This morning I went to the orthinologist to have my contact prescription refilled. It is recommended that each time the supply of contacts runs out, an eye exam be administered. And I say administered, but I really mean inflicted.
Today, I was punched in the eye by air. My face was placed into the helmet from A Clockwork Orange and I was told to look into a pinhole light at the back of a dark cylinder. As I diligently stared, eager to please the fatherly orthopedic, I was punched – not tapped, or prodded, or dabbed, or drummed, or tagged, or even beckoned. The air didn’t say, look over here; I’m your friend. I’m air and you breathe me. You need me to live. The air didn’t give a high five, or a pound, or a back rub. The air didn’t offer words of encouragement. It didn’t even instigate an argument or provoke a fight. It punched me in the eye.
I fell out of my chair. You think I’m joking, but I initially sat in this swivel chair backwards, and when the punch came, I was so unprepared that I fell backwards. Then the doctor made me sit up and take one in the other eye.
What is more, the orthodonist put a laser into my eye to examine it, and then searched for something that obviously was not there, because it took him many moons. I think the worst part of a visit to the omnologist is that whatever agonizing procedure you experience, you have to experience it twice. Not only that, but the first time, being unprepared, you can handle the surprising pain, but the second time, you are well aware of what the air will not say before it hits you where the sun directly shines.