Last week I had my annual eye examination, my first in a couple of years (2 1/2, to be exact). Since I am a daily contact lens wearer, I got the contact lens lecture (deserved) and incurred some extra expense since I had not utilized our vision benefits properly. As often happens with the third child, I am blaming the baby.
In addition to being able to check that aged item off of my to-do list, I was also treated to some stupendous people watching. While I was waiting, I observed a fellow patron enter the office and conduct her business, all the while unencumbered with footwear. In other words, this otherwise very well dressed woman sashayed into the office barefoot, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Quickly, I remembered the TOM's movement ("A Day Without Shoes"), but that occurred earlier in the month. Maybe she had just gotten a pedicure? That did not appear to be the case. Maybe she has a young baby. That has to be it.
Next up was the lady who made a whirlwind entrance, carrying a note in her hand with the inventory number of the frames she was seeking. While they attempted to assist her, I was called back, underwent several vision tests, had the eye exam (complete with aforementioned lecture), was fitted for contacts, underwent additional eye exam, was dilated, waited again for 20 minutes, completed the final exam and began the check out process. In addition to contacts, I wanted to talk with an optician about prescription sunglasses so I went to a desk where I observed this woman trying on various frames. First, I was shocked that she was still there. Second, she had narrowed her final choices down to about 25-30 frames that were fanned out on the desk in front of her. She proceeded to try on each frame. She would stand in front of a full length mirror, walk about five feet away from the mirror and then turn quickly to check her first impression of the frames.
"Now... are these frames all hand made?" she would ask.
"And these are from Italy?" she would inquire.
While my optician helped me select a few frames to try, I shifted my attention. We settled on four pair and quickly narrowed the final choices to two. I told her I was up for anything, although, admittedly, I have been happiest with Ray Bans. The final two choices, therefore, included a pair of Ray Bans and a pair of Chanel frames. I liked them equally, meaning the Chanel's, at twice the price, were out, since I did not like them enough to pay 50% more for those frames. After selection, we began working through the insurance and order process. All the while, the fellow shopper was still looking at frames.
"I want a pair that makes someone walk across the room to ask me where I got them," she stated.
That's a tall order, but her optician was working tirelessly to make that happen. When she asked when the frames could arrive, the optician went through a lengthy process to explain that it would take three weeks to get them from Italy. From there, it would be another two weeks to have the lenses made, for a total of five weeks. The shopper considered, and then announced that she wanted to go to a shop she had visited prior try on her final choices there and then make a final decision. The exhausted optician scrambled to pass her card to the shopper, took careful notes on their final choices and offered to keep the frame candidates in a tray for quick reference should the shopper care to return after her visit to the other store.
I was there approximately an hour and forty minutes. During that time, she was frame shopping for one hour, thirty minutes.While the optician repressed her urge to scream (I'm assuming), I struggled to overcome my jealousy over the expendable hours this woman has to frame shop, while I scrambled to carve out some time to get to an exam that is 1 1/2 years overdue.
No comments:
Post a Comment