[stylist] to tell or not to tell

[Atty Rose]

So well done. Hope this story is circulating.

You have captured things so excellently in this story. And the dog really 
did have the last word. LOL

Thanks for sharing this!
love,
Atty
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Chris Kuell" <ckuell at comcast.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Friday, March 21, 2014 10:02 AM
Subject: [stylist] to tell or not to tell


>a 1700 word story loosely related to the recent discussions on this list.
>
>
> Maybe Next Time
>
> Chris Kuell
>
> The pleasant receptionist tapped lightly three times on the office door, 
> opened it a few inches and said, "Excuse me, Mrs. Carlisle. Your nine 
> o'clock interview, Robin Simms, is here."
>
> Robin detected no response from within the office, but the receptionist 
> told her to go on in.
> "Thank you," Robin replied, and then said in a lower voice, "Forward."
> A few steps inside the small room, Robin stopped next to a large desk. 
> Taking a deep breath, she smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Robin Simms."
>
> No sound indicated the presence of Mrs. Carlisle. Robin subconsciously 
> checked the top buttons on her blouse. All OK.  Then she ran her fingers 
> through her hair, which seemed perfectly in place.
> "Hello?" she tried again.
>
> A pensive, two-pack a day voice a few feet in front of her said, "I'm 
> Nancy Carlisle."
>
> Robin stepped forward, hitting her thigh lightly on the wooden desk. She 
> put out her hand and Nancy Carlisle accepted it weakly, as if touching a 
> dead fish. An awkward few seconds followed.
>
> Robin said, "Pleasure to meet you." In a lower voice, she said, "Sid, 
> chair."
> Her dog walked her two feet to the left and stopped. Robin's probing 
> fingertips encountered the rough cloth of an office chair. She sat while 
> commanding Sid to lay down, and pressed her skirt neatly across her lap.
>
> Another painful pause ensued. The tick, tick, tick of a clock was clearly 
> audible.
>
> "Are you blind?" asked Mrs. Carlisle. The woman's voice was on the verge 
> of incredulity.
>
> "Yes I am," Robin answered matter-of-factly.
>
> "You didn't say in your cover letter or resume that you were blind."
>
> Now the tone was moving towards aggressive. Less than sixty seconds, Robin 
> thought, a new world record.
>
> "I didn't mention I was five foot four, or a Methodist either. With only 
> one page, I prefer to just list my skills and qualifications."
> The words spilled out before Robin could stop them. She clamped her teeth 
> shut to extinguish any more sarcastic comments.
>
> "Well, don't you think it would be appropriate?" Mrs. Carlisle spat back 
> at her. "Not only have you caught me unprepared, I just, ahh, we, ahh, 
> don't have any jobs here that would be appropriate for a, ah, visually 
> handicapped person."
>
> The old human resources training was kicking in, ever careful to be 
> politically correct.
> Robin unclenched her jaw and said, "I'm blind. Let's just say it like it 
> is. I apologize for catching you off guard, it wasn't my intent to put you 
> off balance. If you have my resume, you can see that I have a perfect 
> background for the financial analyst position you advertised in the paper. 
> My blindness is not an issue; my skills and work ethic are."
> She took a breath, hoping that had come out all right.
>
> "Is that a guide dog?"
>
> Oh boy, here we go with the amazing dog questions. Let's change the topic 
> from my skills to the puppy.
>
> "Yes, this is Sid. He helps me get around."
>
> "Where did you get him--one of them guide dog schools?"
>
> At least the woman was curious. Maybe things would lighten up and then 
> they could proceed.
>
> "Yes, I got him at a school in New York," Robin replied.
>
> "How much did he cost?"
>
> Well, she scores two points for directness.
>
> "I didn't have to pay for him. The school has endowments and grants to pay 
> for the dogs and training. From what I understand, they cost about twenty 
> thousand dollars."
>
> "Tax payers money?" Mrs. Carlisle snorted, followed by a short rumbling 
> cough.
>
> Robin didn't take the bait. She said, "I don't know," and left it at that.
>
> Another awkward pause filled the room with tension. Robin felt a droplet 
> of perspiration rolling down her back. It was hot in this suit. This 
> wasn't going well, and part of her just wanted to runaway. Yet, she really 
> needed this job, hell, any job at this point. This one was perfect though. 
> The position was for an assistant financial analyst, for which Robin was 
> actually over qualified. She had a bachelors degree in business, with a 
> minor in accounting. Their office was only a block from the bus line, so 
> at least transportation would be manageable. She crossed her fingers, 
> which were folded in her lap, and silently prayed the interview would 
> improve.
>
> A rustling of papers came from Mrs. Carlisle's desk. More silence, tick, 
> tick, tick.
> "Who did your resume for you?"
>
> Irritation, like tinder as it first begins to ignite, began to burn inside 
> Robin.
> "I did it myself."
>
> "How? Shouldn't it be in Braille or something?"
>
> Robin gave a short chuckle, her turn to be amazed.  "I have a computer 
> equipped with speech software at home. It allows me to do word processing, 
> surf the Internet, use spreadsheet programs--most anything a sighted 
> person could do."
>
> More shuffling of papers. Sid got up, panting and wagging into Robin's 
