In the optical industry, every day brings new faces through our doors. Some days, those faces happen to belong to rock legends – even if we don’t realize it right away. As an optician, my routine involved greeting patients, conducting pre-tests, helping with eyewear selection, and handling lab work. It was a job that taught me many things, including how to gracefully recover from putting my foot squarely in my mouth.
It started as any other day. I was reviewing a new patient’s chart when I noticed “entertainment” listed as his profession. Making conversation is part of creating a comfortable experience, so I naturally asked what kind of entertainment he was involved in.
“I’m a drummer,” he replied simply.
I nodded politely, thinking to myself, “Big deal!” After all, in a city full of musicians, this wasn’t particularly unusual. A bit later, I decided to ask about his band’s name. He told me, but it didn’t register immediately. I continued with my duties, escorting him to the exam room while his band’s name rattled around in my brain like a distant echo.
Then it hit me like a crash cymbal.
Quiet Riot. The patient was Frankie Banali.
I tried maintaining my professional composure, but inside, I was having a full-blown fan moment. Here was the drummer from one of metal’s most iconic bands, sitting in our office for a routine eye exam, and I’d just mentally dismissed him as another local musician!
When he returned a week later to pick up his glasses, I was determined to make up for my initial lack of enthusiasm. The waiting room was bustling with patients, but I saw my chance to show him I knew exactly who he was. With what I thought was going to be impressive recognition, I practically announced to the entire office: “HEY MAN, I SAW YOU YESTERDAY ON VH1’s ‘ONE HIT WONDER’!”
The moment those words left my mouth, time seemed to freeze. Banali remained remarkably calm, but I wanted to crawl under my desk. In my eagerness to acknowledge his fame, I had accidentally insulted a musician whose band had multiple hits and helped define the heavy metal era of the 1980s. “Cum on Feel the Noize” was far from their only contribution to rock history.
Looking back, it’s a reminder that sometimes our attempts to recover from one awkward moment can lead to an even more memorable one. In trying to be cool, I managed to achieve the exact opposite. But that’s the beauty of working with people – every interaction has the potential to become a story, a lesson, or in my case, both.
To this day, whenever I hear Quiet Riot on the radio, I can’t help but cringe a little and laugh at myself. And yes, I did eventually learn that calling a legendary band a “one hit wonder” isn’t the best way to make a good impression.
At least I got his glasses right.