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10:10 p.m. - 2004-08-10
The Day the Universe Said Fuck You
The Day the Universe Said Fuck You

Okay, a small disclaimer (and I hate them, because I work for lawyers, and disclaimers usually precede a hard-core ass-fucking, but this is necessary, and I promise it won't hurt): since I just started this diary, I have a whole lifetime of stories to record. The following day was in December, 2003. See? That wasn't so bad, now, was it?

It began, much like any other day, with me and the snooze button having a fight. The snooze won, as usual. Finally, I dragged my lazy ass out of bed, got ready for work, and entered the seventh circle. (Actually, a former co-worker and I have re-named it. It's now FHH. Fucking Hell Hole, for those of you who aren't good with acronyms.) At this point, I was three weeks away from accepting another job, but I didn't expect any particular drama on this day. Stupid of me, really.

So my boss is a complete asshole all day long...the usual "why didn't you do X, Y, and Z last week" followed by "I TOLD you to call SO AND SO," since his fingers were broken and he couldn't possibly dial the phone. After putting up with this utter bullshit for 8 hours, I had an appointment with the eye doctor.

At this point, I should back up and explain that I am nearly blind (I only know it's a Big E because that's what it always is), and I hate glasses. I've worn contacts since I was 13, will get zapped with the laser as soon as my insurance will pay for it, and the only pair of glasses I had on this December day was broken. And I broke my sunglasses trying to get a screw to repair the glasses. Anyway, my contacts had really been bothering me, my eyes were all itchy, etc.

As soon as the eye doctor saw my eyes, he practically ripped out my contacts and threw them away. Remember, no glasses, almost blind. After a lengthy lecture on the perils of eye infections and the responsibility inherent to the privilege of wearing contact lenses, he writes a prescription for eye drops and glasses and contacts...and then kindly informs me that I WILL be wearing glasses for at least the next two weeks.

I feel my way toward the front desk, check out (luckily only hit for a $10 copay), and then grope toward the LensCrafters or EyeMasters or whatever the fuck it's called next door. (Yes, I went to a mall eye doctor. That's what happens when your sadistic employers don't consider your optical health to be a valid reason to miss work, unless your name is on the door of the office.)

So, I am confronted with bright, blurry walls, which I know must contain a variety of flattering eyeglass frames. I spend about an hour trying on various things, pressing my nose against the mirrors, and attempting to locate something which will enable me to (a) see and (b) not look like a complete retard for the next two weeks. I finally narrow it down to two pairs, and ask the sales clerk to tell me which one looks the least stupid. Then I have to pick out lenses. You want to talk about getting fucked? Insurance will pay for the office visit, but only offers a 20% discount on lenses, and not a damn penny off the frames. As anyone who has glasses can tell you, the cheap frames make you look like short-bus rider from 1982. To get something marginally okay, it's at least $100. When you're blind, the lenses start at about $160. The kind out of which you can SEE are about $350.

This is the part of the story where the one good thing all day happens. The chick at EyeCrafters is cool. She gives me last week's sale on the lenses (50% off) and puts my order at the top of the pile because she can tell I'm about ready for the white cane. While I am waiting, I wander around the mall touching things....puppies at the pet store, clothing, etc. When my 30 minutes are up, I retrieve my glasses, pay $300, and head to Walgreen's to get my prescription eye drops.

Back to the universe fucking me in the ass. The pharmacist says that, since the prescription is not from my primary care physician, she has to call my insurance company to get approval....and they closed at 5. It's now 8:30. Fine, I say, how much are they without insurance? (I want to get rid of the four-eyes look as soon as possible.) She calmly says...$148.67. WHAT THE HELL???? FOR A BOTTLE OF EYE DROPS THAT IS SO SMALL IT BARELY CONTAINS LIQUID???? I politely stammer that I will pick it up tomorrow and head for home.

At 9:30 p.m., I remember that I haven't eaten since lunch, and decide to nuke a frozen burrito. I wrap it gently in a paper towel, place it in the microwave, and press the "Quick Cook" button a few times. Just about the time I sit down at the computer, every fuse in my apartment blows. All of them. Darkness. Starvation. Blindness. I call my landlord, and she says she'll send over the maintenance guy first thing. I spend the next two hours playing battery-operated Yahtzee by candlelight and wondering what the hell I did to bring on this sequence of events.

The next morning, awakened by the battery-powered crow of a rooster (stocking stuffer from Dad), I get up, take a shower in the dark, put makeup on by the light of a flashlight (and boys, you can't put on makeup with glasses on, so again, blindness rears it's ugly head) and go to work with dripping wet hair in 20 degree weather. At least my boss decided to be nice, or I would have had to shove my $300 glasses up his left nostril.



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