I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea to go to a medical provider located in Portland's Pearl District. Oh, that's right - I'm lazy and that particular optometrist office is five blocks from work AND in network.
Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment. Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night hasn't significantly improved in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.
Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.
In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.
An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear. I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.
All I wanted was my annual eye exam. They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today. It was a bad visit from the start.
Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy. I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.
I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.
The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.
It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam. And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.
So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.
Hey, a girl can dream.
*A la Austin Scarlett
^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.
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