Confession time, dedicated readers. I may have done a bad thing. I should preface this by saying, my eye doctor is a Dick. With a Capital D (that’s why I capitalized it, not because his name’s Dick. His name’s Brian.)
Long story short, I recently lost my yearly contact lenses. I’m not going to tell you how I lost them because it reflects poorly on me and this story is going to do that plenty well already. What’s relevant is that I lost them and I was in need of a replacement pair. Knowing that I could get a better discount through 1-800 Contacts, I called my eye doctor’s office and asked for my prescription. Forget about the fact that that took a total of four phone calls; we’ll let that slide. When the prescription was finally written it was for a pair of lenses that I could only order through my eye doctor at a much higher cost. Back and forth we went, me and Christine in his office, until she suggested I write the doctor an email directly explaining my frustration and asking for a prescription for lenses that I could order via 1-800 Contacts.
Okay, I can see a few of you nodding off.
Cut to the chase: He sent me a very dismissive email back telling me that, “for the health of your eyes”, maybe I should just go to a new doctor in Florida and get a new exam and have them give me a new prescription. Which might make sense, but (1) who has the time to find a new doctor between swimming laps, baking elaborate chicken and pasta casseroles, and playing Draw Something with Lance and PJ and Marc? and (2) I still haven’t sorted out the ol’ health insurance (oh, to do list, you minx). Plus, it was said in such a condescending way that I was really annoyed. Not to mention, I kindof already thought he was a Dick before this email exchange (he always brings up “the health of your eyes” when he wants you to do something his way).
Which brings us to the bad thing I may have done. You be the judge:
“Dear Dr. ___,
I appreciate that you don’t want to write me a prescription for lenses other than the ones that you previously prescribed. But, here’s the thing, my father passed away (1) which is why I’m in Florida (2) and I’m afraid that, between settling his affairs (3) and taking care of my handicapped mother (4) I don’t have the time to look into finding a new eye doctor and taking a new exam in order to get a new prescription (5). If you can’t make an exception under these circumstances, I understand (6), but I wanted to make sure you understood my situation.
(1) True. (2) True-ish. (3) I consider contemplating cleaning out Johnny Rocket’s closet to fall under this. (4) Look, MJR is less handicapped than she is handicapped, but she does have a handicap decal. So I say True due to a technicality. (5) False, I do have the time. (6) False again. (7) False, false, false.
I can honestly say that this is the first time I’ve used the “my dad died” card in such a blatant and self-serving way. Girl Scout’s honor. And I did pause before hitting send. But then I thought to myself, “What would Johnny Rocket do?” And I knew that my dad would have approved, for sure. My dad would have recognized Dick for the Dick he was (although he probably would have chastised me for using that word) and he would have told me to hit send. So I did.
He wrote the prescription.