Greetings, Internet nomads,
It is a sad but unavoidable fact that I, like some reasonably large percentage of the world's population, have the sort of eyes that might be of use to a bat, or some other animal that spends most of its time fumbling in the dark, but are pretty much useless to me; this is particularly important when you consider that no matter how much time I spend hanging upside down from the ceiling, I am not a bat. It just helps me to think.
Anyway, the uselessness of my eyes, combined with the fact that I haven't bothered to have them tested in at least five years, has led to a few embarrassing incidents - mostly involving menus in fish-and-chip shops, although occasionally mistaking complete strangers for close personal friends and collaring them with stories about how I was collared by a random person and told a story. So it dawned on me recently that, once I turn 18 in a few weeks' time, I will no longer be entitled to free glasses on the NHS. Being the good citizen I am, I have decided to exploit this loophole to my advantage.
Or so I thought. After I wandered into two grocery stores, a card shop and an undertaker's under the mistaken impression that they offered eye tests, I finally found the local optician - although not without first stumbling upon a second-hand bookshop. Droitwich's high street is well-known for the fact that an ill-advised mining expedition at some point in the last few hundred years led to the centre of the street spontaneously sinking, leaving a noticeable impression on those buildings that were not irreparably damaged by the sudden geologic movements. This bookshop appeared to have been affected more than most by the tectonic shifts, and appeared not to have been entered since. There was a friendly sign on the wall, stating "Due to stock levels, we are no longer purchasing books." To be fair, I could see why. The place looked as if a library had sneezed into it. In fact, I am almost certain that it was piles of books that were maintaining the structural integrity of the building as a whole, rather than anything substantial like plaster, or bricks.
After my forays into the bookshop - out of which I somehow escaped without buying anything - I remembered I had to find the post office and get a passport application form, my search of the house for a similar form having yielded nothing but a couple of teeth someone had had taken out and carelessly left in the kitchen. I found the post office, by virtue of the large, reasonably visible sign stating "POST OFFICE" directly outside it, and went inside.
Getting the passport form was no problem, but as I was standing in the queue I was mildly amused by a sign on the wall. Essentially it was offering a competition to everyone who signed up for a Post Office Mortgage or Post Office Travel Insurance or Post Office Aromatherapy, to win a state-of-the-art DVD player. The sign, in all its glory, read "Enquire today for free entry into our prize drawer."
A prize drawer? I wonder what that is? Is it:
a) A drawer filled with prizes,
b) A drawer that has won Best Drawer in some kind of competition,
c) Someone who draws prizes?
Answers on a postcard, please. Bearing in mind that if you choose c), I would also appreciate an explanation as to how exactly you "enter" a prize drawer. On second thoughts, I don't want to know.
After the incident with the drawer it was time to go to the opticians. I found my way inside (through the glass doors which are a constant burden to ignorant and/or short-sighted people such as myself) and approached the girl on the desk. "Hello," I said, politely, "I would like to book an eye test."
"I see," she replied, in that way in which people say "I see" when they have been handed a challenge that is quite possibly beyond their cognitive powers to even comprehend, let alone actually attempt it. "What sort of time would be best for you?"
"Preferably a Saturday," I responded.
After this she asked whether I was in full-time education. I didn't really see the relevance of this, but I said that I was anyway, to which she replied: "Oh, I'm sorry. We don't offer appointments for people in full-time education on Saturdays."
Of course, I thought. That makes perfect sense. After all, it wouldn't do to be convenient, would it?
After a few more frustrating minutes I left, without an appointment and without any way of seeing for the next few weeks. I suppose I have managed quite well for the last few years, but I am actually quite looking forward to being able to see again. I just hope I can do it in time for it to be free.
Revolutionary and blind regards,
Red Andy
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