Another article from the never-gonna-happen Minutiæ #6. I’m pretty sure this one went through the editorial process:
In the small of town of Hardonigan, GA chivalry still thrives. Although the days of laying down a jacket over a puddle or having a chaperon on a date may be long gone, the practice of letting your romantic intentions be known is still going strong. Here in Hardonigan, they have a simple way of living: If you are interested in a boy or a girl, you put on a pair of glasses and go up and talk to them. If they’re interested as well, they’ll put on a pair of glasses. If not, the glasses wearer gets the idea. It’s shockingly simple and there are no wishy washy games. If they doesn’t put on the glasses, there’s no reason to pursue.
“I met my wife back in high school, back in 1948,” says Hardonigan Mayor Jim Calawax, “and we were at the Pop Tate’s Chocklit Shoppe. I built up all my courage, put on my glasses, walked over to her table and looked her in the eyes. I remember all of her friends giggling and getting real quiet. And then she looked around, blushed, and put on her glasses. Everything to that point was in question. I was so relieved. I still remember those pink frames. The pink frames of love.”
The tradition dates back to the Reconstruction era, when a smooth talking traveling salesman named Wilson B. Miles came into town selling eye glasses. He was able to convince the townspeople that wearing eyeglasses were a sure sign of affection. One must wonder if other towns would’ve adopted Wilson B. Miles’ use of glasses had he not been murdered by bandits on his way out of Hardonigan.
Nowadays, when people need eyeglasses, they’ll go to the several long-standing stores on Main Street. “Well, yes, every day a father will come in with their son to pick out their first pair, and, yes, I’m proud to know I’m part of a very important step in that boy’s life,” says Gordon Weitfoot, owner of Weitfoot Spectacles. “Why, we had a boy in here the other day just itching to get a pair so he could ask out a girl at school before any of the other fellas does.”
At Hardonigan’s Miles Memorial High School, most of the students can be seen with a glasses case in their bag, though dress code strictly forbids them from being worn during class time. Students with bad eyesight have to use contact lenses or just deal with their poor vision. Any stray thought that the kids of Hardonigan, GA would reject the old ways are not to be found. Come springtime, packages from the world’s finest glasses designers are delivered to the girls of Hardonigan, hoping to look their best when hearts are all aflutter.
“Drop them specs” is a regularly heard phrase heard in the halls. “You know how boys are these days, always thinking they can put on their specs for every girl that walks by, so you just gotta say ‘drop them specs,’ because otherwise they’d be lensing up all the time,” says Taishia Robinson, a senior at MMHS. “Yeah, I have a pair of glasses,” Taishia tells me, “but I keep them at home because I’m going to college one day.”
Much like how the American Southwest has been known for its ailment-relieving dry climate, Hardonigan has been prescribed for overly-anxious men and women. “I hadn’t been on a date in several years,” says David Cronenberg, a web designer who moved to Hardonigan after having a complete mental breakdown at a singles bar in Los Angeles. “I would try to start flirting with a girl, but then I thought she was being nice, or I was coming on too strong, and I’d just ruin it. Here, glasses go on, and you know instantly, and can move on.” Cronenberg tells me his anxiety attacks are nearly gone, though he’s still nervous about putting in his contact lenses every day.
When people get married here, part of the ceremony is the bride and groom placing their glasses on the ground and breaking the pairs in front of their friends and family. Most divorce proceedings surrounding infidelity are most often an open-and-shut case due to one, if not both of the parties, having a secret pair of glasses. “When an older gentleman or housewife comes into my shop, I know what’s going on,” Weitfoot says, “I don’t mean to be a gossip, but yesterday Charles Hansfurth, the newspaperman, came in her asking for a monocle. I always thought something was gay about him.”