> leg, indicating that he had to go. Oh, not now, Robin thought. Soft but 
> firm she commanded, "Sid, down." The obedient lab complied.
>
> "I'm impressed to see that you graduated college Ms. Simms, and I'm all in 
> favor of the disadvantaged matriculating into society. I'm sure you are an 
> intelligent woman. But realistically, this is a small firm, and each of 
> our employees is expected to contribute a hundred and ten percent. We 
> don't have the time or the manpower to have people helping you to do 
> whatever amount of work you might be able to accomplish."
>
> With those words, despair settled in on the young blind woman. That was 
> it, she had no hope. She was being dismissed, without an ounce of 
> consideration. This whole trip was going to be a waste of time.
>
> "Listen, Mrs. Carlisle. I graduated from college with a 3.6 GPA. All 
> regular classes, I didn't get any breaks. I've interned in the finance 
> department at Shultz and Sons for six months, and they will give me a 
> glowing recommendation. I have great computer skills, I won't need anyone 
> to help me. If I get this job, I can get adaptive computer software and 
> training in where things and how things are done. It won't take much, I 
> can learn everything in no time." Robin felt like her voice was a little 
> more pleading toward the end than she would have wished.
>
> "Who's going to take you to the bathroom?" Mrs. Carlisle asked.
>
> Robin sat, completely dumbfounded. Mrs. Carlisle couldn't have shocked her 
> any more if she said she was the love child of Elvis. Was this for real? 
> Do people like this really exist in the world? Unfortunately, Robin knew 
> all too well they did.
>
> "I've been going to the bathroom without any help since I was three. Who 
> helps you?" Robin wished she could see the agitation that she could sense 
> in Mrs. Carlisle's face.
>
> Mrs. Carlisle, however, was a trained professional and wasn't about to let 
> this blind woman get the better of her. She moved on.
>
> "We have our own computers here, with special software. What makes you 
> think your computer will work with it?" Her tone was as flat and cold as a 
> parking lot in winter.
>
> "I would use your computers, equipped with speech software either provided 
> by the state, your company or me. The software might have to be customized 
> to work with your programs, but if you are using either Axapta or 
> Navision, I already have the scripts and could be working in a few hours."
> These were the programs Robin used at Shultz. Amy Lopez, the woman that 
> installed JAWS and updated the appropriate scripts on her computer for her 
> internship could also do it here.
>
> Without losing a stride, the interviewer came in with her next question. 
> "How you going to read mail and paperwork?"
>
> Robin couldn't tell for sure, but she imagined Mrs. Carlisle was sneering.
> Sid was up again, rubbing against her and wiggling his backside. Robin 
> patted him on the head and said, "Sit for a little while longer boy, good 
> boy." This was not the time for him to "Park". He'd just have to hold it.
>
> She focused her attention on the hopeless Mrs. Carlisle.
> "That depends. Of course, e mail is a great medium for a blind person, and 
> as an added benefit it saves paper."
>
> A noticeable exhale came from Mrs. Carlisle, but Robin continued.
> "Printed text can usually be scanned, and then I can use the computer to 
> read it. I have a PDA with speech for my personal notes, and I can use 
> Braille for a variety of other note taking tasks."
>
> "I suppose that is all well and good," Mrs. Carlisle interrupted, "but 
> what about a handwritten memo? What if I write you a note to redo the 
> Smith calculations for 1994? How could you read it?"
>
> Now the bitch was just being confrontational. "You wouldn't have to leave 
> me a note. You could send me an e mail, or better yet, just leave me a 
> phone mail. It's not a problem that is insurmountable."
>
> Mrs. Carlisle made some sort of exasperated sound, which was followed by 
> three light knocks on the closed office door. It opened, and a cheery 
> voice said, "Mrs. Carlisle, Mr. Pastor needs to see you in the managers 
> meeting. He said it was important."
>
> Without excusing herself, or even acknowledging the existence of the 
> person in her office, Mrs. Carlisle got up from her desk and scurried out 
> the door.
>
> Robin was overcome with a feeling of depression and insignificance. This 
> was painful, and there was no point in continuing the charade. She got out 
> of her chair, and on an impulse reached out and felt the cool, smooth 
> surface of Nancy Carlisle's desk. She tapped it, a heavy, solid sound. 
> Feeling like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar, Robin walked around 
> the desk and sat in the comfy leather high backed chair.  She leaned 
> forward and ran her fingertips over the blotter, keyboard, Rolodex and 
> flat screen monitor. How could an idiot like Nancy Carlisle ever get such 
> a magnificent desk? What could she possibly do any better than Robin could 
> do, except see? And what gave her the right to treat Robin with such 
> disrespect, like a turd on the sidewalk?
>
> A devious smile crept across Robin's face.
> "Sid, come," she said. "Park."
>
> A minute later, Robin bid the friendly receptionist a good day as she left 
> the front of the building. What she had hoped would be her first real job 
> wasn't going to be happening here. Oh, well, she thought. Maybe next time.
>
>
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