|I was off to another trip to the doctor. A little different this time, I visited my eye doctor, who is an ophthalmologist and a really funny guy. He is Harvard-educated (which is a good thing) and always seems to remember what you were talking about from one visit to the next.
Unlike most doctor visits these days, my eye doctor handled the entire visit from beginning to end, by himself. He called me to the back office, placed me in an examining room, dilated my eyes and then sent me back to another waiting room to let my eyes grow wide and my pupils dilate.
The whole pupil dilating thing is an amazing, if not peculiar feeling. How can two little drops of whatever make your eyes do that? It's like someone has a balloon in your eye and is trying to blow it up. That's how it feels to me anyway.
I was sitting by myself for a few minutes just enjoying the quietness of the back room waiting area. Presently, I was joined by a nice looking elderly lady who had just received the same treatment. The following is the conversation that took place:
"Hey, nice weather we're having, where you from?" asked the lady.
"Yep, the weather is nice. I'm from the next town up north." I replied.
"Me too, where do you live?" she questioned.
"I live out Main Street close to Sellers Ave,” I said. She shrugged her shoulders at me and we continued to sit in silence, each seemingly lost in our own thoughts.
"You look familiar to me," she said. "That wasn't your property that they found them marijuana plants on, was it? They said it was on Sellers St."
"They had an article and a picture in the paper about it; you look like that lady in the paper."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," I responded.
"I think I still have last week's paper in my bag." She dug around in her bag and proceeded to fish out a copy of last week's paper that had the pot bust on the front page. "See, here it is," and she handed me the paper.
At that time, the doctor came back out to get me (I was dilated) and gestured me into another examining room. I glanced down at the paper to see if I could find the article. Sure enough, there was a story and an accompanying photo detailing the whole story. I told my doctor about what had happened; he chuckled and said that she was here to get new glasses. It seems she hadn't had a new pair in about 20 years.
I can see somewhat how she came to the conclusion that I was the busted pot grower. The marijuana was grown on East Sellers Street. I live near West Sellers Avenue on the other end of town. I don't know how she came up with the picture though; the picture was of two beefy, burly looking individuals with full beards.
When I was finished with my appointment I had to use the ladies room on the way out. I opened the door and could hear the lady telling the doctor about my alleged criminal activities. He replied that it wasn't me, it was a picture of two gruff-looking men, and that I lived on West Sellers Avenue not East Sellers Street.
"Oh dear," she said. "I guess I need new glasses after all. But, I still think she looked like that lady in the picture."