I'm not gonna lie, I get special treatment because I only have one arm.
Yesterday morning, I went into the County Clerk's office because my voter registration card had been sent back. The reason was soon discovered: their records showed that I was born in 1900. I noted to the office assistant that I must be doing exceptionally well, considering my grandfather was born in 1920. She was minimally amused.
When I re-registered a couple weeks back, I was told that I might not receive my voter registration card for several months because of the current election season. But when I went in to the office today, the lady behind the desk assured me that she would go ahead and enter me into the system right away. I would receive my card in a week or so.
Now, I have no way of proving this, but I suspect she took me for a poor frail appendage-less waif who had somehow managed to get from my house to the voter registration office all by myself. Then again, it could have been just the pinky orange colored sweater I was wearing [a color Little Gen says looks good on everyone]. But two people came into the same office needing to register while I was standing there, and both of them were told they would have to wait until after the election to get into the system [they could still vote, mind you].
Coincidence maybe, except this happens all the time. I find people generally go out of their way to be nice to me. Perfect strangers offer huge grins when they pass me at the supermarket. I've actually seen people look absentmindedly at me, look away, then look back and and smile as if I might be offended that they didn't acknowledge me.
And then there's the mom at the our local growers' market who tried to yank her little girl away from pointing at Finneas before I noticed. Unfortunately for her, I have eyes in the back of my head for that sort of thing. "It's OK," I reassured her. Then to the little girl, "Did you see my arm? It's just little."
Grownups aren't usually so obvious, but they notice. Instead of pointing, sometimes they decide to give me a hand up. Or is it a handout? I've always had a feeling I could do really well as a transient.
I was at Starbucks last week when a self-identified transient came up to me and asked if he could play me a song for a couple bucks. I'm not gonna say it wasn't awkward to be personally serenaded on the Starbucks patio when it's just you and your dog. It wasn't even really a song, more of a jam session, but I guess I have a heart for starving artists.
Then again, maybe he is so much more. Can I really complain if people take me at arm's value?
OneArmGirl
Yesterday morning, I went into the County Clerk's office because my voter registration card had been sent back. The reason was soon discovered: their records showed that I was born in 1900. I noted to the office assistant that I must be doing exceptionally well, considering my grandfather was born in 1920. She was minimally amused.
Now, I have no way of proving this, but I suspect she took me for a poor frail appendage-less waif who had somehow managed to get from my house to the voter registration office all by myself. Then again, it could have been just the pinky orange colored sweater I was wearing [a color Little Gen says looks good on everyone]. But two people came into the same office needing to register while I was standing there, and both of them were told they would have to wait until after the election to get into the system [they could still vote, mind you].
Coincidence maybe, except this happens all the time. I find people generally go out of their way to be nice to me. Perfect strangers offer huge grins when they pass me at the supermarket. I've actually seen people look absentmindedly at me, look away, then look back and and smile as if I might be offended that they didn't acknowledge me.
And then there's the mom at the our local growers' market who tried to yank her little girl away from pointing at Finneas before I noticed. Unfortunately for her, I have eyes in the back of my head for that sort of thing. "It's OK," I reassured her. Then to the little girl, "Did you see my arm? It's just little."
Grownups aren't usually so obvious, but they notice. Instead of pointing, sometimes they decide to give me a hand up. Or is it a handout? I've always had a feeling I could do really well as a transient.
I was at Starbucks last week when a self-identified transient came up to me and asked if he could play me a song for a couple bucks. I'm not gonna say it wasn't awkward to be personally serenaded on the Starbucks patio when it's just you and your dog. It wasn't even really a song, more of a jam session, but I guess I have a heart for starving artists.
Then again, maybe he is so much more. Can I really complain if people take me at arm's value?
OneArmGirl
