Tuesday, August 07, 2001

I went to an opta-tra-tro-tamitrist (to uninformed people that’s an eye doctor) last week and he asked me the usual; where do you go to school? What’s your major? Etc. etc. So all in one breath, I replied “Western, to be a State Trooper.” He seemed to be taken back a bit by my response at first, but then eased up as he realized that I noticed. An awkward silence draped the room for a moment as he moved the Glaucoma testing apparatus up towards my chin. Then in an effort to relieve the slight discomfiting aura in the room, he asked, in a concerned father type voice, if I had checked the visual standards in order to even be considered by the MSP department. Despite his effort, he had now not only managed to make the exam room feel like an ant trap but also knocked me off my high horse with a freakin wrecking ball.

“What if” questions ran through my head a million times per second. What if I was disqualified just because of a birth defect? What if I never get a chance to pursue my dream because of a minor detail that I seemed to have overlooked? What if I can’t go into anything else involving law enforcement? Oh no…I could literally see my future in a guillotine.

I drove nervously to work the next morning and pulled up the MSP website on the computer. I printed out a copy of the qualifications and handed it to my mom. Moms are no help in reading optree-troma-tra-trist language let me tell you, they don’t know what the hell those eye people are talking about. I mean come on, who doesn’t know the difference between 20/30 and 20/100?

So, I’m waiting to hear back from my opto-moma-tra-trist for some insight on this whole “this is my dream and the only thing I want to do in this world” thing. I’m hoping he can decipher the sweet lingo of optoma-tra-trom-momotry for me and maybe give me some good news. And if he doesn’t, well then maybe, after months of solitude and weeks of self-beatings, I’ll decide to become an opta-trap-otrom-i-trist.

Until then I have to remind myself to breath.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, everything’s gonna be alright.” –Mr. Bob Marley

Opto-matram-a-trop-otrist. Ha I just wanted to say that again.

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