I’m not going to mince words here. I was in Mensa. I’m a goddamned smart guy. But there is one thing I don’t understand and that’s eyeglasses.

First of all, anyone who calls themselves a doctor, yet doesn’t fix your medical issue is a LIAR. They give you an appliance that you attach to your body and send you on your way, even though your problem isn’t really fixed.

“Hey doc, I broke my arm.”

“Really? Well, here’s a crappy version of an arm that you can attach to your shoulder and you can do arm things with it.”

“But what about my original arm?”

“You Lose! GOOD DAY, sir!”

Sure, there are some eye doctors who can laser your eyes and fix them. I’m not talking about those guys. Besides, the damn laser machine does the fixin’, Jedadiah – not the doctor.

You’re all SHAMS! SHAMS, I SAY!

So I had to go see the eye doctor because I am no longer able to see the on-screen-guide menu words on My Dish Network DVR, or as I like to call it, ‘DiVo’.

And since I paid a wealth of monies for HD television, I decided it was time to get some spectacles.

Problem 1: I was severely hung-over from drinking a hogshead of tequila.

Problem 2: Poor road conditions due to snow.

So, nauseous and sweating pure agave, I arrived at the eye-doctor-station.
It is in a grocery store.

No big deal, but then I had to fill out a full medical history and questionnaire. I had thought that there would be only ONE reason for seeing the eye doctor and that’s, “I can’t see”. I was wrong.

Problem 3: No vision insurance.

Which is fine by me because I was paying cash-money, but apparently no insurance means you are an untouchable who must be shuffled off ASAP.

The eye ‘doctor’ sat me in the chair and flipped through the “Number One, Number Two” game at warp speed – “numberonenumbertwonumberthreenumberfour, numberfivenumbersixnumberseven-”

WAIT!!!!!!!!! Can you go back to number two?

No. No he can not, because he’s not getting the extra nut from the insurance company.

He’s also probably gay. What? No he’s not! Is he? I don’t know! Controversy!

They also fired an air-cannon into my eye and shined bright lights through my skull like they were checking eggs for baby chickens.

Perfect hang-over cure.

That I didn’t blow chunks all over their expensive eye doctor office in a grocery store was a miracle.

Then they bust you down to the optician who tries to sell you expensive frames, meanwhile you’re there for the $70 exam and 2-pairs deal.

I work on a computer all day – I don’t need to see far away when I am at work, ergo I will not wear glasses except to watch TV or drive, ergo I don’t care about expensive frames.

And yet she handed me the most expensive frames in the store, to which I said, “What are the 2-for-70 frames?” I was directed to 12 frames. 12. Out of several hundred.

Whatever.

And I’m pretty sure all the frames in the world are made at factory in Laos by babies for one dollar a year and therefore have a cash value of 47 cents.

Yet this woman, who I’m pretty sure that English was a ‘sorta second language’, handed me these flimsy $280 frames with a straight face.

I’m no sucker.

But she did manage to upsell my wife on the lenses, which had the effect of pissing me off about the hyperspeed exam, because now I was giving them a lot of money. I almost went back in a demanded to be diagnosed again for my troubles.

But they got my money, and I don’t get my glasses for maybe two weeks. That’s commerce in America!

Getting back to my original point, I don’t understand glasses. If these magical glasses let me see things far away, will they screw up my near vision?

I guess we’ll find out in the next exciting episode of, “I’m not going to have another episode.”

Oh, and I waited to puke till I got home.

You’re welcome, Dr. Speedy.