Where is There?

Today there are only about 39 million people in the world who are completely blind, which is about ½ of 1% of the world’s total population. We are not talking about visually impaired people who use corrective lenses or cock their heads this way or that to pull something into view; we are talking gold standard blind – people unable to see zip… nada, nothing.

Since 99.5% of the world’s population can see, most people never come face-to-face with a completely blind individual and consequently get no practice interacting with totally blind folks.

I used to be amazed at how inept or awkward people were around me after I lost all my sight. It’s like I had an exotic skin disease when people went to guide me. Typically they’d grab my hand or wrist and proceed to drag me along as if I was a large stuffed animal.

When I ask where the pitcher of lemonade is or where I should sit while waiting for the doctor, I’m frequently told, “Over there.” Where is there, exactly? The similar phrase, “Sit over here,” isn’t much help either. “Go that way” also isn’t a useful direction for a sightless person.

The key problem for blind people (besides not being able to see) is that most of the world isn’t blind.

The disadvantages of being sightless in a sighted world are many, most likely due to the fact that people who invent things are not blind and don’t think about building products and providing services with the blind in mind.

Even buttons to press or knobs to turn that can be helpful to sightless users are disappearing from appliances and credit card swipers. My local supermarket just replaced their keypad pay stations with touchscreens, making it impossible for me to complete the checkout process myself. Ovens, microwaves, thermostats, countless other appliances, even vending machine operational buttons and knobs have slowly been replaced with digital displays, making most of them inaccessible for sightless people. (Gotta give a shout out to Apple Inc., the exception here, for designing their goods for blind users with lots of accessibility built into their products.)

This refrigerator has a lot of options...for a sighted person.

When I’m listening to the TV and hear, “Just call the number at the bottom of your screen for your 30 day supply and we’ll pay the shipping,” or the message says, “Just call 1-800-GOFEDEX,” you know these knuckleheads aren’t thinking of their blind customers.

Ironically, some banks do provide Braille instructions on their ATMs, but in the drive-through? Really? So, they want the operator of the vehicle to throw it into reverse and back up into the drive-through lane so that their blind passenger can reach out and touch the nicely brailed panel of instructions? Or maybe the bank execs intend this accommodation for the blind folks who are out and about on their roller blades with their guide dogs.

Braille in the drive-thru? Hmm.

Since most people don’t have a family member or a friend who is a real-deal blind person, they get no practice with what sightless individuals consider to be the no-brainer rules of engagement: don’t grab and drag, don’t say “over there,” announce all the digits of the phone number, etc.

The other day I went to the podiatrist with a pain in my big left toe. When the receptionist (who learned I was blind when I signed in) called my name, my friend led me to the door leading to the examination rooms. I was standing there quietly in the doorway when the receptionist told me to go down the hall and enter the second door on the left. I smugly replied, “Which way?” She said, “Over there.” (cricket…cricket…) I grinned wryly and she said, “Oh, walk down that way about 20 feet (Ha! I’ll bet she was pointing too!) and take a left into the second door.” My friend realized what was happening (or not happening), offered me his elbow and led me to the examining room.

I later realized my own prejudice – I assumed medical professionals would know better. Then again, most, maybe all, of their patients aren’t blind. No practice dealing with blind folks, like the rest of the world.

I made my follow-up appointment and the receptionist announced to my friend that I needed to return in 2 weeks. Did she think I wasn’t going to tell him? Really? This is similar to the server in a restaurant who will ask my girlfriend if I would prefer the broccoli or string beans with my chicken and rice. She points to me and says, “Ask him. He’ll know.”

Curiously, when I’m speaking on the phone with somebody I’ve never met and my blindness comes up during the natural course of the conversation, they often say, “You don’t sound blind.”

I’m still not sure what sounding blind is supposed to sound like.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude

The Seven Steps

Blind folks and old folks have something in common: they prefer their own bathrooms. One exception is the airplane lavatory. It’s very efficient for a blind person. Everything you need is nailed down – soap pump to the left of the sink, paper towels to the right, trash shoot below the paper towels. And all within reach.

Going out and about in public is something we all need to do from time to time, say, to take in a movie, travel to Boise or hit the pool hall. Generally, unfamiliar bathrooms can be tricky for blind folks.

First off, if you’re a blind guy out with your girlfriend or wife, which bathroom do you choose? Today, many large theaters and buildings have a family restroom. No-brainer here. In you go. But, in loo (mandatory pun!) of the family bathroom, you usually have a choice of either the men’s room or women’s room.

I have found that most men don’t care if a woman is in their restroom. However, if your female companion is wary of entering the men’s john, she’ll plant you inside the door where you promptly announce: “I’m a blind dude. Can someone guide me to the urinal?” Guys are usually happy to do so, then lead you to the sink, Johnny-on-the-spot with the paper towels, and then offer a helping hand to the exit.

I actually prefer entering the women’s bathroom with my girlfriend – it’s easier to navigate when you’re with somebody familiar. Of course, there are times when a lady inside the restroom protests my presence there. To stem the ‘outrage,’ I usually ask her where she studied Criminology and then congratulate her on recognizing me as a nefarious rascal.

If you wind up alone in an unfamiliar restroom, say in a restaurant or office, there are seven steps to follow before you get down to business: you must first locate 1) the toilet, 2) the flusher, 3) the toilet paper, 4) the sink, 5) the soap, 6) the paper towels and 7) the trashcan. (Oops – the eighth step is remembering your way out.) If you’re in a hotel room, add the bath towels, the floor mat, the shampoo and then work your way to the bed, the thermostat, outlets for your adaptors, the room phone, the TV remote on/off and volume/channel buttons, the do-not-disturb sign and where to unplug the clock radio which was set to go off at 4:30 a.m. by the previous guest.

