Glasses
I had gone to an eyeglass chain store to get new lenses made and numerous problems had ensued: two incorrect prescriptions, lenses made wrong, denials. By contacting a management person in another state I was told to go back to get new lenses for free. It had taken me months to go back to get the free lenses, partly because I had been so busy and partly because I was frustrated. Eventually I began the complex task of fitting progressive lenses with an extremely nice middle aged woman. I am probably as demanding as the most demanding customer, insisting that everything be perfect and of the highest quality. It is one’s vision, after all, and not just as a photographer but as a human it is important. When the glasses were ready to pick up I called and was told she would be there until eight o’clock the next evening. When I arrived about seven o’clock, I was told the woman was not there, then that she had stepped out to run an errand and to wait a while. I waited a while then left, leaving word that I’d been there. The next day I called and asked to speak to the lady, who was the manager. When she got on the phone she was extremely apologetic, but I told her it was no problem; after what I’d been through, that couldn’t possibly bother me. “What happened?” she asked. I explained that I had lost my soul mate. She was quite sympathetic. When I arrived, she spent a long time with me, perhaps an hour. The glasses were perfect, providing vision just as if I were not wearing glasses at all–the wonder of modern research and technology. I agreed that an antireflective coating would be a good idea, but wanted to take them to use them for a while before I got the coating. I was at the point of having numerous pairs of corrective lenses each with special characteristics, but this pair was clearly the best, and I had a special occasion in mind when I wanted to wear them. I was told to be careful not to scratch them, because they would have to be remade before they could be coated if they were scratched. … When I explained that I’d lost my soul mate to the manager, she told me she’d been through something similar, but fortunately reconciled with her mate. “So you’ve found the man of your dreams?” I said. “No,” she said. “I’m gay.”