I’ve just had surgery. A nice volunteer takes my wheelchair and wheels me to the car where my mom is waiting. My mom and I have a brief conversation. Then, we turn back to the volunteer and I try to get his attention. The volunteer stops me before I can say anything.

Volunteer: “No, I’m sorry. I appreciate it, but we’re not allowed to take tips.”

Me: “Um… I was actually going to say that I left some paperwork back in the recovery room, and I needed your help to retrieve it.”

Volunteer: “Oh.”

My synagogue was having our annual fair for the community. We had lots of vendors attending to sell goods and advertise services. My wife and fourteen-year-old son were hosting a table for one of the vendors, an autism-friendly play-place (with the word “spectrum” in its name) at which my son is a member.

At about noon, I took a break from my volunteer position and took my wife’s place at the table so that she could get lunch. A woman came up to the table and glanced over the literature.

Woman: “Are you Spectrum?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Are you Spectrum?”

I thought that was a funny way to put it but was willing to play along.

Me: “No, but he is.” *Pointing to my son*

The woman looked confused but then recovered.

Woman: “Well, what are you going to do about your rates now that Disney and [Multiple Sports Provider] have changed their packages?”

Our local cable company also has the word “spectrum” in its name.

Me: “Ma’am, autism-spectrum not cable-spectrum.”

Woman: *Very flustered* “Oh, I’m so sorry.” *Scurries away*

Son: “Why did she say that?”

Me: “Because some grown-ups don’t pay attention. They see just one word but don’t look at all the other words around it.”

Son: “Oh, I get it.”

It turned out to be a good learning opportunity — hopefully, for two people.

I worked for free for months helping a non-profit.

Client: “Can you take on this additional project?”

Me: “I could, but to do anything more, I would need to be paid.”

Not only did they say no, but they told other non-profits in the area that I was “blackmailing” them.

All the helpful tips in the world won’t help the person who refuses to use ’em.

My mom used to volunteer for a local non-profit. (She was even on the board for a time.) She got to a point where she wasn’t going to be as involved in day-to-day things, so she typed up a basic guide for how to do Computer Things on the ancient PC they used — file organization, how to find what you’re looking for, how to format file names, how to do various forms, etc.

The person who replaced her refused to even read Mom’s guide — threw it away, even. And then, they complained about how hard the job was and how terrible the newfangled computer was, and basically, they were really bad at the job. They were Intentionally Helpless. (This new person was hired via a grant to employ senior citizens. I think the only qualification for the job was “be over fifty-five.”)

They worked there for several years, shockingly — several years in which the boss did both jobs and the replacement person complained about how difficult it was to use a computer. And by “use”, I mean, “Turn it on and click to open a Word document.”

One day when I was in elementary school, I was sitting in the school library on the computer writing a report for class, and a middle-aged white lady I had never met came and sat next to me. Imagine the “I’m sitting on a tiny chair to speak to a child” pose.

I’m autistic. I continued working, seeing no reason to address the woman and hoping she would go away.

Woman: “Hey, sweetpea, you have to take off your hat. It’s against school rules.”

Me: “I’m not wearing a hat.”

I continued trying to focus on my report. I was wearing a headscarf. I’m white also; it was not a religious headscarf. It was, however, important to me because my hair was very greasy, matted, and full of dandruff. I was already bullied enough as it was. My hair was so thick and curly, and my divorced parents neglected me.

But it was the 1990s, and dollar stores sold cute headscarves. Mine was an orange and green snakeskin print.

The woman grabbed my scarf, but I held it to my head and looked over at her in shock.

Me: “This is a scarf. It’s basically a headband.”

Woman: “All head coverings are hats—”

Me: *Interrupting* “No, that’s not true.”

Woman: “Look, hun, if you wouldn’t wear it in church, don’t wear it to school. You wouldn’t wear a hat in church!”

I was still holding my “hat,” speechless for a moment. I didn’t know a lot of words, like Protestant, which this woman obviously was. Most people in the area were. But I did know some things.

I’d been to my stepmom’s church. She is Black. It seemed like every lady was wearing a huge hat. I’d been to my friend’s church — or maybe a synagogue — where they had spare scarves for women who forgot to wear theirs. On top of that, I had worn cheap little fashion scarves to the Baptist church my mom went to.

In all my eloquence, I responded…

Me: “What? That’s… not…”

Woman: “It’s a gang thing. It’s for your safety.”

It’s been my opinion later in life that this is a remnant of anti-Jewish and anti-Catholic sentiments. All I knew at the time was that this lady was out of line, in my ten-year-old opinion.

I saved my work to my floppy drive and slunk or shuffled away from the woman’s imposing position to stand up.

Woman: “You still need to remove your hat, sweetheart.”

Me: “Who are you?”

Woman: “Oh, I volunteer here. I’m a parent.”

I remembered to smile and look friendly.

Me: “Volunteering to do what?”

She happily responded, and I don’t remember what she said. I lost interest quickly, deciding she had nothing to do with me. I decided to walk away and return to class, so I cut in to say one last comment.

Me: “Church hats.”

Woman: “…what?”

I just mimed having a huge hat and made sound effects with a few flower motions while walking backward.

Woman: “But your hat…”

I mimed a big long feather coming out of the imagined hat.

She just sat there in her tiny chair as I made my exit.