Flushers keep it interesting. In the airplane lav, the 4-inch square flush panel is a relatively easy target to tap with the toe of your sneaker while you’re washing up. The joystick or handle flushers on your standard commodes are a matter of which side their situated on. The newer toilets with the push buttons are a little trickier – especially when there’s two buttons.

Automatic flushers can be problematic. While standing in relief mode, you search for the flush handle with your other hand. Finding none, you back away hoping to hear that familiar ‘click-whoosh’ sound. Similarly, the auto sink and soap dispenser can be a bit frustrating, especially when one doesn’t work or you can’t find the sweet spot for engaging the auto-response mechanism. (I am told this often isn’t easy even for sighted folks.) You cup your hands under the water spigot. Nothing. So you search for the water handles or push on the soap nozzle, and nothing. You unwittingly repeat this process several times – similar to the way you retrace the same steps 18 times at home when you can’t find your wallet or keys. Finally, it dawns on you to work your way to the next sink where you repeat the dance and hopefully wash up. You also figure out it’s an automatic towel dispenser as a little paper towel finally comes buzzing out after frisking the entire metal box for its nonexistent lever.

Of course, none of these strategies are perfect. Once, I was in a high school bathroom and (as I always do) first measured the target urinal to center myself for optimum aim. Starting with my palms together about waist high, I slowly widen them until the backs of my hands touch the outer edges of the porcelain. This helps to measure the width of the urinal for proper centering. As I was emptying my bladder, I slightly moved my feet and heard the faint splashing of a shallow puddle of water beneath my sneakers. Yep. I had positioned myself in front of the wall between two urinals.

Steve Gladstone, The Blind Dude

Retrievability

all photos courtesy of George Schiavone The sighted world does not put stuff back where they found it. Something placed just a couple of inches away from its designated spot can send a blind person on a sometimes endless wild goose chase to find it.

 The Toothpaste

Your toothpaste put down by your sighted wife a foot away from its usual spot just to the right of the sink, can be annoying, and if placed on the other side of the sink, grounds for divorce. I recall once picking up the toothpaste in its correct spot, twisting off the cap, squeezing a dollop of paste onto my tongue, and brushing with abandon. Within seconds my tongue and lips were numb, the understandable result of brushing my teeth with my wife’s diaphragm jelly.

The Housekeeper and the Spray Cleaner.

Housekeepers can be really difficult because the blind person assumes the HK automatically understands the importance of putting stuff back. And if not, surely once you point out the importance of doing so, they get it. But sometimes they don’t.

I had a HK who wouldn’t put my spray cleaner back in its place all the way to the left under the kitchen sink – possibly the easiest spot for a retrievably impaired sightling to remember. After the third time addressing her baffling behavior, I asked her why she wouldn’t put the cleaner back in the same place. She apologized again, but this time also asked: “Why do you need it?” Once my brain cooled down from almost bursting into flames, I asked her what happens if my dog vomits, or I spill something nasty on my counter, or have to clean the singed hair off the top of my head after combusting from being asked a really dumb question? I can’t report with certainty if the deer –in-the-headlights look was on her face, but the long pause before she spoke again suggested that she was beaming with that special look.

Solution

After the fourth time my spray cleaner was missing, I bought a second bottle and hid it in my second bedroom closet. It’s always there, steadfast and ready for action.

I’m no longer married and that particular housekeeper no longer works for me. I can’t say it is just because they didn’t put stuff back, but there is certainly something missing in my life for which I am most grateful.

Practitioners of Retrievability

My two children are naturals at “retrievability” (a term coined by my buddy George) – putting things back in their specific spot so you can retrieve them easily with no angst or drama. Maybe that’s the key – train ‘em when they’re young. Unfortunately, blind parents aren’t in the majority, so there are only a few thousand adults, who were once children of blind parents, who practice this time honored tradition of putting stuff back.

I do notice that I do not constantly search for my keys and my cell phone like most of my sighted friends do. One of my pals actually puts his keys in my refrigerator when he comes over to visit. He is a practitioner of retrievability.

For blind folks, retrievability is survival; for sightlings, it’s a good idea.

Another equally troublesome behavior is when someone brings something to you and says, “I’m putting it on the table.” A table’s a big place. “I’m putting the candy on the corner beside the fruit bowl,” is much better. Or when you ask where something is and you’re told, “It’s right there.” “There” means nothing to a blind dude.

I once thought that these curious behaviors were compliments to me because the sightling forgot I was blind and was treating me like a sighted person. I realized I was mistaken when my dog recently threw up on my hall carpet and I hopped over to the cabinet below the kitchen sink and once again reached down into that empty void where the spray cleaner belonged.

My kids get agitated with me because I ask them after the fact if they put things away, turned off the lights and cleaned up their mess. But they are all forgiving as they know of my ongoing struggle with the sightlings of the world who put stuff down randomly, carelessly, arbitrarily, haphazardly, passive aggressively, aimlessly, casually, indiscriminately, indifferently, thoughtlessly, unintentionally, inadvertently, erratically, insensitively, or inconsiderately.

And so my daughter said, “Everything is clean, the trash is in the trash, and all the lights are out,” as she left my house last night. Ah!...a moment in Utopia.