What Does a Blind Person Look Like Actually?

Never a dull moment for someone that appears in a small backwater town with a service dog. So, here's my question...what does a blind person look like? What do the people of Panama City Florida think? Highlights from my informal survey: (survey done by the way when various people said to me "You don't look blind.")

~*~

A woman in her late sixties or at least looking like she was, says "You git around gud fer a blind girl." I know maybe I should be proud of that. Strangers don't often compliment each other. I want to smile but her body odor is making me want to gag.

"Uh...I'm not blind."

"Yer not? Oh I thought you were since you had that there dog."

"He's a service dog. There are dogs that do many different jobs."

"Well you look blind ta me," she cackles at herself and dissolves into tobacco induced hacking. I'm hoping she doesn't spray me with mucus.

"What does a blind person look like?" I ask her.

"Ya know...like Ray Charles."

This answer confuses me since I am not wearing dark glasses...in fact I have no glasses at all on and I'm making eye contact with her. I search the depth of my soul for some shred of compassion for this obviously ignorant woman but I find none and so the next thing out of my mouth is, "You mean an overweight Black man in his 60s?"

She blinks at me. I smell the smoke as her brain cells fire trying to understand what I'm talking about. "Huh?"

"Well Ray Charles is an overweight Black man who is getting on in years. Is that what all blind people look like?"

Blink. Now her mouth is hanging slightly open and I am worried that her moist breath might give me TB. I step back a few steps.

"Um...OK well thanks for the compliment." I say as I walk away. I see her out of the corner of my eye, her mouth is still hanging open.

~*~

On a different day in a different store I get the same question, "You don't look blind to me!" This time from a middle-aged clerk.

"I don't? What does a blind person look like?" I ask. People are always taken aback by this question.

"Well, " she says thoughtfully, "You know...stumbling around and knocking stuff over."

"Hmm...that doesn't sound like a blind person, that sounds like a drunk person. How many blind people do you know?" I ask.

"Well I know plenty and they are always getting into stuff." Now she's defensive....she should be. She's about to get hit with a shit storm.

"THEY?" I ask, "They. You mean to tell me that blind people as a group, across the entire human population all do the same thing?"

"Well the ones I know do." and now she's moved from defensive to openly hostile.

"And how many is that exactly? And are these people completely blind or are you including those with some sight?"

"B-L-I-N-D" she spells it for me, since apparently I don't understand simple language. "You know," waving her hand a fraction of an inch in front of her face, "BLIND."

"Ah. So, being the expert in this immediate area, you are contending that there is only one kind of blindness?"

"Yeah, uh no, I didn't say I was an expert in anything. I'm just telling you that the blind people I know get into stuff."

"Like puppies?" I ask.

"What?!" she's raising her voice now. "Who brought up puppies?"

"I did. You said blind people are always getting into stuff and puppies do that. So I'm wondering if that's how you can tell someone is blind...when they act like puppies?"

"Look Ma'am...I never said nothing about puppies I just said you don't look blind what's so bad about that?"

"Because it makes you a bigot." Out of the corner of my eye I see a manager coming over.

"Is there a problem here?" he asks me.

"Yes, " I said, "your clerk here is a bigot. And I'm wondering if that's store policy and if it is, should I contact the press or the ADA?" At the mention of the ADA the manager blanches.

"Bigot? No that's not store policy. Maybe we should go into my office." He wants to move this discussion to a private spot. I don't blame him. I would too.

"No, she is quite comfortable making fun of the blind out here in front of everyone so we should discuss this out in the open." The manager really doesn't want to do this but I'm not budging.

The clerk is now eyeing me with open hostility. "I wasn't making fun of blind people," she says clearly tired from the effort of this interchange.

I mimic her waving of her hand in front of face and tell the manager that she believes that all blind people stumble around and get into things. He is horrified. I can tell he's embarrassed and he'd really like to leave the floor since we have gathered a crowd.

"I wonder," I say calmly, "what the corporate office would think about this...and how they would respond to an inquiry based on discrimination?" Sweat is breaking out on his brow.

"I'm really sorry, and I want to assure you that it is not our policy to be so insensitive to the disabled and I hope you weren't upset by this." He's trying his best I suppose with what he's got, but you know ignorance of the law is no defence for breaking it.

"Well, I can't say I'm upset, it's more a feeling of being royally pissed off. But I am going to leave my purchase here, and go across the street to spend my money. Maybe Ms Sensitive and Intelligent here could help you put it away and the two of you can talk about customer service. I'll decide if I'm going to contact your corporate office later. Thank you for your time." And I left the manager standing there mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief.

~*~

So I've still got more research to do, rest assured I'll be asked the same question again.

What's the average man's tolerance for intrusive questions?

It's a good question...something more people ought to find out for themselves. But I'll go ahead and tell you the answer. Relatively none. He does however have no qualms about asking intrusive questions. Allow me to relate a recent episode from my life to illustrate.





I'm in local mega store with Yeager and I'm minding my own business. I don't seek out contact with strangers ever. Suddenly from behind me I hear "You don't look blind." How's that for an opening to a conversation? Lovely manners don't you think? On my bitchiness scale I was at Stage Two - Dour before this started but his opening gambit pushes me directly to Stage Six - Irascible...a stage that is likely to cause others to feel uncomfortable before the encounter is over.

I spin around to face the voice behind me and see a rather large man standing there with his hands on his hips staring at me.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"You don't look blind." He says, pointing a fat finger at me, closing the distance between us a little.

"Thank you." What else was I supposed to say?

"So," he says undeterred from his mission, "what's the dog for?"

"He helps me when I need it." I do not feel the need to give more information than this. Sometimes I am willing to educate people about service dogs but I don't like this guy's tone of voice so I'm not feeling benevolent.

"What's wrong with ya anyway?" he says eyeing me up and down trying to figure out why I have a dog with me. He is clearly disturbed by not being able to come up with the answer on his own and he wants me to fill him in.

I make a point to stare at his crotch then slowly look into his eyes. He is unnerved by this. He didn't expect it. He is like a mouse under my paw. He just doesn't know it yet.

"How often do you satisfy your wife in bed?" I ask flatly.

He turns a bright shade of red and stammers "Wha? Wha? What?"

"Well, you don't look well-hung so I'm wondering how well you do in bed. Is your wife satisfied you think?" I ask.

He is shifting uncomfortably now, looking at the floor and breathing hard. He was not ready to be asked this question. He didn't expect it.

"Look here Little Girl, I don't know why you'd ask me something like that. Didn't your Mama teach you no manners?" A vein in his neck is throbbing fast.

"Oh," I say, sounding innocent "I thought we were taking turns asking intrusive and rude questions. Was that not the plan?"

He is dumbstruck. He looks at me with a mix of horror and embarrassment. I smile sweetly and ask him if there is anything else he'd like to ask me. He stammers something unintelligible and turns on his heel. He retreats out of sight quickly and I go back to my shopping.

Bitchy? Probably. But there is a breakdown in our society of politeness and manners and while I could have explained that he was over the line and being rude it's unlikely he would have listened. As it was, he will remember that interaction for a long time and maybe the next time he opens his mouth to ask an intrusive question his cheeks will burn a little and he will close his mouth.