I knew that my foggy glasses would cause a problem for me eventually. I knew it.
After seven months I still haven't figured out a way to prevent condensation on the lenses of my glasses while wearing a face mask outdoors. I've read articles, I've raised the mask, I've tightened the mask. Nothing works.
I've even once tried removing my glasses from my face, carrying them in my right hand to allow them to defog as I walked. This approach seemed to work at first. Then I crossed the street and came within two inches of walking into a lamppost. I put my glasses back on. Two minutes later, they were foggy again.
Still, the fog on my glasses had mostly been a minor nuisance until the other day, when I rode the bus to Hoboken to meet my wife. I wasn't exactly sure which stop was mine; once we exited the tunnel on the New Jersey side and a passenger rang the bell, I panicked a little. I thought to myself, OK, we're in Hoboken now, this is the neighborhood I want, I can't be too far away from where I need to be. I might as well get off the bus now.
I was, in fact, not too far away from where I needed to be, but also not too close to where I needed to be, either. I was 12 minutes away, by foot, from where I needed to be, I discovered on Google Maps after I exited the bus. However, this was an easy 12 minutes: several blocks straight ahead, a left turn followed by several more blocks, and you have reached your destination.
Easy, that is, if you can read Google Maps correctly with glasses that are not foggy. My glasses were foggy, and wet, too, from the steady rain that was falling. As far as I knew, I was walking in the right direction, but what I didn't realize at the time was that there was an overpass with a pedestrian sidewalk I was supposed to take. But I didn't take it; I instead walked parallel to the overpass, through a somewhat-dark parking lot and to a chain-link fence marking the end of the street.
You would suppose that Google Maps would have said, "Rerouting" or, "You know you missed the overpass, right?" or, "You're in a parking lot, idiot." But it didn't say any of these things. Perhaps this will be addressed in the next update. But at no point did the app indicate that I was moving in the wrong direction.
Here I was, in this parking lot, and I could not see through the fog and raindrops at all. I took off my glasses and considered my options: I could retrace my steps and attempt to figure out where I went wrong; I could call an Uber; or I could stand there, in the rain, and cry.
After wiping away my tears, I walked back a few blocks and called the Uber. I squinted at my phone and entered the passcode to unlock it. It's funny how my phone's Face ID doesn't recognize me without my glasses. Every morning when I wake up I attempt to unlock my phone to check my email, and every morning the phone refuses because I haven't put on my glasses yet. I don't look that much different without them, Apple. I'm the same person, inside and out, behind these frames. Perhaps this will be addressed in the next update.
Anyway, I called the Uber and a few minutes later I received a text message letting me know the car had arrived. Only, I was now on a busy street and it was hard to tell exactly which car it was, because I couldn't read the license plates. I cautiously approached a few vehicles, attempting to read the plates as if I were reading an eye chart. What is that? W? 3? Backward E?
I eventually spotted a car that seemed to fit Uber's description. I asked the driver, "Is this for Shane?" in that awkward, unassured way I do whenever I order an Uber. I don't know why I ask this question, generally speaking. What if the driver said no, just to mess with me? What would my response be? "Well, this looks like the car, he looks like the driver, the license plate matches, the text message says it's the right car, but he says it's not for Shane, so I guess I'll just continue to wait here."
I received confirmation that this was my ride, and I spent less than five minutes in the car before we arrived at the destination. Turns out if I had just waited on the bus for one more stop, I would've been fine, or, at least, not ended up in a dead-end parking lot.
I thanked the driver and I exited the car. I closed the door, turned around, walked a few steps and ran right into a lamppost.¹
¹ OK, that didn't happen. But I wish it had. It makes for a good ending to the story.
