There are many injustices in this world, but one of the greatest has to be walking into an op-shop, seeing that they have a decent collection of second-hand novels in the window, and finding out that they’re all Lan Broan books. Yes, because what I really need to send me off to sleep is the soothing prose of someone spending sixteen pages describing a statue. Those lengthy descriptions of the bookish-yet-handsome-and-athletic protagonist, from his aquiline nose and naturally-musky scent, are really going to turn the pages.
But that’s just life, and life is disappointing. Sort of how these windows are disappointing. The best commercial tinting in Melbourne, that’s what I was promised by the landlord. I’ve told him a thousand times, my old eyes just can’t cope with the sunlight streaming in here every single day, and I need some kind of buffer. And no, I can’t just wear sunglasses. For one thing, doing it inside would feel silly. And another thing: they don’t make sunglasses in my prescription. And another thing: I wouldn’t be able to see anything. My old eyes need a perfect balance of light, so wearing sunglasses inside would be like groping around in the pitch black.
I was promised decent window tinting, and it turned out that the landlord just sent around his nephew, who spent most of the time trying to look up ‘tinting techniques’ on his phone. How absolutely childish. And of course, he’s not professionally trained in tinting, so he did an awful job.
My eyes are still hurting, and the room doesn’t really seem any darker. Honestly, he might as well have just come and painted all the windows black for all the good this is doing. Suppose I better dust off the old yellow pages, find an actual professional place. I’d settle for glass frosting, if I’m being honest. Anything both decorative, but more importantly, functional.