Personal Note: FAIL
Nov. 15th, 2007 09:44 pmMy new glasses are not right. I am not happy.
The last time I had lenses ground I was living in a different city, so I took stock of my vision plan and found a nearby optometrist. The tech I worked with seemed to know her stuff, but was rather more hung up on the look of my spectacles than I was. I'm sufficiently myopic to want pretty large lenses -- not owlishly large; more sad-eyed-Newfoundly so -- which are difficult to find these days, fashion having decreed that smallish, rectangular frames are de rigueur. Unfortunately, I allowed myself to be convinced that a smallish, rectangular pair of glasses could be pushed in and tilted down to give me the coverage I wanted. Well, they don't. They can't even pass the choir test: if I stand straight and hold the music so that I can sing over it rather than into it, I should be able to glance down and see what's on the page clearly. In my old specs, I could see everything but the last line or so. In this new pair, I can see the top line. That's it. The rest of the page is a blur. FAIL.
I'd like to blame the tech for not paying attention to what I wanted, but I really have to blame myself for not sticking to my guns. Fortunately, I have thirty days in which to arrange for a free replacement. This time, I shall ignore all the women's frames and head straight for the unisex and men's cabinet. If I have to buy aviator glasses and look like a dork in order to see straight, that's just life. No fashion-conscious tech is going to bully me out of that which I know to be right!
(And of course this happens the week before Thanksgiving, in the middle of a sudden increase in classwork and meetings, an influx of consultants on the job, and a new project which promises to be even more hair-tearingly tedious than cataloging those Byron relics ... )
The last time I had lenses ground I was living in a different city, so I took stock of my vision plan and found a nearby optometrist. The tech I worked with seemed to know her stuff, but was rather more hung up on the look of my spectacles than I was. I'm sufficiently myopic to want pretty large lenses -- not owlishly large; more sad-eyed-Newfoundly so -- which are difficult to find these days, fashion having decreed that smallish, rectangular frames are de rigueur. Unfortunately, I allowed myself to be convinced that a smallish, rectangular pair of glasses could be pushed in and tilted down to give me the coverage I wanted. Well, they don't. They can't even pass the choir test: if I stand straight and hold the music so that I can sing over it rather than into it, I should be able to glance down and see what's on the page clearly. In my old specs, I could see everything but the last line or so. In this new pair, I can see the top line. That's it. The rest of the page is a blur. FAIL.
I'd like to blame the tech for not paying attention to what I wanted, but I really have to blame myself for not sticking to my guns. Fortunately, I have thirty days in which to arrange for a free replacement. This time, I shall ignore all the women's frames and head straight for the unisex and men's cabinet. If I have to buy aviator glasses and look like a dork in order to see straight, that's just life. No fashion-conscious tech is going to bully me out of that which I know to be right!
(And of course this happens the week before Thanksgiving, in the middle of a sudden increase in classwork and meetings, an influx of consultants on the job, and a new project which promises to be even more hair-tearingly tedious than cataloging those Byron relics ... )
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