I had my eyes dilated yesterday. It's part of the annual preventive care regimen that you, or someone you know who has diabetes, makes part of their lives. Diabetic retinopathy--prompts me to regard those with Type I diabetes, or youngsters who are growing up with juvenile diabetes, with special admiration as I have it a lot easier as a Type II non-insulin whiny 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 the 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 have it done so I can better see other people's points of view. You think I'm kidding. 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 life, already in progress. A bit later, I stopped in at a sandwich place for lunch.
The sandwich artist behind the counter was one of the young people who this time last year slept 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 Reilly, 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 way -pretty much the same when you get down to it. You want that toasted? Or would you prefer the Sistine Chapel? Maybe not so much that 'the same' thing after all, eh?
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, 'a bowl of what?' Townsend and Daltrey were right-but only the Loon and The Ox were listening.