Thanks, you poor, needy woman for making one of only two Costco optical department employees your personal therapist as you dealt with the trauma of having to purchase your first pair of glasses. No, really, I was happy to wait in line while you had your hand held and quietly begged for reassurance that life wouldn’t end at the moment you put on your fashionable little eyeglasses for the first time.
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After all, it was Costco. That’s what they are there for. It’s not as if we were in a store that specializes in high-volume sales and efficient service. It was completely appropriate for you to keep everyone else waiting as you acted like slightly deteriorated vision was a terminal illness. The woman behind the counter had nothing better to do than to spend a half-hour telling you that glasses are easy to wear and that you will survive the adjustment. The rest of us were happy to delay our dinners, shopping and commutes home from work as long as we had the satisfaction of knowing you felt just a teensy bit better about this major milestone of middle age.
The fact that you were actually weeping really tugged at our heartstrings. No one waiting in line wanted to tell you to grow the fuck up, or point out that you areen’t really all that attractive to begin with, so the glasses aren’t going to diminish your appearance.
I think we all just wanted to sweep you into our arms and give you a big, comforting hug so that, as your sobs faded and your whimpering ebbed, we could quietly run our fingers through your long, blond hair, hold your head in our hands and then suddenly twist it with great speed and force until we heard your neck snap.