Crazy Eyes


Sitting in the gate area across from a thin man of approximately 50 years of age wearing a blazer and sporting that Michael McDonald-esque silvery feather cut. Resting upon his nose, were a pair of plastic black glasses that looked like he may have received in 2009 at the New Years Eve shindig at Times Square (subsequently breaking off the 2 and 9, leaving a very ridiculous looking set of Mr. Potato Head glasses).

I thought to myself that this guy either runs his own business OR (more likely) he has earned himself a town pass for good behavior at the asylum where they issue glasses without sharp edges so the residents are less likely to fashion a shank from their eyewear to attack staff.

You just don’t see many working stiff, middle-management types sporting drastic, edgy eyewear like that. It’s hard for me to comprehend how someone could pull those from the sea of glasses at LensCrafters, put them on, look in the mirror and say, “Yeah, these’ll do.”

Those glasses say that “I own a chain of successful record stores in the Pacific Northwest” OR “I smear my own feces in my hair” – it’s one or the other and nowhere in between.

The mystery was solved when I noticed that he was sipping on a martini by the time I filed past his first-class seat on my way back to my seat near the toilet in the back of the plane. I guess it’s a look that works well for him. Maybe if I start dressing like Harlan Sanders for work, people will start to notice that I’m wicked-smart, eccentric and therefore deserving of some sort of high-level executive gig? I’m going out to buy a white suit and shoes when I get home.

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