When my son is about sixteen, he gets hit by a car when crossing a road — for once when he had the green light — on his bike. He gets T-boned by a car coming from the same direction and turning right. He doesn’t remember the hit itself, just standing behind the car, dazedly holding the boot of the car. Thanks to some martial art training and sheer luck, he went up and over the car and the car went over the bike.

The police office is not far from the accident, and both the driver and my son are brought there. As he is a minor, we are called and all parties are brought together in a room to figure out what happened.

Driver: “He ran a red light and I could not avoid him.”

Police Officer: “At that crossroad, cars, bicycles, and pedestrians have green at the same time, so if he ran the red light, so did you.”

Driver: “No, no, he was on the sidewalk.”

Police Officer: “Okay, so he was on the sidewalk when you hit him. What were you doing on the sidewalk?”

Driver: “No, I mean he was at the crossing.”

Police Officer: “So, you didn’t see him?”

Driver: “Yes, yes, I did see him.”

Police Officer: “It was on purpose, then?”

The driver did try a few other variations but could not think of a scenario where she wasn’t at fault. We took my son for a checkup and all he had to show for the accident was a small but complicated fracture that healed well, so no long-term consequences. But it doesn’t stop there.

Remember how he went over the car, probably executing a martial art roll, and the car went over the bike, damaging both top and bottom? The driver worked for a garage annex repair shop and did not mention the accident NOR the damage. As this was a work-issued car, the insurance contacted her employer, as she was at fault, and any damages to the car were not covered. She lost her job over it — not due to the accident but by not owning up to it.

I am a teacher working with kids and teenagers ages ten to nineteen. Because of sensory processing issues, I sometimes struggle with auditory and/or visual input if the environment I am in is too noisy or crowded. However, this usually does not affect my job much, except for having to ask students, “Could you please repeat what you said? My brain didn’t get that,” every now and then. I am also very open about this and explain my situation to new students at the beginning of the school year.

One day, I am walking through a crowded hallway at school, when I suddenly hear some yelling behind me. I turn around to see two of my students who are in twelfth grade approaching me.

Student #1: “Ms. [My Name]! Ms. [My Name]!”

Me: “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

Student #1: *Pretending to be offended* “We just wanted to say hi! You walked past us several times. We’ve been waving and saying good morning every time, but you keep ignoring us! That’s not nice!”

Student #2: “Idiot! Stop bugging her! You know she can’t see anything when it is too loud!”

My friend and I are both about nineteen or twenty years old in the early 1980s. [Friend] is blind — she had ocular melanoma — so she has an advocate who goes everywhere with her on the university campus. They make sure she makes it safely to and from each of her classes and assist her with test-taking, etc. We meet when [Friend] walks by my table in the Student Union Hall, bumps my coffee, and spills it all over both of us. We’ve been friends ever since.

Because my friend lives off-campus with her parents and I live in an off-campus apartment a few blocks away, I drive every day to school. We coordinate our class schedules so that I can drop her off with her advocate in the morning and in the afternoon, the advocate brings her to me and I take her home.

One semester, [Friend]’s last class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday ends an hour before mine. Normally, her advocate hangs out with her in the Student Union Hall to wait for me. Some Fridays, [Friend] insists that the advocate bring her to the building where I have class to wait for me there — closer to where I parked the car — and the advocate can go home a little early. I always take the same route out of the building and know to be on the lookout for her.

Today, [Friend] is in her usual spot in the lobby. She is sitting on the floor — there are no seats — with her back against the wall, her cane folded beside her, tinted glasses on, and appearing to stare straight ahead. To her left are the lobby doors, about thirty feet away.

She’s been sitting there for maybe fifty or fifty-five minutes when she hears what sounds like squeaky wheels rolling over the floor. She doesn’t bother to call out and just thinks it’s maybe the janitorial staff with those mop buckets on wheels getting an early start on mopping. Then, she hears someone push the panic bar on one of the lobby’s double doors and the wheels banging over the metal threshold. A moment later, a woman’s voice fills the empty lobby.

