Eyes of the World
The optician, stood looking at what could only be described as a perfect indentation of a face in his metal filing cabinet, for a good few moments, finally he spoke.
‘It’s quite obvious to me, Mr Bryant, that you are definitely ready for your prescription, and not a moment too soon.’
Mr Bryant, still clutching at remained of a bloody nose, found that he had no alternative but to agree with the blur wearing the white coat. This was how John Bryant perceived the world; tall blurs, short blurs, red blurs, blue blurs, like being permanently drunk. As for Mrs Bryant, heaven knew what she looked like nowadays, that adoring angel who had floated down the aisle on the wings of Mendelssohn all those years ago.
Eyeball World, which boasted an excellent Checked and Specked in One Week or Your Money Back, service presented him with the glasses of his choice. When the assistant had finished putting them into position, he glanced hopefully, expectedly at his reflection in the mirror. It displayed such biological correctness that he fell off his stool with excitement. The eager-to-please assistant rushed to his aid.
‘Do allow me, sir!’ she said as she realigned his frames, with the bridge of his bruised nose. ‘Now that’s better, isn’t it?’
When his image sharpened again, he smiled and nodded his satisfaction with the task, as well as his marvellous looks. The optician suggested he’d go for a walk around the block to wear them in. ‘Come back in an hour,’ he said, ‘you can let me know what you think.’
And indeed he did, with great trepidation, go out to sample the delights of a world, for once, in realistic definition. Immediately what struck him about his new found surroundings was how tall everything actually was. The next thing was the answer to a question that had been on his mind for several years. Just down the street, and he could see it quite clearly now, was huge, colourful restaurant, where came, a strangely familiar, disgusting aroma, not entirely dissimilar to deep-fried goat’s genitals. As he neared it what came into view were spotted teenagers chewing gum, mouths gaping whilst taking money from children in silly hats, for god-knows-what in a cardboard box.
Mr Byant shrugged at the absurdity of it and moved on. ‘What is this world coming to?’ he muttered under his breath, as he trundled along the footpath. After feeling his feet start to ache, he stopped for a moment by a shopping precinct, he hadn’t realised was ever there, for a rest. ‘Dreadful!’ he muttered. ‘Not the world, I thought it was at all.’
Then, as if to underline his statement with a proverbial thick, black marker pen, he glanced over the road, in time to witness a traffic warden being mugged by a six year old girl, he had taken the time to save from the jaws of mechanical death.
The worst, however, was yet to come.
As soon as it reached four o’clock, the tarpaulin factory jettisoned its full load of thick smoke into the atmosphere, where it reached up like a ghostly black hand and throttled the sun. As he was taking in this horror a hand grabbed his shoulder. Mr Bryant turned sharply to see a woman of large girth and such muscular arms, that he was sure that if the situation called for it, they could quite happily knit you a jumper out of telegraph cables if not do worse. He couldn’t help but let out a shriek, as well as a little wee. ‘Who are you!’
‘Who do you think?’ the voice was very familiar now. ‘Ophelia?’
‘Who did you think it would be, you daft bugger?’ Then she sighed, ‘they don’t suit you Herbert. You should have asked for contact lenses.’
‘Thank God, it’s you!’ he panted. ‘Ophelia, it’s all upside-down and back-to-front and sideways as well. I had never idea it was all like this. Something must be done about it all and quickly!’
Herbert returned to the opticians hastily. Having given the matter serious consideration, he was now an educated man. He was met by the optician at the door who greeted him with a big, service-with-a-smile smiles.
‘Well, sir,’ he beamed, ‘what did you think?’
Herbert let his face fall into a concentrated grimace. Snatching his new glasses from his face and thrusting them into the man’s hand where they made an untidy metallic knot he said loudly, clearly, ‘You can have these bloody things back, good day!’