Updating Stuff


Okay, it’s a couple days later.  Not 28, or anything, since you’re all(presumably) still alive and not holed up in a mansion.  It seems, after all the worrying and agonizing and beating myself up over it, my car is fine.  It just needed more antifreeze.  The mechanics pressure tested everything, no leaks anywhere.  So the guy in the used subcompact in the credit report commercial will not be me.  Incidentally, the guy ought to ditch the other musicians, seems like they’re bad luck. 

Brian got his glasses.  Not nearly as traumatic as the first trip, although I still wanted to pound the new guy into a thin pink paste.  Okay, some background is apparently needed.  Miss Emily, Boo’s teacher and who he thinks he’s going to marry and live in his bedroom with, noticed that when he reads, he was moving his eyes to the side and holding the book over there.  So, Stace had me make an appointment at Sears Optical.  We both felt it important that they know he’s almost 7, so that maybe they’re prepared with gentleness and no breakable objects in the room.   Everything’s hunky dory.  So, the day before the examination, I get a call on my cell asking for Brian, and it’s clearly someone significantly older than Brian.  So I say, no, he’s at school, what do they need?  Oh, well, this is Whoever-the-heck-it-was from Sears Optical and he really needs to speak to him. 

I counted to ten.  Thirteen times.  Didn’t help.

I explained that I was in fact his father, and the person could tell me.  Really not supposed to was the response.
“You DO REALIZE HE’S 6, SINCE I MYSELF TOLD YOU PEOPLE THIS, AND YOU WILL TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT RIGHT NOW.”
Much stammering later, I got that it was Sears, the appointment was the next day, so on and so forth.  Get off the phone, looked at it mystified for at least a minute before I called Stace and we shared a not-to-confident laugh over it.  Insert time-lapse here, and we get there.  A loud, Drew Carey-esque woman sitting behind the counter on the phone with apparently her daughter lecturing her loudly.  This doesn’t look good, I say to myself.   Myself agrees wholeheartedly.  He usually does, agreeable sort that he is.  So, Phonewoman gets off the phone, finds out who we are, “You’re early,” she says. 

I begin rubbing my left temple, trying to stave off the urge to go all Larry Talbot on the woman.  Stace confirms that yes, we are, in fact early.  Brian takes a seat in one of the chairs.  Then another one.  Then a third, and this one SPINS!  OH, JOY!  OH RAPTURE!  After much cajoling and threatening with grievous bodily harm, he sort of stops.  Out comes the doctor, stating once again, we’re early.  So, he says, well, the other people in front of you haven’t shown up, so we’ll wait a few minutes, then maybe get you in early.  The time crawls.  So, finally, it’s time to take my best friend in.  We all move toward the door, doctor says, “Only one of you can come in with him, there’s not enough room.”
Stace and I look at each other.  I’m going to feast on this guy’s liver, I say with my eyes.  Let him look at Brian’s eyes first then I’ll personally break out the fava beans and Chianti, she says back with hers.  By this time, Phonewoman’s back on Ma Bell talking to some other member of her family loudly.  A few minutes go by, Stace comes out, not looking happy.  She tells me Brian’s resisting and the doctor’s not having any luck with handling him, maybe I’ll be able to calm him down.  So, I go into the storied exam room and learn that, in addition to smelling musty, there was in fact room for all of us.  Brian’s in tears.  Not full Chaney yet, although I was looking for my wolf’s head cane.  So, I try to soote him, doctor grabs his head, pushes it into the exam mechanism that looks like something Giger drew after bad Chinese food, and says rather sternly to our not-quite-seven year old to HOLD STILL and LOOK FORWARD.  The burning lycanthrope in my soul has gone from Larry Talbot to just shy of David Kessler, and I say, in surprisingly a gentle voice, “He’s not even seven yet.”  So, it seems that Doctor Wolfbait wants to put drops in Brian’s eyes, and Brian won’t cooperate.

See, Brian seems to have inherited my severe dislike/distrust of ANYTHING being within a parsec of his eyeball.  There are times when I’m in a store with peg hooks that I have to be at least 4 feet away from them lest they poke out my baby blues.  Boo’s the same way.  Contact lenses–FORGET IT.  Fortunately, I don’t wear glasses, so there you go. 

BACK TO THE ACTION–Brian won’t cooperate.  Finally, Doc decides that he’ll just do the drops on the next visit, when we pick up the glasses.  Turns out, he’s got a nervous condition called nystagmus which causes his eyes to vibrate all around in the socket.  It was something we noticed when he was a baby, but it seemed to go away and since I vibrate my eyes to freak Stace out, we didn’t think much of it.  No cure, but the right kind of glasses can train the eyes to stay a little steadier.  So, okay, he needs glasses.  We ask him what kind he wants to get, he looks at the (to him) huge rack of frames, picks out a couple, tries them on.  Phonewoman now comes over, tries on a pair completely different from what he’d been looking at, and somehow that was decided to be the pair he’d get.  Still don’t know how the heck that happened. 

So, a week goes by.  We go up to get his glasses, which he’s not happy about.  We get up to the office, Wolfbait and Phonewoman are nowhere to be seen.  Instead, this guy with a scary face hologram around his neck is in the department.  Stace tells him we’re there to get Brian’s glasses, first time, he can’t seem to find them, then he does.  Tells Brian to sit in the chair so he can adjust them.  Apparently, in all the training they get, sympathy nor gentelness when maneuvering someone else’s noggin is not high amongst the topics.  So, finally, Hologramboy makes an adjustment on the frame, they don’t seem to fit any better.  Another try, similar results.  Stace takes the glasses, since she’s worn them forever, adjusts them, fit fine the first time.  We tell Brian to pick out a case, he picks the same Spongebob one that I was going to pick up in the morning, but it did make him feel part of the process.  I pay for the case with my ATM card, Stace is showing Brian how to work the case, and we’re three steps away when I realize Hologramboy still has my ATM card.  I turn around, “Is there something ELSE I can help you with?” he asks.  I tell him, “Yeah, you can give me my card back.”  He giggles.  GIGGLES.  Even after a week, Mr. Kessler is about to go full-on Garou.  “Oh, I suppose that would help,” he says.  I don’t even bother to respond, since I was afraid any I’d offer would end in his cranium bouncing around the counter as I ripped his throat out. 

But, for all that, Brian can see better now. 

Also, right in the middle of my heavy velvet blue I’m a lousy person session, I got a call for an interview with a staffing company that needs video people AND I got an e-mail on a resume I sent for editing at Fearnet.  So, things could be looking up.   

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~ by Sean on May 16, 2008.

2 Responses to “Updating Stuff”

  1. Get him some transition lenses if he isn’t too found of the glasses look. Even I used to use those since they turn into sunglasses outside.

    “Instead, this guy with a scary face hologram around his neck is in the department.”

    You met my cousin? What were you doing buying glasses in NC?

  2. Well, it was so traumatic, I figured we’d egg your car and TP your house to relieve stress.

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