I couple of days ago I lost one of my contact lenses on a bike ride. It just popped out of my eye. I wasn�t too worried about the lost lens at the time (other than the increased possibility of riding into a tree due to my faulty depth perception) as the chief gratification of disposable lenses is their easy replacability. Alas, when I arrived home, I discovered the cupboard was bear � no more lenses.

So this afternoon I ventured to the eye doctor for the first time in nearly three years. It�s not that I object to going to eye doctors. It�s certainly not as bad as having someone drill holes in your teeth or having someone warn you, while your feet are up in stirrups that, �this may be a little cold.� But I have had a somewhat surreal history with eye doctors. Or rather, with one in particular, whom I have had trouble escaping.

When I first moved to Chicago, I was in need of new glasses. Being unimaginative and without vision insurance, I ventured to a local Lenscrafters for an exam. I was set up with Dr. L. Dr. L. is one of the most singularly annoying people I have ever encountered. He�s not a bad guy, and he�s more than competent at what he does. But he talks a little too loudly, feigns a little bit too much familiarity, goes on a little bit too long about his family and in a little bit too much detail. I�m not even sure I could tell you exactly what it is about him that gets under my skin. But I found myself getting exceptionally aggravated at everything he said � his demeanor, his choice of words, the pitch of his voice, his incredibly unfunny jokes � everything.

After that first visit, I decided there had to be another option. A couple of years later when I needed a refill, I tried a different branch of the same chain. But who should appear to call me in for my exam but Dr. L. Cursed! I suffered through another exam listening to him blather on and on, each word another screech of fingernails on a chalkboard. But I survived. I got my prescription and fled. By the time of my next visit, I had acquired a job and new insurance with vision coverage. I had very limited choices for exams and the guy who did it was incompetent � his prescriptions were so far off, that I had to return twice for a recheck before he got it right. So when my office switched insurance plans, I happily sought yet another eye doctor. By now I was living in a different part of the city and I chose from the insurance-approved list a random office that was close to me, and was not part of any chain. I made an appointment. When I arrived for my appointment I was shown into the examining room. A minute later the doctor entered and it was, you guessed it, Dr. L. Is there no escape?

So I was a little apprehensive about today�s appointment, despite the fact that the place was not only a good 45 miles away from any of Dr. L�s previous places of business, but also on a practically invisible street. But there was no Dr. L. in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around and almost gasped. I had apparently either walked into a time warp or onto the set for a David Lynch film. The waiting room was vintage 1970s d�cor, from the slightly shabby Swedish modern chairs and enormous cabinet TV to the framed grainy photos (in unnatural shades of Kodachrome) of the Grand Canyon on the pine paneled walls and avocado carpet. Presiding over all was a gum-chewing blond, around 40, in a pink uniform with �Candy� embroidered on her name patch. If she hadn�t been blasting country western tunes on her transistor radio, I would have been straining my ears for the Twin Peaks theme song. I sat in the waiting room for what seemed like an incredibly long time, feeling slightly freaked out. When a surly Goth teen, dressed all in black with fishnet sleeves and a nose ring slouched in, I almost hugged him for breaking the spell. AJ, who came with me, was oblivious to the atmosphere. He sat on the floor and drove his Matchbox cars around the room making �vroom vroom� noises and occasionally asking, �Is it our turn yet?� �No,� I told him, �we have to wait until they call my name.� �Oh. They�re going to come out and say, �Mommy! Mommy! It�s your turn!� The slouchy teen curled his lip as if contemplating a snicker.

The exam itself was uneventful. Dr. H. was actually incredibly nice and very thorough and I have regained my eyesight. I�ll be going back to this place, I think. Maybe next time I�ll wear my platform shoes and a pair of bell-bottoms.

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For those interested, I�ve set up a ring called �academia.� If you want to join, click here

[second entry today; click back for arachnophobia]

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