An Eye for an Eye

I've always been fortunate in having good eye sight. It helps when doing survey work. And because I use my eyes a lot for work purposes I can get an eye test on expenses every couple of years. A couple of years had passed recently, and as if to emphasise the point I was contacted by Boots Opticians offering me a half price eye test, so I booked myself in for a check up.

I arrived to be greeted by a lady with a forced smile that reeked of low job satisfaction. She ushered me straight in to a side room where she could perform a variety of facial tortures on me. I was asked a series of questions regarding my last check up, whether I had any problems since then, and what my general health was like currently. Presumably she was not happy with my answers as she then insisted that I place my chin on a device that looked like a head brace and strapped me in while manoeuvring a small light to within three millimetres of my left eye. Having informed me she was going to test my eye pressure, she fired a tiny burst of air into my eye that was similar to having a sparrow sneeze in my face from close range. Not content with the left eye, the right eye was then subjected to the same fate. Then I had to spot tiny flashes of light in my peripheral vision whilst shouting out numbers, like when you think you've spotted a shooting star out of the corner of your eye. After this she attached me to another machine, via the same chin strap head brace as before, that was apparently going to photograph my eye. This time instead of a gust of well-directed air there was a bright flash that left me temporarily blinded. She took advantage of my momentary incapacitation to attack my other eye, leaving me disorientated and stumbling for the exit. Hoping that the test was over, I was then asked to regain my composure and informed that the optician would be with me shortly.

Having just about recovered the optician then dragged me into another side room, this one dark and menacing. Various instruments of death lay scattered across the desk and walls. I was forced to wear a pair of specs that made me look like Harry Potter, while she fiddled with assorted accessories for the lenses. When asked to read the lowest line on the board I struggled through the letters and then tried to remember the same sequence for the other eye. Then the red circles were brighter than the green circles, then about the same, then the line was to the left of the dot, then to the right. Confusion reigned. Various lenses were added and removed from the specs, whilst the line of questioning became increasingly aggressive. Finally, fed up of my indecision, she reached for a tiny light and moved in for the kill, bringing her head right up towards mine before bobbing it like an owl in each direction and asking me to look into the corners of the room as if the answers would be found in the whites of my eyes. My (optic) nerve held firm and finally, in a fit of desperation, she asked me to read from a book whilst it moved slowly towards my face.

Having found no evidence to suggest that I needed glasses imminently, she wrote notes on her computer and dispatched me with the bill to the front desk, where the boots opticians synchronised swimming team were happy to pretend to be happy to help me. Half-price eye torture courtesy of the RSPB: see you again in two years!