The Great Cane Incident of 2016

Warning: the following post may contain semi-strange formatting. And the slightly disjointed nature of the author’s thoughts may be jarring to some readers. Proceed with caution.

Copied from my Facebook on Friday, April 8:

I swear, Facebook, I cannot make this shit up. I was walking to my first class today, and someone tripped over my cane. I figured that it would probably

be a little bent but usable, it's definitely happen before. But rather than being a little curved out of shape, The bottom most fold/link/whatever was

bent almost in half. I thought about trying to straighten it, and once I put a little bit of pressure on it. It pretty much snapped.

I went to the accessibility office after class, using my single usable eyeball and the bit of feedback that the broken came could give me. I almost tripped

down some stairs because, though I saw and expected them, there were a bunch of people in the way and I was trying to get around them. And of course, today

is the day i decide to wear my boots instead of sneakers so the heel caught on the step... But luckily for me, most people react quickly to a blind person

stumbling, And my reflexes aren't terrible so...

Well, I'm off to class now with my scotch taped cane (they didn't have duct tape).

My thoughts

                As you can tell from the start of the post I was... I’m still not sure what word best describes how I felt. I wasn’t angry, more confused than anything else. People trip and hop (yes, hop, not even jump) over my cane quite a bit. And so I’ve had to replace a few because they were bent out of shape… but it’s never been broken. It was a little surreal, I guess.

                I don’t usually curse, and so I knew that using it in my post would really get people’s attention.

Everyone Else’s thoughts

                It was interesting, looking at the comments.

The ones from the people who knew me best all made light of it while the ones from family and acquaintances were all panicking and worried about my well-being. My fellow blind and visually impaired people sympathized. One person told me they had four spares by their door and one in their bag at all times while another told me that she’d replaced her cane three times so far this year. Luckily, I did have a spare in my room (though it wouldn’t have been hard to get a new one).

                                After telling her the story, my godmother asked if I’d “caught a big one”. That made me chuckle. The person was small in stature though I’m uncertain of…width.

I’m just still surprised that it broke. And now that I think about it, a little annoyed. Now I have to remember to get another spare. Sigh.

Well:

Sorry I was gone for such a long time. That whole college thing was rearing it’s head, and rather aggressively, I might add. I had papers galore. And when I wasn’t working, I was sitting and complaining of boredom. Then I’d remember my darling readers, but have nothing to write.

But I have been updating my blog (it’s easier to ramble on camera than write and perfect my posts to my satisfaction).

Check out my original poem, about people’s reactions to me. I wrote it a year ago. And when you’re through with that, watch my latest Vlog: What You've Always Wanted To Ask A Blind Person. It’s long, but hopefully the content makes it worth it.

For my blind and low-vision readers:

The three pictures I included are of me: one of me holding the cane and then two of the cane by itself: one showing off the tape and the other how bent it was.

‘till Saturday

Chao (the Spanish spelling)

You Have A Lovely face

              A few hours later from the Blind bitch post,  I’m on the train, on my way home.

              I’ve just walked onto the train, and have deliberately bumped some one with my can to see if she’ll offer my seat. I would likely have declined, but it’s always interesting to see if people will offer or just ignore me.

              “You want to sit?” The voice sounded old, had an accent, and was coming from behind me.

              I turned around.

              “Me?”

              “Yes. There’s a seat here.”

              I walked forward.

“Right at the corner.”

              “Here?”

              “Yes.”

              Thank you.”

              I settled in. And began to fold my cane.

              The woman seated beside me began talking to the woman in front of us. She was talking about how advanced technology is now. The canes can fold. And something about iPods and iPhones in her day.

              “Are you with her?” She asked another woman standing in front of, and a little to the side of me.

              “No.”

              “Oh. She needs someone with her. An aid.”

              I think this was the second time I’ve heard someone say that about me. Why? I’m not disturbing you in my blindness.

              “You can see?”

              It’s a stop or two later and I assumed that the lady beside me is now talking to me.

              “Yeah.”

              “You can see enough to get home?”

              “Yes. But it doesn’t matter. Even if I couldn’t see at all, I would be fine.” The aid comment didn’t endear her to me.

              “But you can see a little?” I say yeah again. “You can see out of both eyes?”

              “Only a little out of one.”

              “Only a little out of one? Oh. I’ll pray for you, okay? You know God works miracles.”

              “Why? God does everything for a reason. I’m sure he has his reasons for making me this way.”

              “I know but we can still pray. You know He answers prayers and works miracles. He may not answer today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even next year, but he does. So we cann still pray.”

              “Yes.”

              “That’s what I spend most of my time doing, praying.”

              I nodded and mumbled something.

              She then told me that this was the second time she was seeing me. I wondered, silently, of course, why I should care. But I continued mumbling things until she fell silent and I turned my music up a little higher.

***

              “This is Utica, okay?”

              “Okay, thank you.”

              “And I’ll pray for you.”

              “Thanks.”

              “No problem. You’re a beautiful girl.”

              “Thank you.”

              “Yeah, you have a lovely face.”

