Eye Health Hell
My Eye Appointment Scheduler Has Dyslexia In The Ears
Or he has selective hearing, and he selected not to hear me.…
“Hello, can I help?” — Asks the young male assistant at the optician.
The prompt service startles me and it takes a second or two to answer.
“I’d like to make an appointment for an eye test.”
I’m instantly seated at a tiny desk and am about to open my mouth when he says: “I’ll be with you in a moment”, and raises his hand as if to signal: Don’t even get started.
So, I don’t.
I wait obediently, admiring the glass frames neatly organized on the shelf behind him.
The guy types frantically, and I’m on the verge of getting bored when he suddenly looks at me: “Can I take your name?”
I tell him. An eyebrow shoots to his forehead while checking my details.
“ Your check-up isn’t due yet, so I guess there’s a problem?”
Your guess is spot on.
“I’d like to have my floaters checked. They’ve increased in number”, — I explain.
He removes a form from the drawer which says: EMERGENCY TRIAGE FORM and slowly, meticulously writes my name on it. The letters are so slanted, they’re almost vertical, and I wonder if anyone — apart from him — will ever be able to read it.
“How long have you had them?” — he asks, still working on his letters.
“You mean the new ones?”
“Yep”.
“For about two weeks” — I reply, conjuring up the day when I spotted the nuisance, little suckers.
“Sooo, would you say more than a month?” I glance at him trying to figure out whether he’s hard of hearing or just testing my knowledge.
I’ll go with the first alternative.
“About two weeks ago” — I repeat it a little louder.
He looks at me like I’m crazy. No need to shout. Also, didn’t I learn good manners? Which, I totally did, but the guy is confusing.
As an afterthought, maybe it was the second alternative.
“So, less than a month?”
Bingo!
I see him pointing with his pen at every option on the form, uncertain which one to circle.
“Yes, let’s say it’s less than a month” — I reassure him and he now confidently circles the correct answer.
“Ok, so let me just…” — he trails off, and without finishing his sentence walks away.
What now? Did I say something wrong? They’re my floaters, after all.
After what seems like three hours, he reappears and looks at me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I wanted to check it with my colleague, just in case…” — he explains without giving away what just in case really means.
Do I have a disease? Do I need surgery? What the fuck is just in case?
“Do you have any flashes?” — is the next question with two possible answers.
I say: “No”.
He circles “yes”.
I thought this was my questionnaire.
“Hm, excuse me. I have no flashes” — I reiterate, and he looks at me like I just sat down uninvited.
“Sorry my bad”, — he scribbles over “flashes” and amends the mistake.
But he doesn’t look sorry. He stands again and repeats it like a broken record, “I just have to…”
And off he goes, leaving me behind like I was a cigarette butt on the floor.
I feel dizzy. I’ve never made this impact on men. Also, could I have a rare disease?
My heartbeat quickens, and I try to relax by looking at the glass frames on shelves some more.
They’re friggin’ boring. How about some white sticks? I might soon be needing one.
Where has the guy gone? They must be getting ready for my surgery.
I’m bored and scared and still have to do some shopping at Sainsbury’s. Can I just make an appointment?
Finally, the assistant comes back with a confident smile on his face. My heartbeat seems to stabilize. Maybe I won’t need surgery after all.
“OK Ana, I’ll book you in for an eye test.” — he says. Thank God for that. And he logs into his computer, which — in the meantime — went to sleep.
“What days can you do?”, his gaze is on the screen. And I tell him it must be a Saturday as I work all week.
He’s looking at the diary, scrolling up and down.
“Okaaaaay, how about next Wednesday?” — he asks and sets out to make the appointment.
The guy is a pisstake. Also, he’s got earwax.
“I can’t do Wednesdays. Only Saturdays, please” — I remind him, just in case he didn’t hear me.
But he did. He just decided to be a jerk.
“Saturday it is, then” — he says, and jots down the time on an appointment card. In slanted, vertical letters. “Saturday” — I parrot the time — “at 2:00 pm”, so I remember. I can’t rely on the card, his writing is in Chinese.
I take my coat and handbag and am about to leave.
“Just a quick question” — I blurt out, “how much is an eye test now?”
He smiles at me, visibly happy to see me leave. “Don’t worry, emergency appointments are free”.
But before I could celebrate the news, he adds: “The only thing you should worry about is the result of your eye test”.
And you should have your ears cleaned! But I don’t retaliate.
I shoot him my best nasty look instead, and with a floater-infested vision I see myself out.
