posted by dave on Sunday, January 22, 2006 at 12:55 AM in category daily

I mentioned to DooRagGirl Friday night that I was going to buy new glasses. She asked me if I was going to buy evil glasses. I don't know what that means. I picture either a monocle or one of those glasses-on-a-stick thingies. I think I'll stay with regular non-evil glasses. Just some that are a little more fashionable than the ones I've had for five years. Maybe some thin rectangular ones.


So Saturday afternoon, determined to (a) get off my ass, and (b) leave my house, and (c) actually do something, I went over to Lenscrafters to get some new glasses.

I went in, and looked around at some frames that kinda looked like what I was looking for. A saleslady approached me, and after a bit she told me that I couldn't buy glasses because my prescription was too old. I told her that my vision hadn't changed since the last time I'd bought glasses, but she said that I was in no place to make that determination - her computer said that my prescription had expired.


So I went over to the doctor's counter and filled out the sheet with all of my personal information, then waited for about a half-hour, then got my vision checked. Guess what?

My fucking prescription hasn't changed.

Armed with this new information, I went back to the same saleslady as before. I picked out a frame that I liked - not really rectangular, but moreso than my current pair, and definitely thinner.

This is when the bitch decided to tell me that they were so backed up that anything I ordered today wouldn't be available for pickup until Sunday.


So I told her to suck my dick*, and I left and went to another Lenscrafters, over in Louisville this time.

After about 15 minutes of standing in that store, and being completely ignored, I overheard some people talking. It turns out that you can't get a salesperson to even look at you, let alone help you at this particular store, unless you sign in first.

So I fucking signed in.

About 8 million years later, a salesguy called out my name.

I took him back to the display that had a couple of frames that I liked. I told him that I was hoping that his vast experience would be able to help me choose between them. One frame was more rectangular, and one was more oval. Both were a lot thinner than the glasses I currently wear.

The guy reaches deep inside himself, and calls upon his years of experience and deep knowledge of what frames look good on which people, and said, "Your face is oval, you could go with either frame."

Gee, thanks. Asshole.

Now, this is the part where I started to get pissed. Well, maybe not, but the groundwork for getting pissed was definitely laid at this point.

I picked the more rectangular frames. The guy said that, "With these frames, you have several options."

I swear he used the words "with these frames."

So he started rattling off options about featherweight lenses and scratch-resistance and anti-glare coatings. Eventually he said that I could get the featherweight scratch-resistant anti-glare for $280 with those frames.

I swear that's what he said.

with those frames.

After about another hour, which the salesguy spent typing my information into his computer, he suggested that he should go check and see if the frames that I wanted were in stock.

No shit, Sherlock.

I agreed that he should check, otherwise he was wasting my time.

So the guy comes back and they do have those frames in stock. He starts keying in numbers and eventually announces the total.

Eight zillion dollars.

It turned out that, despite what the fucker had said to me several times, that the cost of the frames was completely separate from the cost of the lenses. So my $149 frames, plus his lenses, added up to eight zillion dollars.

Or it might as well have.

I was not prepared to spend that much. Not so much because of the price, but because of the principle of the thing. It's a pair of glasses, not a new heart or set of lungs.

I told the guy that he'd mislead me, and that eight zillion dollars for some lenses was ridiculous, and that I'd rather stick with my boring old 1990-vintage glasses.

Then I left.

* - I didn't really tell her that, but I thought it.

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