              “Thank you.” Jesus I think. How many times am I going to thank her? “Have a nice day.”

              “Yes, you too. Have a lovely evening.”

              And she’s gone.

              … What?

              To quote my peers, “I literally can’t even.”

PS. I’m really excited that I did that link thing. You know, inserting the link to the other post?

Everybody Exploits Their Disability If They Can

              As I wrote in yesterday’s post, my friend Shanice and I attended an All Time Low concert on Saturday night. It was the second to last stop on the Future Hearts Tour. And it was quite fun. The whole day was, actually.

              That night was also especially memorable because it was my first concert. Last summer I’d attended the Inaugural Alternative Press Music Awards (APMAS) with my sister so I was prepared for the craziness of the crowd, but it was not technically a concert, so I do not count it.

              Upon arriving, Shanice and I were excited to be in the front especially with people already pushing and angry at the people with the Early Admission armbands.While waiting, Shanice was giving me a running commentary on everyone’s appearance while I eased dropped and relayed the conversations. She also told me about the many stares I was receiving.

              But, as we all started streaming in when the doors )or in this case, I think it was a gate/fence) opened, the first thing to alert me that I wasn’t the only visibly disabled person was Shanice telling me about a girl sitting on the lap of her wheelchair-bound friend (which I found hilarious).

              We were then detoured because they couldn’t process anybody’s mobile tickets so they  sent us to have them printed at the box office. There was some sort of hold up there and eventually a security guard came along, asked if we were all mobile, and told us to go. Shanice was now annoyed because we were in the back and asked if I wanted to push through. I said sure and that I would use my can to it’s full potential.

              After we all rushed in and Shanice and I were discussing whether we would run or not, someone motioned to us or Shanice saw the “accessible” area for everyone with disabilities. (It was being held in a park, so it was standing room only). So we went in. They was in the back or near the back, but they said that they would bring chairs.

              Inside were people with crutches and in wheel chairs. One wheelchaired parent was later screaming louder than some of us.

              When the concert started, all nondisabled people were kicked out of the area, except for Shanice. I missed the discussion, but they were going to kick her out until someone said that they thought she had to be with me.

              After that we were all in little groups. Everybody was making friends while Shanice and I stayed in our own little corner.

As the concert progressed, there was nothing noteworthy from our section. There was one girl, Shanice noticed that kept staring at us and the overenthusiastic mom I mentioned. As well as this girl, with an annoying voice who authoritatively told her friend or whomever about what happened at another or many of the other venues (I got the impression that this was not her first time seeing it). And with the exclusion of the girl in the wheelchair who had someone on her lap, now having the person seated on her feet, I was able to focus on the concert.

              Then, near the end of the concert, when Alex Gaskarth, the lead singer of All Time Low, asked who knew all of the words to their song “Time Bomb” was when it happened. He wanted a few audience members to join him on stage to sing. That’s when those who were wheelchair-bound (especially mama) started screaming and those with crutches waved them frantically in the air. I did not know all…or any of the words. I also couldn’t find my cane (of course I would have been waving it as well) but Shanice didn’t hear when I asked.

              It warmed my heart to know that I was not the only person to use their disability to her advantage J

What;s Wrong With Hitting On The Blind Girl?

            I've just walked through the door of the stairway after weight training, cane in my right hand and my favorite blue hoodie—with the words "Chicago The Windy City est. 1837" written across the front of it, the words separated by the zipper—slung over my left arm.  There were a group of boys standing there, talking and joking around.  I attempted to walk around them, just as they noticed me and started jostling around to try to get out of my way.  If they had just stayed still, I would not have brushed shoulders with one of them but luckily that was the only damage done.

            As I walked away from them, their voices followed me down the hallway.

            "Did you just check her out?" One boy says.

            "No!" Another replies

            "You so were, I saw you."

            "Alright, maybe."

            "That's messed up, man."

            There laughter followed me out of earshot and I miss how the conversation resolved though I did hear one of them call the other a jerk…

ar one of them call the other a jerk...

What's wrong with checking out the blind girl?

Awww

Forgive any typos/spelling errors. I am writing on my phone.

  Originally, I was going to start our relationship off with a rant. But they say first impressions are crucial so I decided to go via the route of possitivity.

I am currently at my niece's seventh birthday party and I am bored out of my mind. The people I haven't seen in awhile but who were there as I grew up are firing questionss at me about my nonexistent love life and who I am texting currently. I am sitting in a corner (literally)  and waiting for food.

But what did add a highlight or two to the night was this little, three-year-old girl telling me that my eyes were beautiful. She kept coming back to me to say it. The second to last time she told me that I was beautiful just the way I was. And the final time was to invite me to her Frozen party...awwwIn case your wondering, both of my eyes are blue with what looks like a white film on or around them. The filmy stuff is from corneal scarring as a baby. They, my eyes, move (I have nystagnus). Forgive me if that last word was spelt incorrectly.

Ps. Now that I've finally written someting, posts should come regularly. Expect anything from one-liners to novellas.