Who gets their eyes examined at Wal-mart, it appears I do. My insurance company cancelled my regular eye doc and replaced him with the cheapest cheap ass doctors they could find. I am staring at the list of approved newcomer providers and recognize none of the names and then at the very bottom of the alphabetized column is good ol' dependable Wal-Mart. I have always bought new frames from the mega center as well as countless tubs of cashew chicken salad and that's how I ended up getting my eyes examined at Wal-Mart.
I am plagued with a respiratory infection and I get nasty coughing spells when sitting in confined airless spaces and that's exactly what the examination room proves to be. Three minutes into the exam a saliva-spewing cough rips out of my chest and my new doctor literally recoils and I am desperately gesturing towards my water bottle, the one he took away from me "because there's a lot of electricity in these machines." I am not liking this guy. He has an abbreviated Willy Wonka hair cut and smells like the latest Jennifer Lopez scent and that triggers another coughing spell.
Dr. Wal-Mart is not happy, how can he be trying to run a serious medical practice with a PA blaring "lawn and garden, price check" every ten seconds. He tells me about tumors he has detected on eyelids and I swear an orgasmic intensity takes him over. The guy doesn't want to be in this closet of an office sandwiched between Cost Cutters and Photo Magic Baby Portraits. He sees himself at a prestigious clinic in eastern Europe rubbing shoulders with recognized geniuses of opthamology, his face in Reader's Digest, that pinnacle of medical rock stardom.
My current glasses are bronze and grey aviator frames, something Howard Hughes would have worn. I need a goddamn kick in the pants to get me out of my nunlike choices and I am fingering frames that look like a rainbow on steroids. The lab tech drawls, well, if you want to go with crazy . . . I turned 60 last week, I'm going with crazy.
My only concern is that strangers will view me as interesting and want to get to know me because I'm wearing these crazy frames and of course I am all that, but it is none of their business.
I am plagued with a respiratory infection and I get nasty coughing spells when sitting in confined airless spaces and that's exactly what the examination room proves to be. Three minutes into the exam a saliva-spewing cough rips out of my chest and my new doctor literally recoils and I am desperately gesturing towards my water bottle, the one he took away from me "because there's a lot of electricity in these machines." I am not liking this guy. He has an abbreviated Willy Wonka hair cut and smells like the latest Jennifer Lopez scent and that triggers another coughing spell.
Dr. Wal-Mart is not happy, how can he be trying to run a serious medical practice with a PA blaring "lawn and garden, price check" every ten seconds. He tells me about tumors he has detected on eyelids and I swear an orgasmic intensity takes him over. The guy doesn't want to be in this closet of an office sandwiched between Cost Cutters and Photo Magic Baby Portraits. He sees himself at a prestigious clinic in eastern Europe rubbing shoulders with recognized geniuses of opthamology, his face in Reader's Digest, that pinnacle of medical rock stardom.
My current glasses are bronze and grey aviator frames, something Howard Hughes would have worn. I need a goddamn kick in the pants to get me out of my nunlike choices and I am fingering frames that look like a rainbow on steroids. The lab tech drawls, well, if you want to go with crazy . . . I turned 60 last week, I'm going with crazy.
 |
| "Petunia" |
2 comments:
Leona has serious competition
A compliment if ever I've heard one.
Post a Comment