Each year Anne gets an eye test in Harvard, during which time I sit in the front of the store listening to spectacle salesmen make a spectacle of themselves.
This year saw the usual personnel, plus one.
I'll start with the plus one. A latin gentlemen replete with wafer thin mustache talked to a middle aged guy as if they were in an ironic infomercial within a daytime soap opera. And just when I thought their stiff conversation could not get any worse Jorge wished the customer a happy Valentine's Day for Monday.
Cardigan guy has been there a few years. He's a heavy-set young (and I believe straight) man who dresses like a skinny man in pastel colors. Under the blue ribbed top was a teal polo shirt that even a leather-mit-a-like Floridian would say was a bit too much.
He always seems annoyed that people are asking for discounts from their various medical plans, and he appears to think that a 30 second conversation is a window into your eye-glass soul. He hands out advice like an old Jewish woman.
Behind the counter is an older woman who says "No" to whatever request the poor bastard of a customer makes.
Joining her is a Lauryn Hill look-a-like. During my 45 minutes sat watching I formed no fucking clue what she does other than bark passive aggressive shit to her co-workers.
Finally the eye doctor ... well ... Anne dislikes her. I just thought she dressed like a bat.