You’re not disabled if you’re foreign
I’ve been living in a foreign country for over two months now, and I don’t feel disabled. Or rather, I don’t feel disabled as often.
It’s an unusual feeling. I’m not someone who’s sad they are disabled or thinks that ‘disabled’ is a dirty word. There’s stuff I can’t do, can’t do well, or can’t do without help that other people take for granted, and I have chronic health issues as well. That’s just a fact of my existence, and I’m not ashamed of it.
But there are times when it feels bad to be disabled, at least for me, and those are the times when I am judged for being disabled, usually by people who either don’t realise that disability is behind my behaviour or lack of ability, or who just don’t care.
For example, I used to volunteer in a charity shop and part of my job was to work the till — an old-fashioned one that didn’t add up by itself. Not usually a massive problem, since a good part of the shop’s inventory was the same price so it was a case of counting in twos. However, there was the odd day I had to do an awkward, large order. And people were often quite impatient whilst I wrote it all down and added it up on the calculator twice. I often felt like asking if they would like me to not check it and charge them more as people don’t hide their impatience as well as they think they do, and some were quite pointed about their dismay..
But not as pointed as one lady, who bought close to 20 items all at different, awkward prices. I don’t know which volunteer decided to start pricing stuff at £1.80, £2.70, £3.60 etc but I am not particularly fond of them. So I’m going slowly, trying to add up as I go along because she’s huffing and puffing which is really not going well. I’m making mistakes because I’m rushing, adding up and re-adding up, and I’ve got the last three items in the basket and she says to her friend words which years later still live in my head.
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