I've been putting off visiting the opticians for some months now, despite the regular letters informing me that an eye-test is long overdue. But it all came to a head a few weeks ago when I sat on my glasses and bent them out of shape. I couldn't put it off any longer.
So, with Carole at my side for support, we walked through the doors of Specsavers - 'the UK's most trusted optician' - yesterday morning, ready for my 11.15 am appointment. We were a bit early so, after reporting in to reception, we checked out the overflowing racks of men's glasses. Carole picked out one pair after another, planting them on my nose.
"What do you think of these ones, darling?"
"Yup, they're fine."
"But don't you want to look at them in the mirror?"
"No darling, I'll take your word for it. Whatever you choose, I'm happy to settle for. Whatever!"
Shopping malaise was already sapping my energy and will.
At 11.15am we made our way to the waiting area. All of the seats were filled and a number of us were standing and waiting to begin our journey down the assembley line. Someone, somewhere, pressed the conveyor belt button.
"MR STEPHEN PLUMMER???"
"Yes, that's me."
"Please come and sit here while we check your details."
I sat in the chair next to the waiting area. I sensed everyone straining their ears to find out who I was...
"Mr Stephen Plummer of 14 Chandos Road, Ampthill, MK45 2LD?"
"Yes."
"Your birthday is 28th November 1960?"
"Yes." (ouch!)
"Are you on any benefits?" The people in the waiting area leaned forward. Carole gave her disgusted look!
Back to the waiting corral where I slumped into a recently vacated seat. An assistant called out another name, and an elderly man was allowed out of the pen. He sat down at one of a line of desks directly opposite where we were sitting. We all watched. He'd come to the end of the assembley line and was about to pick up his glasses. The assistant extricated them from a thick envelope.
"Oh, these are really trendy," she shrilled loudly. "Do try them on."
He proceeded to try them on whilst she instructed him to look at various points in the shop.
"Yes, I can see that," he would reply. She fiddled with his glasses to make sure that they were sitting right on his nose.
Everyone in the waiting area gazed at the scene whilst listening to the next woman in the chair to find out if she was on benefits!
"Mr Plummer?"
I was led into a dark room where I was instructed to place my forehead, here, and then look through a lens, there, with my left eye. A little cartoon house came into view. Then it was the turn of the right eye. That wasn't too bad. But it was simply lulling me into a false sense of security. Following further instructions I slid my chair to the apparatus next door. This was the one I was dreading, the Star Wars machine that robotically searches for each eye in turn before attacking them with a pneumatic blast. I felt the force. Ugh!
Back to the waiting area where I tripped over someone's feet. Time crawled by.
"Mr Plummer?"
The optician. I was led into his room and sat in the chair as he slipped various lenses into the gruesome apparatus that I was wearing whilst I told him whether the letters and the circles appeared better or worse. At least we were in private....until another assistant came in to ask him about a former patient. She looked over at me, an extra from some episode of Dr Who.
"Sorry."
"Oh, that's alright."
But it wasn't.
I got on really well with the optician. He told me that he was one of 5 on the staff and examined the eyes of 18 or 19 people every day. No wonder this place feels like a factory!
Over the next 15 minutes or so, I got to know the far corner of the room between the ceiling and the wall really well as I was instructed to focus on it while he crawled all over me, checking the backs of my eyeballs. I could see the pattern of veins in the reflected light and felt sick.
"Are you going to faint?"
"I don't think so."
"Shall I stop?"
"No, just get it over with!"
He continued to look at my eyes from various angles, his face just a couple of centimetres away from my own. Every now and again he would breathe heavily down my ears. Ugh!
Afterwards he told me that he'd spent longer with me than he normally would because I was a good guy and he wanted to do the best for me that he possibly could.
I wished I'd have been horrible to him!
Released from purgatory, I staggered out to the main part of the shop where Carole and I were approached by the next assistant on the assembley line who told me just how much the glasses we had chosen earlier suited me. We sat at the desk while she measured something that came to 63 as I looked at, first, one of her eyes, and then the other. They were brown. I felt the eyes of the people in the waiting area boring into my back.
And then we had to pay. The full amount. Because I'm not on any benefits. The people in the waiting area already knew that.
I'm booked to pick up my new glasses next Monday at 2.05 pm. I'm assured that the process won't last for an hour this time.
I'm not looking forward to it. I'll have to sit at one of those desks in front of everyone while a young assistant asks me silly questions and makes sure that the glasses sit right on my nose. And, unfortunately, Carole thinks that they're really trendy!
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