I put it off for more than a year because I knew what was coming. Finally, when in the darkness of a Vancouver afternoon, I couldn’t read a road sign in ample time, I knew that at least one of us in the vehicle had to see better if we were to survive the coming darkness of winter.
So I went to see my optometrist. Reluctantly. Four years ago, when I had to make the move to progressive lenses so that I could see both what I was eating for dinner and who was waving at me from across the street, the bill came to just under $1,000 and that was BEFORE the days of HST.
I’m pretty sure that the blood drained from my face then, giving me that Goth look that was all the rage with the kids. Not such an attractive look on me, even with my fashionable new black frames. In an instant, my face went from Technicolour to black and white; sort of a reverse Wizard of Oz kind of moment. Was history to repeat itself?
I’m pleased to report that I enjoy the health of a teenager as far as my eyes are concerned and the reflexes of an elite athlete. (apparently, if I’m warned that the little puff of air is coming to measure my eyeball pressure, then I can keep my lids opened just a fraction of a second longer. Who knew?) I always love the moment in the exam when they show me the back of my eyeballs, retina and all. Not that I’m ever worried that my retinas have been fried by the “sun” in Vancouver. In fact, my eyeballs look like Jupiter…all glowing and orange in the photo, which apparently, is exactly what they should look like.
After the exam, where it was clearly determined that my prescription had changed, I was escorted to the next room to see “Bob”. Bob has to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 80-90 years old; still working full time, still a wiz with glasses. Bob always has the coolest, most state-of-the-art glasses himself; a perk of working there for God knows how long. I could back the car over his specs and they would instantly spring back to their former shape with nary a scratch. I know that this technology does not come cheap and Bob has long mastered the up sell.
He ponders my slip of paper and asks me a few calculated questions. Did I have any trouble cleaning my glasses? (Cleverly disguised question about the current coating) Did I still want them to darken? (Transition lenses, check). To butter me up, he informs me that I didn’t have to surrender my current pair of glasses in order to get new ones. THAT’s a relief because otherwise, he’d need to loan me a Seeing Eye dog; presumably one that drives.
Finally, after bracing me for sticker shock once more by explaining that progressives are indeed more expensive, he renders a verdict. $725 for lenses alone. Trying to keep my blood pressure out of the red zone I said, “Bob…. what if we back up one notch on the thinness of the lenses. Surely, I don’t need my lenses to be the width of a human hair. What would happen then?” “Well”, said Bob…they’d be slighter thicker around the edges. No worries, I’m not usually viewed from the side. “And they’d be heavier.” Despite being broken once, my nose is not nearly as fragile as Michael Jackson’s once was, so I figure I can handle another ounce or two of weight. Final price: $600 clams. I saved $125 by not requiring the thinnest lenses the Japanese can produce. Please try not to look away in horror at the sight of my coke-bottle bottom lenses, should you happen to see me in profile.
If I wasn’t so nauseated by the smell of my own flesh burning, I have these planetary eyeballs lasered in a heartbeat and save myself a grand or more every couple of years. That this is fast becoming an economic choice as much as a cosmetic one is unbelievable. But I’d still like a Seeing Eye puppy to drive me to work on occasion.
No comments:
Post a Comment