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.

We All Look ALike, Part 2

UPDATE: Governor Paterson has decided to run for re-election (or, really, for election) in 2010. I haven't looked at his new campaign website yet, but I'll have more to say about it soon. If you read it and have any comments, please send them along.

This spring, a friend of mine excitedly approached me with news. He had seen footage of the governor signing a bill, and his immediate thought was, "He looks just like Jeremy!"

Now, it's true that New York Governor David A. Paterson and I are both legally blind. And I'm pretty sure I do look like this when I sign stuff:


(image from the Albany Times Union)

Still, I'm pretty sure I don't put my head that close. Governor Paterson's vision is considerably worse than mine; he's completely blind in one eye, and the other eye is much more impaired than either of mine. Also, as far as looking like me goes... well, maybe we're at that point of racial equality where Caucasians and African-Americans can be mistaken for each other. I'll be more convinced if Obama wins.

I am definitely thrilled to have a legally blind governor, and one who consistently speaks up fro the rights of the disabled. No other politicians speaks as eloquently or as often about unemployment among the blind and deaf, and no one sets a better example of how someone with an unmistakable difference from "normal" can still succeed.

Granted, he didn't take the traditional path to the governorship -- we have Eliot Spitzer to thank for that -- but I'm still proud. He's also been a leader for fiscal responsibility in the state, which has been sorely lacking... and with the current crisis underway, it's probably a good thing that he convinced the legislators to cut spending.

The best part for me is that now I can legitimately claim to see better than the governor of New York State.

Markers are Magic

I'm starting to notice a pattern.

This week, I'm being trained for a teaching job. I may or may not get the job, but it probably won't have anything to do with my eyes. Still, they aren't making it any easier for those of us who, uh, can't read stuff.

On the first morning of training, they asked us to take magic markers and answer some open questions on big pieces of paper. After we sat down and introduced ourselves -- I didn't have the chance to mention the blind thing to the group -- they asked us to come up to the paper and read what everyone else had written, to write down our impressions. Being that I couldn't really read any of it, I didn't write anything down.

Next, we found a single green sheet on each of our seats. This was a one-page, five thick paragraphs, single-spaced essay. We had about three minutes to read and respond to it, and to compare its contents to those of the big pieces of paper. I wrote that what the two things had in common were that I couldn't read them. I didn't hand that in.

After an all-morning lesson in the elements of photography, I was starting to think they had something against me. Luckily, I muddled my way through and even had some relevant things to say, so it wasn't complete hell. Of course, when the teacher asked me to elaborate on my observations about the 4x6 photograph across the room, I said, "No, I'm blind." Then we went back to writing on big pieces of paper with magic marker.

Apparently, lots of job training and professional development sessions use the magic-marker-on-big-paper thing. My friends at the camp do it too; luckily, they know to tell me what's up there. It certainly is fun to play with markers -- I'm always tempted to doodle -- but haven't we evolved past that? What about collage? Spray-paint, anyone?