"Go ahead and pop off your contacts. The doctor will be right in."

Enters a blur of a man with a blur of a clipboard.

Or something square and white. I can't tell really. I can't see.

"Says here you work for... ESPN?"

"Yessir. Well, actually, the Longhorn Network."

"What does ESPN have to do with the Longhorn Network?"

"It, um, owns it."

"Those guys?"

"Yes?"

"Well I got to tell you... I'm not real happy with either of them. Not many people are."

Here we go.

Rant city.

He takes me on a winding journey through carriage and distribution and exclusivity rights. A crescendo of passion and deprivation and non-violent threat. (In a dim examination room).

I nod at a featureless face. (Still without contacts here.)

I politely interject. (Five times is probably borderline impolite.)

"Business negotiations are far above my pay grade."

"Yes, but... c'mon. Someone should've thought it through before launching a network to no one."

Air your grievances, good sir. But not so close to my face. And might I add, your knowledge of the cable industry is truly outstanding for an optometrist. NOW STOP TALKING AND MEASURE MY EYES.

And the next time a form asks for Employer, I'm writing down "nail technician."