So this morning I had to walk a few blocks from my office to get my glasses repaired. Luckily it was nice and sunny so I could wear my prescription sunglasses. On the way I stopped at Square One and got coffee for the walk and wait. This being a business day I have a suit and tie on with a white shirt.
I walked into the second floor small waiting room that the Optometrist has and gave my frames and lenses to the receptionist/Certified Repair "Technician" and sat down. Now in my glassless state (the office was way too dark for the sunglasses) I note that there is an old "cracked or whacked out guy" sitting a couple of chairs away from me with an old army fatique jacket and a baseball hat. Across the room sitting is the poster boy for the stereotypical gang member; about 250 pounds, baggy jeans, untied high top basketball shoes, huge white T Shirt and lots of bling.
The Glass Repair Specialist left the room for "her lab". I leaned back and started working on my coffee. A couple minutes later while trying to see how much of the eye chart I can actually see without my glasses, I note that bling boy is staring at me, but not making eye contact. I go back to the coffee and my glassless, unfocused haze. Now I note that crackhead has awakened and I think I catch HIM staring at me and then he looks at bling boy. They both shrug and roll their eyes. I am not pissed yet, but I am getting there. So a few minutes later I look at crackhead and he is definetly staring at me, but like at my stomach, I switch my gaze to bling boy who is staring near my belt buckle. Okay now not only am I pissed, I am a little creeped out. So I look bling boy right in the eye and say "is there a problem?" He tips his 270 degree baseball cap a little forward and says "DUDE" and nods toward my lap. I look down and now note that my POS coffee lid has apparently been leaking each time I take a sip. My tie is soaked and an ever widening brown stain is growing on my white monogrammed Lands End shirt. Just about then the Optometrist comes to get crack-whackhead, who gets up to follow him, but before he goes takes one look back and shakes his head and says "DUDE".
The "technician/Certified Glass Repair Specialist"/receptionist walks back in and hands me my glasses. I don't even put them on I just get up button my jacket and walk out - truly A CLASS ACT. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a great day.
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