Why I Could Never Go on Jeopardy

I'm a pretty bright fellow, and I know a lot of stuff. In fact, I am a virtual warehouse of useless information. But put me on a television show, cameras rolling and buzzer in my hand, and I think i'd freeze. I would stand there with a blank look on my face, forget where I am and what I am there to do, and the first round would slip past before Alex Trebeck could get my attention. It's stage fright and more. I get test anxiety reading an eye chart. What if I fail? Will the opthamologist declare me blind? Will he say I can't drive? It has never happened, but what if it did? I love to drive. I love the control. It's like remote control heaven with changing scenery. I park outside the eye clinic, perfectly spaced between the lines. I step out and my confidence wanes. I'm nervous going in. They check you for glaucoma – talk about pressure. Then they dilate your eyes with drops. Is that some sort of performance enhancing drug they're slipping into you? You trust them – they're doctors, after all – but the Eyeball Olympic Committee might be watching. I know you can't “fail” an eye exam. It's a tool to help you see better. But what are they thinking when you're sitting there with that blackout circle over one eye, trying to read the back-lit letter board with the other? F looks like P. E blends and twists before my eyes into B. O grows a tail and C may or may not have a TV tray across its lap. I stare and stare and stare, trying to make certain I have it right. Are they judging me? Am I stupid if I miss one? I mean, the answer is right there in front of me. “A, E, I, O, U, Alex.” “In the form of a question, please.” “What are A, E, I, O, U?” “Eh-eh. Sorry. The correct answer is, what are vowels?”