Several years ago,
friend Betty and I went to a new restaurant for our regular Wednesday night
supper. The waitress was, to say the least, condescending, with a too-cheery, “Well,
are you ladies out of the town tonight?” I remember having perhaps the best
appetizer I’ve ever had—one huge scallop on a bed of pureed cauliflower, topped
with a dab of foie gras. We each had two glasses of wine, and we got our revenge—the
waitress forgot to charge us for the wine. I called the next day to pay for our
drinks and was curtly told, “It was her mistake. She can pay for it.” I thought
it was karma for her attitude toward us, but that’s the first time I ever
noticed age discrimination.
It hit me in the
face again today. A nice guy came to measure for a section of fence that needs to be replaced. I was the one who had
called him (I’m comparative shopping), made the arrangement for him to come out
this morning. The whole thing was my deal.
When he got here,
Jordan was in the cottage, and, because she is more fleet of foot than I am,
she opened the door. He greeted us both and proceeded to talk directly to
Jordan with an occasional word my way. It was clear he thought she was in
charge, even when she gave him my email and told him it was mine.
After he left, I
said it was obvious he thought I was incapable of absorbing what he said,
either because I look my age (that crepey neck), I had to
ask her to hand me my hearing aids, or I’m on a walker. At one point I wanted to raise my hand and
say, ”I’m the one paying this bill.” I did interject a light-hearted comment in
an attempt to become part of the conversation—it didn’t work. Jordan maintains
I am being too sensitive, but I don’t think so.
A friend who is
blind says that people talk extra loud to him until he wants to say, “Hey, I’m
blind, not deaf.” I think too many tend to think one disability somehow affects
the whole package, especially including the mind. I am not in dementia. I am
old, and I use a walker, but my mind is clear and works fine, thank you very
much, and I enjoy a full and vibrant life. I do not want to be isolated or
categorized because my legs don’t’ work quite right. In the two years since I’ve
been using the walker, a few friends that I used to see frequently have dropped
away. I don’t know that it’s the walker, but I have a suspicion. And I am so
grateful for the many who have stayed by me, putting up with loading my walker,
praising my independence.
Strangers are extra kind to me in passing. They nod and greet me, they hold doors, they wait patiently because I am a little slow. The difference comes when I make personal contact with just a few people. Next time you meet
someone with a handicap, don’t stereotype them in your mind with that handicap.
Look at the whole person. You might be pleasantly surprised.
