Dr. Burgos sat down to write out Tina’s prescription.
“All right…so, you already have bifocals. What I’m recommending is that you skip past trifocals and go straight to quadfocals.”
He handed her the slip of paper.
“Oh, they’re wonderful. They let you see far away, middle distance, close up, and into the future. You’re going to need them, especially if you want to avoid getting hit by that foul ball at your son’s Little League game next week.”
Tina stared at the doctor.
He pointed to his glasses. “Quadfocals. Have ’em myself.”
“All right, then, Tina. See you in two years. Oh, and don’t take that short cut home. There’s going to be a terrible accident on that road shortly–wouldn’t want you to be a part of it.” He pointed to his glasses again. “OK–bye, now.”
Tina stood there for a moment, staring at her prescription. She was kind of freaked out; she wasn’t sure she wanted to see things like that, even if it meant keeping herself safe.
Dr. Burgos popped his head back in the room. “I forgot to mention: You can’t use quadfocals to, say, win the lottery or anything like that. They don’t work that way. FYI.”
He left again.
Aw, crap Tina thought to herself. She picked up her purse and headed out of the examination room, making a mental note to be extra vigilant at Tommy’s game next Tuesday.