The Oldest of the Type

 

You could say the country had its share of olds but there wasn’t much sharing.  For every claim a thing had to be the oldest of its type of thing, there was always another thing out there to dispute that claim and declare itself the oldest of its type.

With this to mind, you should know that Neasy’s was the oldest opticians in the country and Ellen Neasy the youngest optometrist – at twenty-six.  Though as proprietor she was not always clear-sighted and spent much of her working day online defending their claim against business rivals, many would agree Neasy’s was the best.  Every day the company oversaw expertly conducted tests, provided scores upon scores of productive consultations, and all of their transactions were fair-minded and completed with excellence by staff so friendly people went in whether ocularly-burdened or not.

One such individual was Lorcan Casey, who owned by his own proclamation the oldest spectacles in town.  True, he was an old man, but even the oldest living customer, Beatrice O’Halloran, a decade his senior at 91, had sought to update her prescription in recent years.  Now her face wore Tommy Hilfiger, whereas Lorcan’s stayed in the past behind those grey metal-rimmed zyls, as modelled by President Lyndon Baines Johnson when signing the civil rights act in 1964, or speaking to Congress about the ‘great society’.  Fashionable in the era. 

Thirty-seven years was a long time to cling to a single pair of eyeglasses.  They were still usable, wearable at least, except that the small screws at the hinges were loose.  Lorcan couldn’t bring himself to tape them up.  He was old but he didn’t want to look that old.  So he would come to Neasy’s every month or so and ask to have the screws tightened with the little screwdriver.  The staff always helped him, being exceedingly friendly – but not without protest.

                Why don’t you just get a new pair?  You’re due for a check-up anyway.  Long overdue.

                They’re not broken yet.  I’m good.  What’s a loose screw?  Just a wee tighten, thanks.

                You need to renew your prescription every few years, Lorcan, you know.  They’re of no use anymore, and likely doing more harm than good.

                They still work.  I can see you clearly, can’t I?  Without them I’m blind.  Proof there in that pudding alone.

There was no getting through to him, so he was allowed to come into the store whenever he had a screw loose and someone would surely do a tightening.  This became a customer service tradition in Neasy’s.

Ellen feared Lorcan Casey was bad for business.   They were not a repair service.  They were in truth a healthcare operation and part of that operation was the selling of specs, and what a bad example they were setting by providing this specific service for free.  But she put up with him and his visits.  He had bought these glasses from her grandfather after all.  If not for Mrs O’Halloran still kicking, Lorcan would perhaps be the oldest customer Neasy’s had. 

One day, in an effort to be rid of him once and for all, she offered Lorcan a repair kit so he could do the job himself at home – but the man was having none of it.  He said he couldn’t afford it.  When next he was in and she offered him the kit for free, he said he was too old and frail to manage so precise a task.  Her assistants nodded their heads in agreement.  He was very old.  This annoyed Ellen.  She knew he was just using old as an excuse. 

Another day Lorcan came in and he found it was very busy.  Too busy for anyone to attend to him instantly. 

                If you could just hold on a minute, Lorcan, someone told him.

                Not a bother, he said.

                He sat down.  He was for certain a patient man.  He was not even in the slightest troubled as he sat and watched even more customers come tumbling in.  Lorcan knew the staff would get to him eventually.  And sure enough, one of Ellen’s assistants, Sandra, approached him after a short time with a cup of water.  He said thank you and took the cup.  It would have to do for now.  Good customer service, he said to himself, with volume, hoping his recommendation would find the ear of one of the other customers, for even though they were preventing him from being attended to, he absolutely respected their stations in life.

Ellen had noticed Lorcan coming in for his regular fix.  She wasn’t busy herself in that moment, but chose to behave as though she was, holding her phone up close to her ear and nodding as though there was someone on the other end.  There wasn’t.  There might as well have been. She was waiting for a call. It just hadn’t come through yet. 

