CHAIRSIDE

Summer Advice: More Than Just Sunscreen

by Montgomery Vickers, O.D.

By now everyone has heard that strange song/poem/commencement speech that drones on about suntan lotion or whatever. I never get that far, because the instant it comes on, I immediately switch the station in pursuit of Pink Floyd or Shania Twain.

When this piece of work hit the Internet, the scuttlebutt was that it was secretly authored by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. who, as every optometrist worth a sample of latanoprost knows, introduced the world to our famous colleague, Billy Pilgrim, O.D., in Slaughterhouse Five. And, since I found out this song/poem/commencement speech was a hoax, I refuse to listen. Besides, I only read or listen to eye doctors. OK, I only read and listen to myself. At least I admit it.

So I decided I could do better. Funny thing about egos. I hope this helps refocus you oldies and inspires—as it should—you kids. So here it is, MY "UV-Blocking Lenses," not by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Wear UV-blocking lenses. After all, they couldn't hurt and you only have one set of eyes. And by the way, you should be nice to your Mom and Dad. They do have Medicare, and that's more than you'll ever have. Maybe you can comanage their cataracts, unless you're chicken.

Always keep 20 ones, 10 tens and 10 fives in the cash box. The one day you don't will be the day you forget your wallet. Just try to find enough change in the seats of your minivan to upsize your burger!

Speak kindly to your sales reps. They have a hard job trying to control their impulses to wrap their fingers around your scrawny neck and choke you until you squeak like the Mayor of Munch-kinland. Yes, they make good money, but most of it goes for Kava Kava.

Tell your receptionist you love her. No, don't tell her that. She'll slap you with a sexual harassment suit. Instead tell her you think her dress is pretty. No, that's grounds for a suit, too. Try this: Tell her you like her hair. No ... just tell her you need Mrs. Smith's chart.

Be patient with new presbyopes. When someone fusses about her new bifocals, try to understand when she says, "I can't see," instead of calling 911 to call her bluff because she just said she was blind. She may have meant something else.

Take 10 percent of every dollar you bring in and put it in the "I forgot your birthday and/or anniversary fund." Don't argue. Just do.

Take your teen-ager's face into your hands, look him in the eyes and say, "You can be anything you want in the whole word ... except a millionaire in one year, if you follow the psychic's" advice." Also, tell him that the key to good communication with a parent is to shut the hell up during the ball game.

Open your mind to new things, unless they have anything to do with having to buy a contact lens bank.

Always make friends. When you leave a room, make certain that those left behind say something nice, and not something like, "Optometrists sure do smell funny."

Make plans. Set goals. It's not enough to say "I need a margarita." You must buy a lime and some salt.

Walk into your optical. My God, how many little, round, preppy frames must you have? Buy something gaudy and charge a lot for it.

Stop whining about every little thing. Your life is wonderful. It could be worse. You could have a 16-year-old kid with a Mensa IQ. Thank the Lord that you don't have to debate Sherlock Freakin' Geraldo F. Lee Bailey Vickers about what time the 11 o'clock curfew is.

Give yourself a break. You're not perfect. Only your spouse is perfect. At least MINE is.

Hold someone in esteem. Respect a peer, a colleague. Choose a mentor. Learn all you can. Then crush 'em like a gnat and find a new one.

If you're gonna cuss, then cuss with abandon. If you're not gonna cuss, then respect those who can.

Oh, and don't forget ... use those UV-blocking lenses, but don't presume for a second that they'll prevent cataracts in an 80-year-old. She already has 'em. It's just your slit lamp that sucks.

Kurt would be proud.