By Jim Hagarty
I had to see the optometrist today.
Wasn’t sure I needed to, but as I drove down the main street searching for his office, I started to panic. I couldn’t find the building I have visited once a year for almost three decades.
There were cars pushing me from behind, yes, but I searched frantically for the signs to his practice. And I couldn’t see them.
“Why would they take their frickin signs down?” I asked myself aloud.
I drove right by and kept on going. Turned around in a parking lot and crept my way back, finally recognizing the old brick cottage that was converted into an eye clinic years ago. I pulled into the parking lot and walked to the front of the building, by the main street.
With the benefit of time to have a good look, I recognized three huge signs identifying the building as the eye clinic. Two of them were lighted signs, attached to the house. The other was a big static sign on a fence, close to the street.
I guess, it occurred to me, that if you can’t see three signs – the largest about six feet wide – to the eye clinic, it might be time for a check up.
The optometrist agreed.
