Benny Jay: The Pros Go Shopping

It’s early Friday afternoon and I’m sitting in the doctor’s office struggling with a particularly perplexing crossword puzzle.

“Benny Jay?”

I look up to see the nurse. She leads me to the examining room and asks me what’s the problem.

I tell her my glasses broke. The lens fell out of the frame. Cheap frames. Got them at a place down the street – won’t go there again.  They charged me an arm and leg too. But I think they got these frames off of a truck down at Maxwell Street.

Pause.

You know — the old flea market….

No smile. Okay, bad joke. Won’t make any more — promise.

She gives me some tests — flashes things in my eyes, makes me read little letters on a chart. Tells me I’m near sided. Writes a prescription for new lenses. Leads me to a salesman in the showroom who takes me to the display rack and shows me the frames. I barely pay attention. Never liked shopping – except for books or records. Bores the hell out of me. I’m going through the motions. Thinking about that crossword puzzle. I agree to buy one of the first frames he shows me.

He tells me they’ll send the frames to the lab, the lab will fit in the lens and I should have my glasses in a week.

I nod. Pay. Walk out the door. Call my wife. “I got my glasses.”

“What do the frames look like?” she asks.

Pause. Hmm, what do they look like? “I dunno — I can’t remember….”

“You can’t remember? You just bought them….”

“I think they’re metal….”

“Are they gold?”

“Gold?”

“Don’t tell me you bought gold-colored frames?”

“What’s the matter with gold?”

“You did buy gold….”

“I didn’t say I bought gold — I said what’s the matter with gold?”

“Oh, my god, how could you buy gold? Those are old man’s glasses….”

“Okay, I didn’t say I bought gold….”

“I’m coming over….”

“What!”

“I got a break at work….”

“You’re kidding….”

“Don’t go anywhere….”

“No — no more shopping….”

Too late. The phone clicks off. I stand on the sidewalk and work on my crossword puzzle. Several minutes pass. I look up and see my wife coming up the street. She’s got her shopping game face on and everything.

She marches into the store and up to the salesman. “Can I see the frames my husband just bought?”

The guy holds up the frames. Phew, at least they’re not gold.

“Try them on,” my wife tells me.

I try them on.

“We can do better,” she says.

We go back to the rack. The salesman’s demeanor has changed. He realizes he’s in the presence of shopping greatness. He’s bringing his A game.

I feel like a high-priced model working with Parisian designers.

I try a bunch of them – on, off, on, off, on, off….

“I like these,” says my wife.

“Me, too,” says the salesman.

“They’re sharp,” says my wife.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I like how they sit on his nose….”

“Do you like them?” my wife asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah….”

Okay — it’s a deal.

The salesman fills out a new sales slip and out the door we go.

“Do you realize that’s the guy who sold me the first glasses?” I say.

“So….”

“So if they were so bad for me why did he sell them to me in the first place?”

“He wasn’t paying attention,” she says. “He didn’t see you the way I see you — he sees you like an old fuddy-duddy….”

“And how do you see me?”

“Cutting edge – hip….”

“Wow – that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah – don’t get all excited. I’ve got to get back to work….”

“You know what that salesman’s problem is?”

“What?”

“He needs a new pair of glasses….”