I am near the bus stop, rumbling along to work, staring at a poster for the local community college in which a number of students look really excited to be going to a community college, when something flies into my eye. I don’t know what it could be or how on earth it got there, as I am pretty sure that a gale force wind blustering through a closed car is a rare occurrence. Nevertheless, some foreign object is now perched quite obstinately upon my retina, and I was terrified it will soon begin eating its way through to your optic nerve if I don’t get it out as quickly as possible.

I begin viciously clawing at my eyeball, much to the horror of those sitting around me, who believe me to be one of those crazies who eat their own dandruff. Tears are now streaming uncontrollably, as well as a healthy amount of snot. I beg strangers for a tissue, but they just go on pretending to listen to their iPods while reading the newspaper.

Eventually I manage to scoop out the perpetrator – an insidious eyelash – along with a tiny vision-correcting miracle. My contact lens, stressed and traumatized from the events of minutes past, sits there pathetically on my finger. Wrinkled and disheveled, it grimaces up at me in pain. I grimace back, since I don’t have any solution on me at the moment and I know I am just going to have to shove that sucker right back into my eye without the help of any moisture whatsoever.

So my lens decides that, rather than join me on that little adventure, it will escape. And thus, a new quest begins. It hurls itself down to the ground, amidst a chorus of gasping and groaning from me. I quickly glance down at the disgusting floor of the bus stop, not wanting to even imagine the kind of bacteria and diseases and bodily fluids wafting around down there. But vision correction does not come cheap these days.

So I swallow my pride and begin digging around on the floor, sweeping my hand across the sticky surface with grandiose, epic gestures. You make contact with many objects that I’d like to never think about again. Was that fur? Is this a syringe? Keep groping, maybe I’ll stick myself with the antidote. I am not even close, of course, as the sheer invisibility of the thing makes it nearly impossible to ever detect again. It could very well have migrated to the other end of the bus stop and gotten off of the bus two stop ago, for all you know.

This is the most suck life moment ever, drop a contact lens. I am squinting like a pirate for the rest of the day.rotflol