What I Did on My Summer Vacation

By Kathy Martinez (kathy@wid.org)
 

Despite the popular opinion of sighted folks, not all blind people know each other. Nor do we know all about the culture and social mores of interacting with each other. Although I was born blind and have a blind sister, I have spent the majority of my life in "mainstreamed" situations.  I went to a public school, the majority of my friends are not blind and although I work in the disability field, I am the only blind employee at my job.

Since my job requires a great deal of travel to present at a variety of meetings and conventions, I was intrigued when many of my blind friends began encouraging me to attend a recent annual convention of the blind and call it a vacation. After a lot of discussion about taking time for myself to experience how it would feel for once not to be in the minority, I was convinced that this would be a good opportunity for me to be "bathed in blindness."

So, off I went on my vacation, assuming I was heading for a safe environment where I could bond and become one with my blind brethren (and sisteren).

Alone in Cargo Class

Upon my arrival to the gate to catch the plane, I discovered that there was a contingent of blind convention-goers clustered at the head of the line to get on the plane. At first, I couldn't figure out what happened when I discovered that I was the only one sitting in economy-it turned out that my esteemed colleagues were all bumped to first class because they had guide dogs. Okay, I could live with that. I believe in animal rights.

When we arrived, we were all instructed to "stay on the plane" until everyone else disembarked. Given that I had carry-on luggage, I knew that I did not need to stay with the group because I had no need to go to baggage claim.  That didn't matter.   We formed a "train" and were herded to the baggage claim area by an airport security agent who seemed to be terrified of dogs and acted as if we had a contagious disease.  Orders were shouted out right and left for all to hear. Because I normally travel on my own, I had obviously become much too accustomed to uninhibited strolls through airports.  On the way to the hotel, we introduced ourselves and chatted.  No one seemed to think that our airport experience was unusual.

My Man Skip

The instant I stepped out of the van at the hotel, I was greeted rather loudly by a man named Skip. Skip first grabbed my bag, then asked me if I would like to hold his hand so he could take me to the check-in line and finally told me that he was my "volunteer". After he deposited me in line, I asked for my bag back. He said he had instructions to give the bags to the bellman and mine would be in my room when I got there.  I thanked him and took my bag, leaving him standing there insulted and offended.

Dog Day Afternoon

I got my room key and was given excellent directions to find the elevator.  I appreciated the shouts of "going up" and "going down" as elevator doors opened and people either poured out or crowded in. I managed to squeeze into a very full elevator going up, the doors closed and I took a deep breath. Although the experiences getting there had slightly bruised my pride, I had made it!  As we began to ascend, a low formidable growl emerged from the far corner of the elevator.  Dog-owners tightened their hold on leashes and warned their pooches not to "engage," while condemning the owner of the dog who dared to express himself in such a small space.  All to no avail-all the dogs in the elevator (I think there were four total) responded to dog number one in a chorus, growling and yelping and attempting to lunge at each other.  This was accompanied by curses and threats by dog-users who were simultaneously bumping into each other in their attempts to calm their puppies. Fortunately, I wasn't on a very high floor, so I escaped.  I stood listening as the cacophony ascended. I do know that an incident like that is rare, but that is how my week started.

No More Stares

Often when I travel for business, I will eat alone in restaurants.  I have always felt it unfair that everyone else can stare at me, but I can't stare back.  My first night at the convention, I chose to eat alone and was somewhat comforted by the fact that most of the people in that restaurant couldn't stare at me---in fact, they didn't even know I was there.  Normally, if there is a conversation going on around me, I have no problem eavesdropping.  I found myself feeling guilty for doing so in this situation because the people I was listening to had no clue I was there.  Should I tell them "I'm only about three feet from you and I can hear everything you're saying"?  Or should I just shut up in the hope I can pick up something valuable?

Not Being Different

It did feel good being there. I never had to worry about getting things in accessible format. The bathroom signs were labeled, a daily newspaper came out every day in Braille so I was aware of schedule changes and new developments, and I really appreciated that people identified themselves when they walked up (or in) to me. I was able to attend many interesting sessions addressing the state-of-the-art in technology, innovative recreation activities and, most compelling to me, projects addressing the needs of blind children.  Speaking of kids, I wish I had seen more there. I learned about machines that can track a person's location using a global positioning system.  This allows blind people (or anyone for that matter) to determine where they are and plot out how to get where they want to be.  I also enjoyed hearing the issues being debated within the blindness community, such as, "Is a blind person who works in a segregated environment considered successfully employed?"

Most rewarding was just spending time with other blind folks.  I did have to bend my rigid standards regarding social etiquette at parties and receptions, however. When I would find myself at a reception of all blind people, someone would hear a familiar voice and charge across the room irrespective of people, dogs, or buffets.  The most disappointing thing about this to me was that inevitably the wine would get knocked over in the excitement of the reunion.

All in all, it was a great experience. I ended up learning so much that I thought I already knew about blindness and blind people. It was really freeing to experience Not Being Different, and I can understand why people go to these conferences every year to feel the freedom and camaraderie.