“What Do You Do?” and Other Irksome Questions
See me as a person rather than a quantifiable commodity.
Like any person, I’m a mish-mash of contrariness and complexities. I try to keep it simple but the usual human overthinking gets me sometimes, keeping me in check from thinking I’ve got the superpowers to rise above the day-to-day problems of just plain living. I’ve got other calamities.
It’s waiting for a seat on the bus when I give the appearance of looking “normal.” It’s being full of sensory overload when I pass for neurotypical. It’s having my musculoskeletal and neurological systems run riot with inexplicable issues when I just seem overly tired. I can’t make people understand what my body and brain are going through the same as I can’t expect them to intuit my needs. But when I do speak up, I’m often dismissed.
The other day, when waiting for a seat to open up on the bus, I realized I couldn’t stand much longer. There were young students crowded into the handicapped seats and I felt my anger brewing. Yet, how did I not know if they needed those very seats, too? It was a conundrum — and one that occurs often. There are many like this in a day.
It’s the typical American question to ask, “What do you do?” by way of greeting, the very first question we utterly upon meeting someone new or after…
