The Eyes Have It

I went to the eye doctor the other day.

I don't particularly like going to the eye doctor. I don't like going to any doctor really, but eye doctors and dentists really freak me out. In fact, I haven't been to a dentist in quite a long time. And I know I'm going to end up like George Washington and need wooden dentures by the time I'm 40, so save me the Cavity Creeps lecture.

My problem with dentists lies in the one I had for most of my life bore a distractingly close resemblance to Rocky actor Burt Young:

The only person in your life who should look like Burt Young is your dad (only if you happen to be the child of actor Burt Young) and your cab driver, if you are fortunate enough to have one to call your own.

Your dentist should not look like Burt Young, let alone Burt Young with poor dental hygiene. Yes, my dentist's teeth were a mess. That would be like me being a hairstylist. Just wouldn't make you feel too good to have me coif your dome while looking like Yahoo Serious, would it?

Anyone who might wonder why I hate going to the dentist, really needs to watch Bill Cosby's Himself. As much as I lost Cosby when he ventured into the Land of Jell-o Pudding Pops and Amazing Techicolor Sweaters, he really does nail the dentist experience.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. The eye doctor.

So, I show up at the eye doctor and since this is my first time there, I have to fill out all of these forms, HIPAA agreements (sure, I give you permission to tell my answering machine that I have a sty)...you know, crap like that.

So, I finally get called into the doctor's office and I notice that he has all sorts of diplomas and memberships to various Eye Doctor clubs. But then I also notice that he has a framed poster for a band called Hi8us. Now, in researching this a little more, it appears they are a band who specializes in music that is "upbeat and danceable, a blend that is twisted with deep improvisational segments combining funk, rock, pop, Latin, reggae, hip hop and electronica. Bass driven, soulful grooves served up with an unmistakable pop appeal."

What? No polka?!

Anyway, in researching this, I think my eye doctor's son is in this band. I didn't know this at the time, so imagine what is going through my head when I see, among all of these prestigious documents, this poster of 4 silhouetted young men under the heading Hi8us, which, sorry, sounds like a boy band to me.

I'm getting antsy and hoping there are no anesthesia masks nearby.

Anyway, I sit in the chair and am told to look at the lines of letters with my glasses on. All's good. I can see.

Then, he starts making me think I am turning into Stevie Wonder.

I wish eye doctors would give you a warning like, "Hey, don't freak out. I'm going to do some stuff that's going to fuck your eyes up so bad, the smallest letter you will be able to see is this:"

But they don't, so I'm left with thinking I need to start picking up Braille.

The guy starts messing with my eyes and I can't see shit. You know the drill. Then comes the test I hate: "Which one is clearer? This? Or this?...."this? Or this?" Sometimes the dude would mix it up and really confuse me: "A? Or B?" "Two? Or Three?" "Jermaine? Or Tito?"

They all look the friggin' same to me.

Then, he gets up real close and shines a quasar in my eye. He's in such proximity that I swear he transformed into a Cyclops as all I can see is his one giant eyeball:

For some reason, this sends me into a Beavis and Butthead Sex Education Class giggle fit.

Then, he tells me to look at his ear (!) and then does some witchcraft which allows me to see the reflection of the backside of my eyeball, which looks like this:

I don't like seeing this. It makes me queasy.

But, in order to not sound like a wimp in the presence of a guy who has a Hi8us poster in his office, I decree that spying on the inside of my own head is "pretty cool."

Then, comes the fun part.

He tells me to put my face in this apparatus. Chin in this chin cup. Forehead against this padded thing. I'm expecting to hear "Bring out the gimp."

Instead, he gives me a kindly warning: "I'm going to thrust a hurricane-force puff of air into your eyeball. Try to relax."

Thanks man! How about, "Turn around. OK. I'm going to swing this machete at your head. Try not to move."

So, I'm sitting there, trying to anticipate this puff of air and closing my eyes. Apparently, this measures the pressure in my eyes. Mine is fine, despite withstanding 3 Gs of wind pressure from this torture device.

Then, the best part. Lie back...time for some "drops". He doesn't tell me exactly what these drops do, and he needs three office brutes to hold me down, because I hate having stuff put in my eye. He finally gets the drops in and then he tells me to go downstairs and look at new eyeglass frames while the drops "take effect".

Not knowing what "effect" the drops would have, I go downstairs and start looking at ridiculously over-priced frames. I knew I was in deep shit at this eyeglass place when I see a few frames I like and look up and I am in the "Anne Klein" section. Holy gender-confusion, Batman!

Anyway, after about 15 futile minutes of looking for new specs, I notice that everything is getting pretty blurry and I am getting dizzy as a result. I pick up some frames and can't even read the price on them. I'm starting to freak out, because I wasn't warned about this and all I can think of is that Hi8us poster and that this doctor slipped me a mickey and I'm going to end up passed out with my pants around my ankles and an eyechart taped to my butt.

Then, I look into a mirror and I look like this:

Only, my hair is brown, I'm not a girl, and also not a cartoon.

So, the doctor put some wacky ocular eclipse drops in my eye, because my eyes look like this:

That kinda freaked me out too, but the good doc then gave me the antidote after he looked around in my eyeball some more and all was eventually right with the world.

I got a new prescription and went on my way.

I landed myself at Lenscrafters and was immediately helped by this very patient woman who indulged my indecisiveness by showing me eyewear that made me look like everything from a welder to Dieter from Sprockets and everything else in between.

I end up settling on these bad-boys:

I know what you are thinking, but they look better in person. I think.

I also got some prescription sunglasses as well.

When the woman was filling out the form, she marked the eyeglasses down as "Trendy" and the sunglasses down as "Sporty". Apparently, I'm now an honorary Spice Girl.

And when I went back to pick them up, the 50-something woman who made sure they fit, told me countless times how "cool" they were. I don't feel all that great about that as she also said the same thing to the MIT grad who was trying on specs that looked like two movie screens connected at the nose. But I do swear that, if my wife wasn't with me, she would have asked me out to the Barry Manilow concert.

Oh, and a side note to any members of Hi8us that find their way here...your relative is actually a really good eye doctor. But that would have made for a boring blog entry, no? Keep rocking with all those genres!

Seeing clearly now, the rain has gone,

- Dim.