Hiding in Plain Sight

By Jim Hagarty

A few weeks ago, I kept an eye appointment I wasn’t sure I needed. I changed my mind after I drove right past the eye clinic and couldn’t find it, in spite of the fact that there were three big signs on the front of the building declaring “Eye Clinic.” Not sure how I missed them.

Today I had a follow-up appointment and it is pretty clear to me now that the medical specialists who work in that building are goofing me for some reason. I had trouble finding the place again (I’ve been going there for only 30 years) but this time, at least I had an excuse. The eye clinic owners had removed, for reasons unknown, the largest of three signs that pointed to their business. That sign was six feet long, two feet wide, and lighted. It said, quite clearly, “Eye Clinic.”

So the game plan appears to be to make it harder and harder for me to find the eye clinic each time I show up for an appointment. That seems to be part of my eye examination now. Each visit, they take away another sign and see if I can still find them. I wouldn’t be surprised to show up some day to find all the signs gone and just a little business card taped to the inside of the front door window announcing, in tiny lettering, “Eye Clinic.”

Seems a weird way to go about eye testing but I never attended Optometry School so what would I know? I probably wouldn’t have been able to find the darned school any way.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.