. As it made a shooty, foamy noise. I know machines can't be rude. But this one really, really did try. I felt someone had instructed a rogue young thug of an extractor fan to spit in my face repeately. 'It might be a little startling!' the young nurse (?) said with a grin. Startling. I'll say. I never thought I'd feel like I was being taunted by a piece of optical equipment. Every time it spat I jumped, and the nurse would giggle away, as if she'd just told a really amusing joke, and the punchline was me getting spat in the face. Excellent.

Thankfully though, it couldnt last forever, and I was able to stand up, my eyes feeling like the underside of a desert vole. I was taken into the sanctuary of the appointment room where the friendly optician lady took my chart, looked at it, paused for a minute as I sat in the waggly feet chair and looked up.
'did you do this test with your lenses in?'
I replied in the affirmative, as I'd told them I had them in when I arrived, and no one told me to do otherwise.'
She burst out laughing.
'AHAHAHA HAHAA oh dear oh dear, yes! You see, it says here that your eyesight is perfect! And that, well, that doesn't happen a lot does it? HAHAHA'
'ha. yes, i suppose that.. that would be classed as some sort of jesus mirac-
'JUNE! JUNE COME IN HERE. Did you do her test?'
June nodded with bated breath.
'she's got her CONTACTS in!'
HAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHA
HAHAHA
I laughed away too (it seemed only polite, no one wants to be the only non-laugher in a room of hilarity, its like turning up to a great fancy dress party wearing jeans and a satirical name tag) but couldnt shake what this would actually mean.
'HAHAH, oh dear.. oh dear. well, back out you go! We'll have to do all the tests again!' She grinned. June grinned. That bastard smug little extractor fan drop out grinned. And we did it again. Only this time I didn't even have my eye armour on.

Post this, I had the fun of actually doing the 'now read the bottom line.. the bottom line, I said. Oh sorry, that is genuinely what you thought it was? oh. oh, oh dear...' and being told with glee that i had indeed slipped further down the eye ladder, and was now approaching the kind of vision a bowl would reject as useless.

Still, I had glasses to choose, and my Mum had turned up, meaning I had exactly 3 minutes to choose which ones I wanted before she started breathing in the way that meant if I took any longer, I wouldnt need them anyway as I wouldn't have a head. So picking two up (it was one for 60 pounds, or two for 70 pounds- and you know you dont need two pairs of glasses and yet... 10 pounds... I could never have lived with myself). Now the fun really began.
June looked devestated. 'I'm so sorry. But these are on different deals. This one here' she waggled a pair I'd given her 'are only 40 pounds. And you want the 60 pound deal'.
I was getting the warning mum breaths on my neck.
'Oh its fine' I said hurridly, 'I'll just pay the extra anyway, I don't mind.'
I was met with silence. Another attendant rushed up as if Gondor had just called for aid.
'I'm afraid-' started June
'You can't override the deal' said the New Attendant in a hushed tone.
'Oh, ' I said, 'but.. but I dont mind paying extra. These are only forty pounds, yes? And I'm willing to pay as if they were sixty. So. So its better, yes? For everyone?'
June and New Girl looked at each other. They looked back at me.
'But thats not the deal', said June. 'They are part of a seperate deal.'
I really wished I had my dealing with ridiculous situations knot to hand.
'But I'll be paying more' I said. 'More. By twenty pounds'. I almost added, 'surely Mr Philip Asda would bloody love a hand-out?', but I didn't think now was the time for fictional characters based on acronyms.
June and N.A looked at each other again. And suddenly, a strange smile dawned on NA's face. It was a curious mix of glee, exhilaration and fear. 'You know what,' she said
'what?' asked June breathlessly
'Those glasses' she pointed at the offending 40 pound lepers, 'were made for a customer. and he never picked them up. We could', she swallowed, 'we could just put them through as sixty pounds, as the register wouldn't know where they came from, as they were specially made for a customer!'
June about shat herself.
'Yes! Yes we could! We could do it!' They both turned to me, where I proceeded to thank them excessively for letting me pay them extra money.
As she was putting the order through, June turned to the other girl and said grinning wildly 'I tell you what, we'll never work at SpecSavers, will we?'
The other girl hooted and replied with relish 'Ohhh no, they'd never let us!'
I suddenly caught a wonderful glimpse of an underworld I'd never imagined before. An opticians mafia, opposing gangs in a west side story type setting, where administractive hitmen got tattoos of their chosen branch on their cornias and bombarded their optical opponants with midnight lens raids. Bi-focal bomb shelters and suicide pact saline nightmares. Specsavers vs Asda. Other name of an opticians vs a different other name of an opticians. Marvellous.
Drifting into this dream as I walked out with my Mum, whose breathing was now back on track, I barely even realised that I'd forgotten to buy my celebratory kinder bueno. Ah well. On the mean streets of the optician underbelly, there was no such thing as chocolatey treats. Just monacle maniacs, untrustworthy red and green circles and eye tests with such tiny letters that any man trying to work them out goes instantly mad. Cripes. No one ever had this kind of trouble in a tent. Forget my past, nature, I'll tie you my best forgiveness knot and lets start this again.