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For those of you who don’t get an eye exam at least once a year in order to have someone sign off on the health of your look balls, I can’t reiterate enough to you just how easy this one is. Primary reason being that it doesn’t make you feel like you’ve just been subjected to a photo opportunity with Joe Biden like other annual exams do.
*cough* rectal *couch*
For all tents and porpoises, there’s only one exercise in the annual eye exam which I find uncomfortable. On a side note, that should mean something to you coming from me, as I’ve had surgical acrobatics conducted on both of my eyes, while I as awake, in the middle of January when it was snowing in San Antonio of all places.
The exercise in question is where my intraocular pressure is tested to insure I’m not at risk for developing glaucoma. If you happen to be visiting an optometrist or ophthalmologist who is doing things old school based either on tradition or cost prohibitions, then you’re undertaking the same process I do every year around TharpSter New Years where I endure a puff of air being unceremoniously blasted into each eyeball.
It’s really quite a nerve racking process.
The patient is generally escorted to a device designed to administer the puff of air, and places their countenance containment device in the specially designed bracket. On the other side of the device is the waterboarding technician who adjusts the controls on the device so that the patient is looking at a reflection of their eyeball.
The patient is instructed not to blink, and to open their eye as wide as they can. My problem here is that I typically have to use a finger or two to hold my eye open, as my eyelids have a mind of their own and don’t really like to put up with any crap. This makes it more difficult because I have to sit there holding my eye open while the doctor takes his sweet ass time focusing the machine, all the while letting my eye get uncomfortably dry.
Once the dominatrix on the business end of the device is satisfied that the patient’s eyeball is in the right place and the test can be conducted, phase two of the process becomes incipient. Two distinct noises break the noise barrier in the immediate vicinity.
A “KERCHUNK” noise is emitted as the machine draws on a supply of compressed air, and then a “POOF” follows as the compressed air is dispensed.
The patient typically reacts involuntarily by throwing their head back for having just encountered what generally resembles the rump roast farting in their face.
Now of course, the next thing which should be uttered by the person operating the machine is: “Looks good. Let’s do the other eye.”
More often than not, the first phrase I hear from the optometrist is: “Shit, I missed.”
Now I told you that story to tell you this one.
Ladies and gentlemen, when you come to TharpSter.Org to take in all the verbal brilliance I have to offer, you are generally setting yourself up for a test of your intraocular pressure.
You have to position yourself in such a manner to receive what I’m passing on.
You can’t blink.
The end result involves momentary discomfort.
Okay, let’s move on.
As you may be aware, I’ve recently engaged migrant hordes of telemarketers tasked with enhancing my life with solar panels, time share opportunities, lube, and end-of-life insurance coverage. Never being all fulled up on ideas of how I can mess with these people when they call, the cogs and sprockets in my skull continue to turn on that premise when they should be focused on other matters.
None the less, an idea came to mind the other day that requires stars to align in order to be pulled off successfully. Furthermore, the poor soul calling you won’t be the only victim if all works as expected.
So do me a favor and set your face up in the bracket there and look into the little gizzy there at the reflection of your eyeball while I focus things here.
Hold still.
Don’t blink.
It’s 9 am on a Thursday morning, and you and the rest of the crops in the cubicle farm in which you work have gathered in a conference room around a big ole table designed to seat about 25. Some of you are dressed in t-shirts that have the company logo on them. Some of you are consuming a lovely beverage from a tankard or flask that dons the company logo. A few of you are paging through your newsfeed on Facebook on your smartphone. A little less than half of you are fully engaged in the conversation about the Weekly Estimated Net Usage Statistics (WENUS) and Annual Net Usage Statistics (ANUS) which dominate the agenda.
Authors note: I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever made a Friends reference.
Over the years you’ve been with this company, you’ve been to what feels like a million of these meetings.
Just about the time where the discussion about the WENUS and ANUS is wrapping up, you check the clock on the wall and there’s still about 38 minutes left in the scheduled hour in which absolutely nothing but incoherent babble designed to test the integrity of your patience and your bladder will fill the room.
But then it happens.
Your phone which is lying face down on the table (designed to seat 25) suffers an epileptic seizure as it vibrates uncontrollably announcing you have a call. Sure the phone is in silent mode, but everyone knows you’re getting a call. Sadly, there’s no one in the room who knows Morse Code. If they did, they would recognize the pattern of dots and dashes the phone is vibrating spells out the phrase “Pick up the phone asshole”.
Your phone has broken the focus of those in the room, and a couple of your colleagues are giving you a look which pretty much translates to “Pick up the phone asshole”.
You pick up the phone (because you’re an asshole) and view the screen to see that it’s an unsolicited call. This is the point, ladies and gentlemen, where you get to change the course of the day for the emaciated zombie on the other end of the line, as well as those trapped in conference room with you.
Take the call, and put it on speaker.
“Hello, you got TharpSter on the line.”
KERCHUNK
Caller: “Hi am I speaking to Mr. Tuh-harp?” They always mispronounce my name.
You: “This is. Who dis?”
Caller: “Oh hi Mr. Tuh-harp, this is Brandon with Solar Solutions and I wanted to….” First of all, that’s not his real name. Don’t let that bother your though.
You: “Oh, hang on Brandon. Tell you what. I’m in a conference room with about 20 to 25 of my most cherished colleagues, some of which are friends on Facebook. We all want to hear what you have to say, but I think we need to do a little bit of ice breaking first.” Some of the facial expressions in the room are still calling you “asshole”.
Caller: “But I’m just calling to…..”
You: “Okay everyone. We have Brandon on the line. Why don’t we go around the table and introduce ourselves. Just state your name, how long you’ve been with the company, and your least favorite annual exam among visual, dental, pelvic, or rectal. I’ll start. My name is Randy and I’ve been with the company 21 years. Least favorite exam? Rectal. Okay, who’s next?”
POOF
Caller: “But Mr. Tuh-harp I’m….”
You: “Now hang on Brandon. Connie is just to my left and she’s going next. You may want to take some notes here because there’s going to be a pop quiz when we get all the way around the table.”
Continue to work your way around the table until either everyone has introduced themselves, or poor Brandon has given up and abandoned the call.
Rest assured, Brandon will ditch the call before you get half way through.
Once the call is abandoned, don’t stay put. Announce that since all the items on today’s agenda have been covered, meeting adjournment is on order. Get up and leave.
In the end, Brandon’s ability to circumvent the law by calling you with nefarious intent on that small wad of cash you’ve just earned by sitting in on the weekly meeting about the WENUS and ANUS has been hijacked. In addition, you’ve also hijacked a devasting 38 minute conversation resplendent with discussion about upcoming plans for the weekend, updates to the dress code (no flip-flops), and how the company’s email client is being enhanced with bitmoji.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go reset some of the call security settings on my phone to insure the odds of me getting a call next Thursday morning are increased.
