The short part of the long and the short of it is that I walked to CVS to buy Artificial Tears. I went to high school with an ophthalmologist, (I mean. Not then. Later, he went to medical school.) who I e-mailed that morning with a specific ocular concern. His professional opinions included eye drops: “Use Artificial Tears. NOT Visine.” It seems Visine is for red-eyed stoners who do not want the world to know they are stoners, and not for actual eye care.
This led to my understanding that the CVS three blocks from my office has an awfully wide variety of eye-drop related products. Really. Next time you find yourself in CVS, stop in the eyeball lubrication wing of the building and you will be surprised and impressed.
I scanned a rack and my attention was drawn to the top shelf. Nestled there, adjacent to the Eyelid Wipes (“Moist Pads”) was a CVS-brand concave eye patch. I’d always wanted an eye patch. Ever since the first time I went to a CVS for Artificial Tears and saw eye patches, certainly.
I was intrigued, and I knew I wanted to own that eye patch. I also knew it was preposterous notion. Was I ready to admit I really had nothing better to do with $5.29 than burn it on an eye patch I have no use for? But, I had to find a way to justify this purchase.
I do have a job, the closest thing to the debt I do not have is the large hole my education blew in my parents’ retirement nest egg. And, my reasoning triumphantly concluded, I have no car.
Secure in the knowledge that I would spend a whole lot more on a car than the retail price of a CVS eye patch, I pried open the small box I just purchased containing my new fashion statement, as I walked out the CVS automatic door. Striding back to work, acclimating to monocular vision, I came upon a stranger who offered a very friendly, spontaneous, “Hello there, how are ya?” as our paths crossed.
Fast approaching a red light across the street from work, I saw a woman from my office standing, waiting to cross. Between the sense of humor she has never exhibited, and my understanding that there was nothing funny about my purposeless juvenile antic, anyway, I quickly removed my eye patch then caught her attention to say hello.
After work, upon exiting the building, I put my trendy new eye patch back in place over my left eye. One unexpected benefit to my new pirate-persona seemed to be extra space and comfort to do my crossword puzzle on the subway home. I was unsure how to interpret the wide berth it seemed I was now entitled. Passing through station after station on a crowded car, nobody took the empty seat next to me, today.
As I walked out of my home Metro station, I lightly and accidentally brushed a woman on my left (my blind side) with my briefcase.
“I’m sorry, excuse me,” I said reflexively.
“Oh no, no problem at all,” she nicely smiled.
I had initial worries about one-eyed depth perception. And potentially getting run over by a car, all because apparently I thought having an eye patch could be a fun time (?). But anything the size of a car is easy enough to place/process with one eye. It’s the small things, the close things. Door knobs are no longer your friends. I stopped at California Tortilla to take home an early dinner. When my Bacon Chicken Club Burrito builder handed me the plastic bag it was a very dicey transfer, though I was able to clutch it in two hands without incident.
Minutes later, walking into my apartment, I placed my new eye patch on the counter. I was genuinely surprised at the relief and ease I felt reclaiming access to dueling eyeballs.
As for the post-game: did my profound trip inside this alternate perspective (was I also inadvertently offensive?) somehow broaden my horizons? Did it teach me anything?
Eh. Only that it probably wasn't worth the $5.29.