I Can See. Just Can’t Understand.

I don’t like to break a man’s spirit, but the poor sap just picked the wrong day to try upselling me on a pair of new frames.

I certainly don’t like to be crying when I do it.

It was a typical contact lens fitting. A somewhat impolite optical technician flashed a variety of lights in my eyes. Asked me to look up, down and to both sides.

The actual doctor gave me a polite nod as he walked by the examination room and on to more lucrative patients.

The big curve ball was some yellow eye drops that numbed my eyes so they no longer had to do the “puffer” test that eye patients have dreaded for years.

The benifit is not having to play chicken with a blast of air, thus keeping a small piece of my dignity intact.

The downside is losing all feeling in my eyes and crying like a contestant on Top Model after they find out Tyra is a robot.

All in all, it was a dignity loss for the day.

I pretended I could read the bottom line a few times, and either I guessed the letters right, or the lady charged with giving me sight was preoccupied with a hot lunch date she had lined up, because I passed.

No change in prescription and a fresh pair of trial contacts had me feeling pretty good as I prepared to leave the office.

Except for the tears.

My eyes do not seem to react well to being numb, and a constant flow of salty tears would have ruined even the best mascara.

Quickly, a well-dressed young man handed me a tissue and a piece of paper.

“Your glasses prescription,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied with an eleoquence that would make Obama jealous. “Thanks.”

“You have very good insurance,” the young man informed me.

At least, I think he was young. Everything was a little bit blurry. All I could really make out was that he had a blue dress shirt and some kind of green tie.

“If you want to look at what we have here, I can get you set up with a new pair of frames while you have lunch,” he told me.

Now, I was confused. And hungry.

“I just came in for contacts,” I stammered, wondering where the nearest sandwhich shop was.

“Yes,” he said. “You can use your insurance for contacts, but it’s a better deal if you by a new pair of frames.”

The sell was on, and even if my eyes were fuzzy, my brain was not.

“I hardly wear my glasses,” I said. “I’ll be taking the contacts.”

He was not deterred.

“I’m sure you have a lady friend who would like to see you in a new style.” The bright smile he flashed was crystal clear through the fountain in my retinas.

“My wife picked out the pair I have now,” I responded, wiping that grin off his face real quick.

“How long ago did she do that?” he asked. “Fashions change quick, you know.”

He thought he had me, but I was firm in my resolve.

“Are you saying my wife no longer has good taste,” I leaned into him. “Because, I don’t think you want to insult a man’s wife while you’re wearing a tie like that.”

The words sunk in and he realized he wasn’t getting any commission checks from me.

“Tracy over here will set you up with contacts,” he said. “Have a good day.”

I was feeling pretty good about myself. Turned to go see Tracy and promptly walked right into a plant strategically placed in an out of the way corner.

All in all. A net loss of dignity.