[stylist] to tell or not to tell

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Unfortunately, we all seem to have stories like this. People often don't
believe me, that this kind of attitude doesn't exist, but it does.

While at university, I wanted to take a stage make-up class for extra
credit. The instructor had been my intro to theatre teacher, and I
wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having her again. As a final project
for intro to theatre, everyone wrote a skit, then the class read all of
them and voted on so many that would be performed. We were put into
groups, each having actors, stage/prop people and a director. I was
selected to direct the skit I wrote, which was one of the skits chosen
by the class. Because I'm blind though, the instructor insisted I needed
an assistant director, and then she proceeded to treat my assistant as
the director. I had to really fight for this, and the girl who was my
assistant got it and just let me do my thing, but my instructor was such
a bitch about it.

So when she learned I had registered for stage make-up, she contacted me
and wanted to meet. She then proceeded to not ask me questions of how I
would do things, but point-blank informed me there was no way a blind
person could take the class.

I told her that I wear make-up on a regular basis, so I already have the
fundamentals of make-up down. I also had done several performances where
we had to put on our own make-up, and I hadn't forgot how to do that. I
also use to be sighted, so I actually have a visual understanding of how
things should look, how to hold brushes and other tools and etc.

She told me I had no point of reference, which I have no idea what she
meant by that. After I kept insisting, she finally told me that I had to
take the class as an audit because she would have to fail me because she
wasn't going to give an unfair advantage to me just because I was blind.
That I would be graded the same as everyone else.

I told her I wouldn't expect anything less.

She said she would be forced to request I audit the class as opposed to
formally enroll, to which I asked what would be the point? I wouldn't
have it show up as an official class on my transcript. To which she once
again brought up how I would have a failing grade showing up on my
transcript.

Her point was that a blind person had no way of passing the class. And
even though I demonstrated some ideas that might be employed to help me,
she wouldn't budge on her position.

Clearly I had the right to get the DSO involved and take the class, but
it would have been an extra fine arts credit and not a class I was
required to take for my major, so I opted for another class. But I still
regret backing down in this situation. I had no doubts about my ability
to take and pass the class, and I should have done it anyway and told
her to suck on that, LOL! I know we have to pick and choose our battles,
but this probably was a battle I should have marched into. I was in my
final semester before graduating, and I just needed a few FA credits,
oddly enough not fullfilled by my previous round at university as a
vocal and theatre major. Anyway, So I dropped the class, but I wish I
would have stuck it out.

This has probably been the most blatant display of discrimination I've
faced since becoming blind. Oh, with the exception of our Gladys Kravitz
neighbor lady who was worried when we moved into our house with two
blind people living on their own, and I was pregnant at the time, so she
was equally worried about two blind people having a child. She thought
she should call someone. Then when my grandparents told her we were
college educated, employed, blah, blah, blah, she said, and I quote,
"Oh, I didn't think you were intelligent enough for that." We've since
run into her when out and about in the neighborhood, and she seems less
terrified of our plight, but this is something I will equally never
forget.

Bridgit

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris
Kuell
Sent: Friday, March 21, 2014 10:03 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
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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