Er …”Eye, Captain”
Don’t see many artificial eye artisans these days, but they still exist.
In fact (and this really IS a true story…), Dave, a guy I used to work with in the UK, once had to avail himself of similar services.
Lost his eye in a gardening accident and after the operation was referred to a artificial eye chappy.
The prices were astronomical for glass and horrendous for plastic, but they had a budget model in expertly painted (little veins and all) beech wood and Dave went for that.
It WAS a bit obvious, but I imagine you would have picked the glass one up as well, given that they don’t swivel and rolling your eyes is out of the question.
Anyway, Dave was now worried that he’d NEVER get a girlfriend, so we took him along to Diamond Lil’s at the Sheraton on the Bath Road near Heathrow. Thin lager and limpid chili con carne, but PACKED with birds
“It’s going to be dark in there, Dave, and by the time they’ve fallen for your charms, they won’t mind the eye. Go and ask that one over there to dance” I said.
“Oh, no” he said “She’s BOUND to notice” (Place was almost pitch black, but this repeated itself ad nauseum all night.
By the time we finally got some Dutch Courage in him, there was only one girl left.
Solid wench, fairly broad about the buttocks.
“Come on, Dave” I said “This is your last chance. What have you got to lose? She’s been eyeing you up all evening”
Off he trots, “She’s bound to notice” drifting off into the distance.
He’s back in a flash.
“Told yer” he said “Told yer she’d pick it straight away. I just said “Care for a dance?”
“Know what the cow said? “”WOULD I!”, she said…”
“And? So what did you say?”
“I called her a FAT ARSE. Lets have another beer….”
I’d feel sorry for ol’ Dave, but with those social skills to begin with, these don’t make for the most charming of fellows.