I had my eyes dilated not that long ago. It's part of an annual preventive care regimen you, or someone you know who has diabetes, needs to make a part of their lives. The condition to be guarded against, diabetic retinopathy, always prompts me to regard those with Type I diabetes, or youngsters growing up with juvenile diabetes, with special admiration as I have it a lot easier as a Type II non-insulin whiny older person who controls mine through oral medications (lots of pills which beats lots and lots of injections), diet and exercise.
I'd forgotten the doctor would do a whole battery of tests and went alone with no one to drive me. Not a big deal, it just meant I had to sit in his waiting room like a gargoyle with a Members Only jacket on as my eyes struggled to get used to the intense light that's always a result of the pupil dilation. It feels as if the sun's exploded even on a cloudy day. I tell myself that it's worth having the process done so I can better see other people's points of view for the rest of the year. You think I'm kidding but I know I'm not.
I have sunglasses and another vision screen in the car, so after about an hour (plus a few extra minutes) the staff felt I was okay to drive (not that any of them went out into the parking lot to see how well I could corner or stop) and released me. I headed off to the rest of my day and life, already in progress. A bit later, I stopped in at a sandwich place.
The sandwich artist behind the counter was one of the young people who perhaps this time last year was sleeping through Senior English at Anytown High. He knew a dude who was going to score him a great job, so why bother studying or getting good grades? He'd be making ten bucks an hour, easy, soon enough and living the Life of Riley, except he didn't know how little money was left from a ten dollar an hour wage, especially when you're the one earning it.
Maybe Michelangelo started out this very same way as an artist and worked his way up to the Pieta. In terms of questions there's not really a lot of difference I suppose between 'you want that toasted?' and 'what color would you prefer the Sistine Chapel?' Or perhaps there's more of a difference than first thought.
I took my sunglasses off so I could see the sandwich artist's pallet of pleasures. I looked up and into his eyes as he was staring at my extremely dilated (still), in a state of surprised alarm. Attempting to be funny, but making myself and my generation the butt of the joke, I quipped 'Yeah, I just smoked a bowl.' He looked at me carefully, studying my face as he asked, 'of what?' Townsend and Daltrey were absolutely right-but only The Loon and The Ox were listening.