Monday, December 10, 2007


So, as you might have read in a previous post, I was to go out to the mall (hell) to straight-up (or "col'") turn in my glasses for a full refund. I spoke to Johnny (forgetting the quotes again) and
he agreed it would be better for me to leave the experience completely dissatisfied, frustrated and without a satisfactory product--it's the modern retail experience. I walk into the store and Johnny was back in the "lab" probably scorching someone's glasses. Meanwhile, some girl was scattered all over the sales floor trying to help five different people. I, feeling entitled because of my less-than-satisfactory experience, walk right up to the counter--I've waited three months for this morning. Sorry, folks, I go first.

After waiting for another five minutes (which would've been enough to set me off into a crazy rage except I had just enough coffee to set me right), Johnny appears from the back, looks me in the eye and motions me over to the register. Dude was going to just be as quick and as non-confrontational as possible because there were people in the store. He says, "Do you have your original credit card." I hand it over with the original receipt. Dude didn't even look me in the eye. He didn't even ask for the glasses he was so nervous. His hands were shaking as he frantically typed the keys on the register. I probably could've just kept the glasses and he wouldn't had known it. He was just interested in getting me the hell outta of there.

Well, he did. And without any pleasantries, I walked next door to the "optometrist" office because I wasn't really satisfied either with my prescription. My left eye had some blurriness and I wanted "Dr." Goldstick to double-check my prescription before I took my business to another, more expensive office to buy my glasses.

Because I want it done right...and without static.

But, back to Goldstick. I walk past the people seated in a line of chairs. I politely address the girl behind the desk. "Yes, I would like for Dr. Goldstick to check my prescription because I recently had it filled and experienced some blurriness in my left eye." She quickly replies, "He normally doesn't do adjustments on Saturday, but let me check with him."

Seconds later, I was being ushered to the back room of the office while some lady out front says snidely, "Now that's service." I felt like telling her, "Well, that's as good as it gets because they're gonna screw up your prescription." But I continued to the back.

I have a seat and hear Goldstick ho-humming in the other room. He then comes in and, after a moment of re-introducing myself, he swings that huge contraption in front of me and begins his "Which is better--one...or two" routine. After what felt like thirty minutes, he says, "Okay, your left eye is about a quarter off." I don't know what that means, but I would agree that it was, indeed, "off."

And, like the fifth act of the same play (, he continues, "Now, I've got your contacts in stock right now so I can set you up with a box. Hold on just a sec."

"I don't need contacts--this is a prescription for glasses."

"Oh, this is for glasses not contacts."

"Well, if you're gonna get new glasses, you're going to need to get the same prescription of contacts because otherwise your eyes are going to be in a constant period of adjustment and your vision is just going to get worse and worse."

"I haven't had any problems with my contacts. My glasses broke back in September and I'm just trying to get them replaced."

"I know, I understand, but if you're wearing two different prescriptions, your vision is always going to be adjusting and your it will get worse and worse with time. I can prorate it and give you new contacts for $40."

You see, Goldstick just can't afford someone coming into his office and leaving without paying something. Dude was trying to upsell me again like he did before when he tried to get me tested for glaucoma. He continues, "Well, if you're not getting new contacts, I would strongly recommend not wearing those contacts any longer. Just wear glasses. Those contacts will just make your eyes worse."

Yeah, alright Goldstick. I stopped listening at "hello." Just fix my prescription, moron. You know, in both instances, I've never experienced less accountability and responsibility. Remember, Johnny tried to blame the "phone call" confusion on me like I just didn't answer my phone and my voicemail didn't pick up either. And then Goldstick didn't get my prescription wrong--it's because I'm wearing contacts that don't match my glasses prescription. It's all my fault as far as these cats are concerned.

I lost 1,500 brain cells dealing with these idiots on Saturday morning which, if you're counting at home, is about 1,387 more than you should lose on any Saturday morning.

As a general rule, if it has anything to do with your body, go to a professional at least two miles away from the nearest mall or Wal-Mart. These people are not professionals and no good can come out of doing commerce with them.

On Saturday, I finally retired my softball glove. This thing was purchased for my grandfather by my lovely great grandmother. It was loaned to me some 15 years ago--half a lifetime. Last season of Roundhouse action, many of my closest advisors had suggested that I finally put the pud to rest and search for a new glove. It was shadowboxed on Saturday--which I found was a fitting end to an outstanding career. Respect the Worth.

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