20 Channels and Nothing On

My mom was wondering why we had bought a big, flat-panel TV if we were only going to get basic broadcast channels.

"We don't watch that much TV," I automatically responded.

"Then why the huge TV? Why spend all that money for something you don't watch?"

Well, for one thing, it wasn't that much money. It was the store generic brand, which lacks a lot of the bells and whistles -- OK, all of them -- but it does work.

The larger point, of course, is the larger screen. I'd rather not spend every TV-watching second with my nose twelve inches from a display. I do like watching movies, and the TV I do watch, I'd like to be able to actually see. From a couch. A second-hand futon, in fact. I don't think that's ridiculous, absurd, or extravagant, even if we only have about fifteen legitimate, English-speaking channels.

That said, broadcast channels have a lot of dead time. And by dead time, I mean they fill a lot of their programming with stuff that will melt your brain. If I have to watch one more celebrity gossip show, I will have to serve up my noggin as a chopped liver substitute. Not the best of situations.

So, I made a deal with the cable company to get a few months of cheap "family" service, which includes Comedy Central and the Food Network. That's all we really need. I would pay for just those two channels if I could.

I still can't catch every visual gag on the Daily Show. No matter: I get to see most of it and hear it loud and clear until March, and that should keep me warm through a long, cold winter.

Can I Save the Life of a Child?

Yesterday, I set out to prove that even the visually impaired can learn CPR.

OK, really, I just thought I should do it for myself... no big points to make. But I was curious how it would go.

In preparation for becoming a dad, I decided to sign up for an infant/child CPR class. I had a couple of phone conversations with Red Cross people to let them know that they were getting a partly blind student, and unlike the folks at the tutoring agency, they did not act as though I was from another planet. One of them even told me that had had legally blind students before. Score.

Sure enough, when we went around and introduced ourselves (all five of us), no one blinked when I said I was partially blind. They did applaud when I said I would be a father in April. Oddly enough, the same people got into a discussion later where they (rightly) said that you need to take a test for everything in life, except becoming a parent. I don't know what accomplishment they were applauding... fertility? But it was nice to get some smiles.

The training itself was easy and surprisingly fun. As promised, the instructor read every relevant part of the booklet aloud -- that just seemed standard -- and trusted me to ask questions when I needed to. As it turns out, there's no aspect of CPR that I can't see: as long as you can tell if a chest is rising with breath, everything else involves the other senses. The whole process is pretty tactile, which is great for me. Plus, with such a small class, she was able to come over and correct me when I had something completely wrong... which she did just as much for the other students. It's good to feel normal now and then.

At the end, she was about to leave us to take our written, multiple-choice tests when I asked if I could take mine orally. I think she had just forgotten, and after a little jockeying around outside, someone arrived to very clearly and patiently read each question and the possible answers, and he even filled out the answer sheet for me.

It took the instructor about ten seconds to grade the exam. Now, I was always a straight-A student, so this was a matter of pride for me. She handed me my card, which mean I had gotten at least 80%... but that's a B-. I had to know.

"So how did I do?" I implored.

"You got one hundred percent."

Wow. I mean, sure, the answers were pretty obvious, and most of the time the answer was D (all/none of the above), but still... a 100% score is a rare thing.

I proudly signed and took my American Red Cross card, stating that I was certified to perform infant and child CPR and to use an AED machine. It was 2:43, and I hadn't eaten a thing since 9:00 in the morning... so I took my card to the closest place where I could both eat AND possibly put my life-saving training to the test:

McDonald's.

Remember Tests?

I went in for a tutoring job today. If you've ever randomly looked through job listings in New York, you've heard of this company: they're constantly hiring. They interview in groups, eight at a time, and they seem to run through candidates the way Homer Simpson downs donuts.

When I signed up for my group interview slot online, they sent me an email with the invitation to ask questions. This, I now realize, would have been an ideal time to forewarn them about my vision. I didn't.

I also failed to mention the blind thing when we went around the room, introducing ourselves and explaining why we were there. I have to interject, on this moment, that everyone (including myself) lied a little. This always happens in interviews, but rarely do you get a chance to hear eight people do it in a row. Everyone claimed an altruistic motive for wanting to work there, and while the job doesn't pay well, it does pay -- and in this economy, that's the main reason for anyone wanting to apply. OK, done; moving on.

After everyone told their tales, the staff member asked us to fill out a short survey. Oe page, pretty simple. Small type. She left the room just as I was taking out my monocular to try and fill it out quickly, but when she came back, I was the only one who wasn't done. I'm used to that from college and such, but it's been a while.

Next, she informed us that we could now turn over the stapled packet in front of us... which was a test. Reading. Math. Science. Tiny, tiny print.

"Start with the section you feel strongest at, so that you don't waste time needlessly," she instructed us. "You have until the clock reaches the three."

As I briefly contemplated the fact that I haven't taken a strictly-timed test since I was... well, really, I can't remember when that was, since my teachers gave me extra time since the fifth grade. So as I realized that, the staffer asked for my survey.

"Sure," I responded as I passed my quarter-finished survey, "but I think we're going to have a problem." I explained that I was partially blind, and I asked if I could possibly have some extra time.

She reacted as though I had just asked for the answers on the test -- not as though I was being malicious, but rather, that I had just asked her something completely unorthodox and unheard of. After a little stumbling and stuttering, she said that she would be outside if I needed her.

I spent about three minutes trying to read a single math problem before I picked up the test and walked outside. I spoke with the staffer for a little while, and then she turned to her boss, sitting right nearby, who offered to have a large-print version printed up the next time I came in. They were nice about it, and I apologized for not giving them the heads-up... because, hey, I didn't.

All told, they handled it pretty well, considering they clearly had never run into this issue before. That, in and of itself, does surprise me. Are there really no other partially blind people in New York who want to tutor? Have these folks never, over the course of college or high school or other jobs, encountered someone who couldn't read small print? Are there really that few of us? Or, do we (as a group) willfully avoid situations where someone might have to accomodate us? In retrospect, I've done that last one a lot.

I'll probably go back in for a more prepared interview (in that they'd be prepared for me), and we'll see whether they and I like each other enough to keep going with the process. In the meantime, I'm going to continue to recover from wisdom tooth surgery, which doesn't really care how blind I am. Ah, pain.