*You are staring at me blankly right now. And then you get why I'm stupid. Let's move on now.*
I'm in the Vocational Rehabilitation program. I had been on a waiting list for nearly 9 months, and the stimulus money finally kicked in, so now I get to learn how to function as a blind person. Which is .... I don't know yet. Get back to me on that one. Mostly good, I guess. Scary? It's many things.
So anyway, I'm in this 6-day orientation to the services available in Arizona for blind individuals, and I'm with my blind peers, and it's, ugh, I hate myself for saying this, so incredibly eye-opening. See, I'm in a class with a woman who lost her sight due to an abusive husband. I'm in a class with a man with a tumor behind his eye. I'm in a class with a single mother of five children who hopes that Voc Rehab can help her get her job back from Circle K convenience stores. It makes me feel completely at home, and like a total fraud, all at the same time. I need help, just like everyone else here, but I've never felt sooooooooo dumb for complaining that The Dark Knight was really hard to see until I saw it on BluRay. Shoot me, someone. If you all do it at the same time, one of you is bound not to miss.
I could see much better than most of the people in the class, because my vision problems affect the peripheral, not central vision. I tried not to come across cocky when I checked off that 12 or 14 point font would be fine for printed materials we received in class. And then it was much easier to maintain my uncockiness when I nearly fell down the stairs. Twice.
A couple of highlights, because as we all know, when I get uncomfortable, I get mildly to blatantly inappropriate:
The joke I made with the perverted senior about braille nudie magazines.
The time I said, in my best Dark Helmet voice, "I see your cane is as big as mine."
When I kept calling the talking clock "Hal" and nobody laughed and I kept doing it.
When they reminded us we'd be taking a field trip tomorrow and I asked if Richard, the guy sitting next to me, would be driving. (Richard thought it was funny, by the way)
I called my five-year-old daughter "My Seeing-Eye Kid" and I was asked if I was being serious, and I said yes, unless admitting that means I have to take another class through a different State department.
I probably said some other inappropriate stuff, but I kind of stopped paying attention after the first hour.
I have five more days of this. I'm going to count it successful if I can go the rest of the week and not ask when we get to learn how to make clay busts of Lionel Richie's face.