[stylist] to tell or not to tell

[Applebutter Hill]

Loved it, and I didn't see that ending coming -- not as an "on purpose"
thing at any rate. You reminded me that Gary Wonder, the editor of the
Braille Monitor, once told us that his employer had eventually confided in
him that he was worried that the other workers would have to take him to the
bathroom.
Donna

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris Kuell
Sent: Friday, March 21, 2014 11:03 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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