A Scale of One to Ten

June 24, 2004

They call it laser surgery, and when I tell people about it and explain the procedure, they say, "That sounds painful." But it isn't. And it doesn't take very long either. In and out in about an hour. The hardest part is fighting the urge to look at the little red point of light as it buzzes around your field of vision like a mosquito. "Remember, don't look directly at the laser," the doctor reminds me. I take a deep breath, my eyes water, and he says, "You're doing great."

The doctor has a foot pedal, and when he has the laser pointed where he wants it, he puts his foot down and zaps away. It sounds exactly like a ray gun, which I guess is what it is -- set to stun. But if I happen to shift my eyes at the precise moment the doctor hits the pedal, well, then I wind up frying the all-important center of vision. So it's more of a mind trip than anything else. Like when I walk across the Williamsburg Bridge and I have to fight the urge to climb the fence and jump.

My eye doctor is in New Jersey, and since my friend Ali lives in Hoboken, I arranged to meet with her when she got off work. I hadn't seen her in months. Maybe even a year. So we had a lot to talk about. Like her bass lessons and how she can't be certain, but she thinks she might have a crush on her bass teacher. Stuff like that.

Ali and I walked over to a neighborhood bar for a drink and continued to talk about life and dates and good things, and bad things. She ordered a Whiskey Sour.

"A Whisky Sour? That's like an old man's drink."

"I know, but they're delicious."

She pushed the glass toward me and said, "Try it."

As I took a sip, Ali looked across the room and noticed a guy standing over the jukebox. "I think I know that guy," she said -- which is what a person says whenever they get caught staring at someone they think is hot.

She didn't obsess over him, though, and instead told me a story about one of her recent dates. "When I was out with this guy the other night, he asked me to rate him on a scale of 1 to 10. Looks and personality. And then he asked me to rate myself."

"What a trap."

"And then I rated him, and he rated himself."

"Crazy."

"No, it was interesting, because, you know—I mean, you never really know how you come across to other people."

"Yeah, I guess so," I said. But it still sounded like a dangerous game. Certainly not one you want to play on a first date. But Ali and I have been friends for a long time now, and we weren't on a date, so when she turned the game around and asked me --"How would you rate yourself?" -- I figured it was safe to play along.

"I dunno," I said, "I guess I'm a solid five across the board."

"Oh, c'mon. That's a cop out."

"Well, fuck, I don't know. I mean, I guess I get told I'm cute, funny, or smart now and then, but then they always say: 'But—' "

She laughed and took another sip of her Whiskey Sour. "I'm getting buzzed, man. I'm such a lightweight."

"Wait, so how did you guys rate each other?"

"All right, well, first of all, I think he rated me too high on looks. He gave me an 8.5. But I think I'm somewhere in the 7 range."

"Okay, wait, wait wait. What's the scale?" I asked. "Is a ten the best you can do? Or is a ten unattainable? You know what I mean? Are we talking about an absolute scale?"

"Yeah, a ten is essentially unattainable."

"Okay, so then what did you rate yourself on personality?"

"Wait, what would you rate me on looks?" she asked.

Fuck. I knew she was going to ask me that. A no-win situation. "I'd say you're better than a seven, that's for sure. I dunno. somewhere in the nines."

"Bah. You wouldn't tell me the truth anyway."

I just shrugged. "How about I tell you this: when we were on our way over here, I thought to myself, 'Ali's looking good.' But I didn't say anything."

"Next time, say something. Girls need to hear these things."

"Okay, okay. So anyway, tell me how you rated yourself on personality."

"I rated my personality a solid 9.5, because I don't care what anyone says, I rock!"

Ali continued stealing glances at the jukebox guy. My eyes were still whacked from the surgery, so I couldn't see him, but I could tell that he was with a girl. He seemed to be ignoring her, but they were definitely together. Ali took another sip of her drink, tweaked her personality to 9.6 and said, "I'm gonna go over there and put on some songs—"

"Hehe, yeah, I get it. Go put on some songs. And why not send that guy's rocker chick girlfriend over to me while you're at it?"