I love the machinery and technology at the optometrist's. First, there's the machine in which they can magically make things come into focus without really even talking to you about it. I know I'm supposed to say "how did this big old machine do that?", but I kept mum on the topic. Sometimes the mysteries cease to be mysteries if you play along and ask.
They took me through drills in which I used my peripheral vision to count fingers, rather like a curious form of sobriety test (only no cool pledge cards from the Temperance Union, the Oxford Group or the local public radio station). They had me click when I saw dots appear, just as if I were on a non-verbal form of Jeopardy.
I read letters and said "lens 1" instead of "lens 2". Soon, they pronounced me fit,
non-afflicted, and slightly blinder than I had been before. I like the way the words "myopia", "astigmatism", and "presbyopia" roll off the tongue--rather like titles for songs by dark ambient artists.
I went next door to EyeMasters, one of those lens-in-a-box "we have a special sale, half off! that means you only pay half of double what it should cost, and we're cool". This good guy helped me through the process. I hunted in vain for tortoiseshell frames, to try to resume my earlier Clark Kent persona, but settled instead on gold wire frames, not different in quality than my current set.
When I picked up the glasses today, everything popped. I entered a new world. I can see again. What a difference a lens makes--prepared in two hours.