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Friday, 21 November 2008

If I don't make it out alive, I'm probably dead.

I'm scared. Well, I'm always scared. But today, I'm more scared. Today I have an eye test. In Ibiza. 

For those fortunate enough to have perfect vision, I envy you. You'll never have had to endure the terror that is the eye test. An eye test is bad enough in english. There's 2 ways an eye test can go in England:
  • Some reeking old giffer will drag you into a broom closet, where he'll stick needles in your eyes and affront you physically and nasally. He'll deluge you with a million pictures, and then bring one single image to crystal clarity... and beyond. Usually, the perverted old fart will try and take advantage of the fact that you can't see anything, and are bewildered and confused in a darkened room by asking you to identify objects from across the room: 
    "Can you see what this is?"
    "HAHAHAHAHAHA! And what's this?"
    "An.... egg?"
    "I'll give you a clue, it's either a spoon, or the Gobi Desert."
    "A spoon?"
    "FOOL! I tricked you! It's a double-decker bus! Ok, this next one is either my penis, or a Cornish Pasty, which is it?"

    You get the idea. This guy will end up suggesting a pair of gold-rimmed specs twice the size of your head look great on you. 
  • On the other hand, you'll get some mega-hot-and-knows-it optomotrist. She'll lead you into a room that's hotter than the Sun, and sit you in a bondage chair. You have two choices: Leave your jacket on, and burn to death, or take it off and risk exposing the massive boner you're carrying around. She dims the lights to something more romantic. The conditions are perfect...

    Just so you know, from my experience, these things never work out like porn, which is a shame, cos I could think of some great positions with that freaky chair. You leave with blue balls and the means to see them clearly.
Either way, you're going to end up pretty scarred for life. On top of this, the optometrist literally holds the keys to your life in their hand: On their whim, they can make you a social outcast for the next year by suggesting a pair of glasses that will make you look like Salman Rushdie having an allergic reaction to getting stung in the eye by a jellyfish. Or they can suggest something nicer, that pushes you to the outskirts of social acceptability. "But it's your choice, surely??" I hear you say. Oh no, these guys are totally skilled in mind manipulation techniques. They'll use phrases like "These ones make your nose look smaller" and "Have you ever thought about plastic surgery?" to make you choose the glasses they want you to wear. Trust me, don't get on the bad side of an optemetrist. You'll be broke and looking like an aged hooker going for the pity vote within a week. As you can see, somehow, I've managed to get on the bad side of several optometrists in my lifetime. 

So as if that wasn't bad enough, I'll be having my eye test here in Spain. I booked an appointment at one of the Dr. Mari opticians in Ibiza town. There's over a billion Dr. Mari's in Ibiza town, and I'm not sure which one it is I booked myself in at now. All the glasses in there look a bit mental, and it looks like I'm going to have to revive my Dame Edna Everedge look in order to make it through the next year alive. But the biggest kick in the balls is going to be that the eye test is going to be in Spanish. I can see this being a bit hard, so I've swatted up on some key questions they might ask me, just so I can try and get through this ordeal in one piece:
  • ¿Qué es más clara, un presente, un presente o?
  • ¿Que es un astigmatismo en el bolsillo, o se acaba el placer de verme?
  • Esta es una de Pasty de Cornualles, o mi pene, lo que es?

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