After a few sips of water, Lorcan realised he had nowhere to place his cup. There were no tables nearby.  He was alone and adrift on a chair in a marble sea of shopfloor.  He leaned forward slightly in the chair and lowered his arm to set the cup on the floor.  In doing so, the zyls slipped, and dangled at first from his left ear; then, in the struggle to recapture them, they came off his head entirely and landed on the floor a few feet away.  It occurred that Ellen was nearest to where they had landed.  She had noticed the mishap out of the corner of her eye, but feigned not seeing.  She edged forward, nonchalantly, angled a nearby standee to her satisfaction, said Yeah twice into her phone, then accidentally stepped on the old specs.  Or did she stomp?  For the sound of them breaking under her heels, a sort of crunch, was like bundled straw being chopped in half by a strong and experienced black belt.

                Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Casey! she cried, and her call ended abruptly.

                You did that on purpose, he accused her.

                Oh, Lorcan, please . . .

                Outrageous!

                Ellen picked up the eyeglasses and went to return them to him.  The left lens was out of the frame and cracked.  And forget about the hinges.  Both plastic temples were off and the tiny screws had rolled away to nowhere.  It would take the most powerful optical device in the building to locate them.

              Sadness in Lorcan Casey’s feeble eyes as he said, They might be the oldest, currently-used spectacles in the country.  Do you know how old I am?  How old you were when your grandfather sold them to me?

                I am so sorry, Lorcan.  Tell you what.  We’ll do you a good deal.  A new test.  Free.  And a new pair.  Half price.

                You’re having a laugh, he said.  I’d rather walk out of this place blind as a bat and have a Scania run me over than pay a single penny.  If your grandfather was here, he’d be mortified.  And he’d have grace too.  He’d ask for no charge.

                What about the free test then?

                Not on your nelly.  I haven’t had my eyes tested since the 1970s.  I’m afraid what your new machines might do to me.  Melt my brain or something.

                They’re not that new.   

 Do you have any sellotape?

Sandra went Oh! and from a small drawer at the counter beside her produced a little tape dispenser.

Perfect, said Lorcan.  Are you going to charge me for this?

Of course not, said Sandra.  It’s just a bit of tape.

Well, I insist, he said, reaching into his pocket.

Ellen assumed insult upon injury.  She couldn’t bear it anymore and exploded.  But it was a controlled explosion.  She didn’t raise her voice, or break her smile, as castigation left her lips.  It was the kind of thing she had wanted to say to Lorcan Casey for years.

Why are you like this? she said.  So difficult.  So difficult.

That is, alas, how you see us, isn’t it? Lorcan huffed. The young view the old as difficult. 

Ah, you’re old when it suits you, Ellen snarked.

That may be.  But I am old.  There’s no getting around that truth.

As Lorcan sat down again to tape up his specs, Sandra had a look on the floor for the missing screws.  With no success.  She was about to get back to work when she noticed Lorcan stand up with the zyls on his face once more.  To her surprise, he’d been able to reconstruct his broken glasses reasonably well with the tape she had given him.  He managed to get the lens in even. 

                Such precision, remarked Ellen.

Lorcan handed Sandra a two euro coin for the use of her tape dispenser.  She was too bewildered by events to refuse, so took it.   

 

I’ll leave you with this, Lorcan said to Ellen as he was leaving, grandly.  I might come in again.  I just might.  You haven’t lost my custom yet.  However, you need to have a word with your good self.  You are a wonderful young businesswoman.  An outstanding servant of optometry.  Your grandfather would be proud of you and all you have become.  But something tells me he would not approve of that particular attitude, young lady.  So . . . there . . . I’ll be seeing you.

Bye, Mr Casey, said Ellen.  We’ll see you next time.  She had a light sweat on her brow for a while but it was beginning to dry.  She realised Lorcan was right about her grandfather.  He wouldn’t be happy at all about her behaviour.  He’d just say, ‘keep on at him to get a new prescription.  It’s not just the sale, it’s the sight, am I right?’  Theirs was an old business, the oldest, verifiably, with a reputation to uphold.  With long-standing clientele of every talk and type.  And Lorcan just happened to be the oldest of his. 

Ellen went to her office and arranged an invitation for a new prescription to be sent to the man’s address – it was not the first, by any means.  Then that call she was waiting for came through and she was back in her world.

 After leaving Neasy’s, Lorcan Casey went across the road to McCullough’s Menswear.  There was a button on his coat needed sewing back on.