Woman: “What the h*** is wrong with you young people? Never in my life have I seen so many inconsiderate brats.”

Friend: “I’m sorry?”

Woman: “And you should be, young lady. You could see that I needed help with this hand truck, but you just sat there and did absolutely nothing. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”

Friend: “I didn’t see you.”

Woman: “How could you not see me? I’m the only other person here.”

Friend: “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you. I’m blind.”

Woman: “You really expect me to believe that? Blind people can’t go to college. You’re just too lazy to get off the floor.”

My friend pulls her cane around, unfolds it, and gets to her feet.

Friend: “Yes, ma’am, I am blind, and I can go to college.”

Classes start letting out and students start beginning to leave or change classes. I come around the corner.

Me: “What’s going on?”

Woman: “This girl expects me to believe she’s blind.”

Me: “She is.”

Woman: “That’s a load of crap. Prove it.”

The woman walks up to [Friend] and takes the tinted glasses from her face.

Woman: “See?”

She directs this to the students who are hanging around to watch the drama as if she expects them to agree with her or take her side.

Woman: “She can see. There is nothing wrong with her eyes. She’s not really blind.”

As I stated earlier, my friend had ocular melanoma. As a result, her eyes were surgically removed, and she was fitted with prostheses that look real at a quick glance but don’t “move” like normal eyes and are a bit flat in their color. It’s kind of like looking into the eyes of a very old doll.

However, the best part of [Friend]’s eyes: they are removable! She reaches up, pops one eyeball out, and holds it out to the woman

Friend: “Here, look through this and tell me if you can see anything.”

The woman starts backing away, screeching loudly.

Woman: “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

The woman backs away from us so fast that she trips over her own feet, lands on her butt, and continues to scoot away. When she gets to the door, she pulls herself up, grabs her hand truck, and leaves. [Friend] maneuvers the eye back into the socket. The small crowd of students starts clapping and laughing and a few give [Friend] a pat on the back.

Friend: *Sighing dramatically* “So much for that lady seeing things through my eyes, huh?”

Geez, I love her humor!

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My flatmate and I have struggled with our weight. We think having someone there to keep us on track will help, so we make a pact to get fit together. We both switch to healthy meals, ditch the drink in the week, and promise to exercise together.

It works well at first. She lasts two weeks before trying to get me to drink with her. I tell her no, I’m sticking to our plan. It takes a couple of weeks before she starts to hint about wanting takeaway, which she only wanted at the end of each month. I just ignore her.

A few days after that:

Me: “So, you’re ready to exercise?”

Flatmate: “…”

Me: “Are you? I was going to get changed.”

Flatmate: “I don’t know, maybe.”

I’m literally waiting for her; any longer and we won’t have time.

Me: “Well?”

Flatmate: “Ugh, God. Why are you always telling me what to do?” 

Me: “We promised each other to do this. Part of it was to exercise on Wednesdays together.”

Flatmate: “No, okay?! No, I’m not!”

Me: “Fine, whatever. I’ll do it without you.”

I do. She avoids me for weeks. I make the meals we said we were going to eat. I let her drink alone every night and I exercise without her. After a few months, I’ve lost some weight and am feeling great. In fact, I have to buy some new clothes. I try to make amends and give her some of my nicer clothes.

Me: “These don’t fit me. You can have them if you want them.”

Flatmate: “Oh, because I’m fat, is it?”

Me: “Do you want them or not?”

She didn’t answer and just swore some nonsense about everyone being against her and something about not supporting her. Some people cannot be helped.

I have a coworker who brags about never answering her phone if she doesn’t recognize the number. I’m not sure what the big deal is; if it’s a telemarketer just hang up. Also, she says she never listens to voicemails because if it’s important they’ll call back.

Recently, she went to her doctor on a Friday because she had been feeling terrible for a while. The doctor took bloodwork and she went home.

The doctor’s office then spent the rest of the weekend trying to call her and tell her to go to the emergency room based on her test results. However, she didn’t recognize the number so she didn’t answer it.

Finally, they were able to call her next of kin, and he called her to go to the ER.