A Blind Person’s Guide to the General Public

I’m utterly exhausted by people constantly asking how I became blind. Considering I’ve been blind since birth, you’d think I’d be used to this question by now. On the contrary, I find myself growing more impatient with the same old inquiries: “Have you been blind all your life?” Answer: “Not yet.” “Your hearing must be so much better than mine?” My reply: “Pardon?” “That’s a lovely Labrador you have there.” I can’t help but chuckle, answering, “Labrador? My dog is a Shepherd.”

These aren’t original responses, but they always make me and Major, my black Retriever-Shepherd, laugh. These exchanges usually happen when I’m stuck somewhere—a bus, train, or taxi. People are naturally curious, and I get that. But sometimes, they just can’t resist going a bit too far, especially if I’m polite enough to respond.

For instance, “Couldn’t you get an operation to get your sight back?” Answer: “No, I rather enjoy walking into doors.” Or, “My auntie was blind. She had to stay in bed. You’re so brave going out and about.” Staying in bed—now there’s an idea. I never realised it was a career option.

Another classic: “How do you find your mouth when you eat?” My response: “The same way you find your bum when you wipe it.”

These encounters are why I’ve developed a fantastic new plan. For years, various organisations have offered Blind Awareness Workshops. In fact, I’ve delivered a few myself. These workshops teach people how to act around a blind person. Tips include not shouting—being blind doesn’t make us deaf. If you think we need help crossing the road, ASK—don’t drag us across by the ears. And please, don’t point vaguely and say, “It’s just over there next to the post office. You can’t miss it.” Wanna bet?

Years ago, I was waiting for a bus on Union Street in Glasgow when two little old ladies decided, unprompted, to lift me onto the bus. It was like a military manoeuvre: one on each side, they heaved me forward. Now, I may not be known for my speed, but I was heading toward the bus door just fine on my own. Their efforts, however, caused mayhem as they pushed past mothers with toddlers to get to me. The driver had to leave his cab to untangle shopping bags, buggies, and walking sticks. I wonder if those ladies survived the day. I know I was scared.

I’ve decided to call my new training course "The Blind Person’s Guide to the General Public." Topics will include handling well-meaning individuals who give directions to my dog while ignoring me. This actually happened at Glasgow Central Station when a railway officer, instead of answering me directly, gave my guide dog a thorough set of directions to the taxi rank. I couldn’t believe it—he honestly seemed to think Major understood him better than I did.

My course will also teach blind people how to handle awkward public encounters. For instance, when people say, “You’re a lovely boy,” while talking to the dog, you could respond, “Thank you, but I’m already spoken for.” Another useful trick is to keep a small pair of headphones handy. If you’re trapped on a train with someone keen to offload all their worries about blindness, just say you’re going to listen to an audiobook. Pop the headphones in and put the jack in your pocket. You don’t even have to listen to anything—just pretend. That trick has saved me from many a lengthy harangue.

Another tip: when someone asks a nosy question, turn the conversation around as quickly as possible. This tactic works on anyone, not just blind people. For example, a while back, I was on the Glasgow Underground when a young woman decided to interrogate me about my German Shepherd guide dog. Her questions started innocently enough, but soon she was asking, “So, how did you lose your sight?” Now, in a medical setting, that’s a reasonable question, but not on the underground with an audience of eavesdropping passengers.

I had options: I could tell her to mind her own business, or I could try a different tack. I chose the latter. Ignoring her question, I asked where she was headed. By the time she got off three stops later, I knew she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, was looking for a new flat, and was considering a move down south. I got a fair bit more, but you get the idea. She stepped off the train feeling lighter, and the only thing she learned about me was my dog’s name and age.

I’d call that a good result—well, I am a reporter after all.