Leader Dogs, Day 1

This was my travel day, but a lot still happened at Leader, so it gets its own post.

First of all, y’all’s friend Caitlin’s alarm-setting math went like this:

Me (to self): Okay, my flight leaves at 8:35 AM. That means I should be at the airport by, like, 6:45. So I’ll set my alarm for 5:45 AM, be showered and dressed by 6:15, check my packing list one more time, and I’ll be good!

In case you, like me, aren’t a math person, I’ll make this very clear: I apparently assumed that I was going to magically fly to the airport in about ten minutes.

Luckily, we actually did get to the airport around 6:30, because I was faster than expected, and Martha is always ready for action at a moment’s notice, so she was set way before I was.

Just for funzies, the person at the airport wanted to give us a hard time about gate passes, KTN numbers, etc., and kept doing the, “Will she need a meet-and-assist? Will she need a wheelchair?” Shockingly, even though I’m often infantalized in scores of other ways, this isn’t one that happens to me often. Martha, and most of my people, always ignore, I answer, and the asshattery stops there. But this time, even though Martha had stepped back to literally put herself out-of-frame, and even though I was answering very pointedly, the “Does she” questions kept coming. It was too early to duel about it, but between that, my BrailleSense getting kidnapped for literally ten minutes at security until I blind-card whined, “That’s my braille notetaker and I need to get on my flight,” and the flight attendants and my seatmates not responding helpfully to my bids for access, I was pretty ready to be in a blindie space and take a break from sighted nonsense. Oh, and there was also the employee who tried to force my hand onto her shoulder for sighted guide, the flight attendant who tried to haul me down the airplane aisle by the wrist, and the so-called meet-and-assist who insisted on carrying my backpack even though I told him I’d do it, then panted exaggeratedly like he was going to die, and whined about how no one had tipped him all day and his job was so hard. Bro, let me carry my brick of a backpack like I asked and your job will be less hard, I promise.

Luckily, my volunteer driver from Leader Dogs, Doug, was lovely. He gave me the lowdown on all the things Leader Dogs and, because he told me he and his wife are avid cruisers, I regaled him with the horror story that was Martha trying to keep me from starving to death on Royal Caribbean’s Star Trek cruise last year (I should really do a blog post about that, but TLDR, their food was appalling … like, seriously, summer camp food and college dining hall food were way better).

I was the last of the O&M crew to arrive, and because I jumped from San Fran to Michigan and there was a three-hour time difference, it was already dinnertime. I’m not a great traveler at the best of times, and my nerv-citedness just exacerbates that. Luckily, the first RA I met, Diane, took my mini-flip-out about “What? How is it dinner?” right in stride by telling me I could have a half-portion and spiriting me into the dining hall.

In my experience, being in blindness-centered spaces is kind of a double-edged sword, triple if parents are factored in.

Edge 1: It’s so nice to be among people who know the struggle.

Edge 2: It also kind of magnifies blindness, because along with the presumed competence comes more flailing and productive struggle, which can feel awkward to someone like me, who tends to allow others to help as a means of avoiding looking like a doofus.

Edge 3: If parents, or blindness professionals, or high partials are around, I sometimes feel this low-key pressure to impress, to be competent, to not fumble, to not need help … because it can feel like the other blindies around me don’t need as much as I do.

Sure enough, right away, I managed to displace the cups in the cup dispenser in the RA’S office when I washed my hands, follow Diane into the dining room awkwardly with my “Oh no I’m in a blind space and don’t want to trip anyone” panic, and then not being able to stow my cane in the nifty little broom-holder apparatuses they use on the backs of the chairs here. Rose, one of the kitchen staff who’s also a Leader Dog client, stepped in so kindly to help me and was like, “It’s because all your bling makes your cane so much thicker. Have you been watching Molly Burke?”

This both amused me and horrified me because … no shade, but I’m not a fan. And I never thought my bling would make me seem like one? I mean, not to brag, but I’ve been rocking a cane since 2013. I started a revolution (no pun intended … Revolution is a cane company)! But, no, it was funny, and she did manage to show me a hack to get my cane to comply.

It developed that the O&M crew have our own table, and that we have two retired teachers, one person who lives in Santa Cruz, and one who’s going to college to become an elementary-aged teacher. So, you know, the group was basically constructed just for me, clearly. Everyone was super kind and friendly, and filled me in on the info they’d gleaned by arriving way before me.

After dinner, Diane acclimated me to the dorm. The raddest thing is that there’s a railing system along the hallway with bump dots … so, as you’re trailing, you feel a bump dot, which cues you to read the braille and raised large print above it, which tells you what’s ACROSS the hallway, which, of course, also serves as a landmark for your side of the hall, too. I’ve never seen any system like this before and I was so into it!

The whole experience was also giving me the warmest, fuzziest Guide Dogs For The Blind feels, since I went there in 2006 … which I was horrified to realize, for the first time, was twenty freaking years ago. TWENTY! I am thirty-six! What even is life? I had Lannie twenty years ago. Twenty! Okay, I’ll stop.

But anyway,

Like many guide dog schools, this one feels like a legit resort: Alexa in your room will read your daily schedule and meals to you ahead of time, as will the old-school phone turned new-school; outlets, drawers, hooks, and counter space everywhere; a freaking ginormous desk and chair; a recliner; you name it. And don’t even get me started on the freaking Snack Wall. Anyone who knows me knows that I subsist largely on goldfish crackers, chips, and store-bought treats. If you’ve ever seen Martha’s and my snack wall, just know that the Leader Dogs one puts ours to shame, mostly because mine is, of course, restricted to Caitlin-foods only. This one has, like, ever candy, chip, or bar you could ever want … except, strangely, not Fritos, but this can totes be forgiven.

They also left a surprise Leader Dogs backpack and water bottle on a hook for each of us … and offered to put a Braille-on “CAITLIN” label on mine. So cuuute! These little touches never fail to melt my soul, like when the Braille Challenge people gave us labeled shampoo, conditioner, and shaving gel bottles that one year.

My phone was janked up, so I wound up going back to the RA office after unpacking, and they not only fixed my phone but gave me the WiFi and a yellow Gatorade, because the braille label just said “Gatorade Assorted” and I cannot. Only yellow forever, please and thank you … and it’s great because normies tend not to like yellow, so I bet I’ll be helping everyone out.

And then I talked to my mom, texted my dad (who just moved to Kentucky and was subsequently in my time zone), and had a good-night chat with Martha and my precious giant baby Rock Wilder, Maíte the Magnificent, whom I miss desperately. Seriously, if I don’t get to hug a dog sometime this week, we may have a problem. I have gotten so attached to my dogter that it’s probz not ideal. And Martha keeps sending me adorable clips of her snorfling and toe-tapping and snoring. So much better than weak pictures, right!?

Also, just saying, I’m still loving the Finch app, and I’m getting to check off all my exercise goals while I’m here! So if you have Finch and wanna be friends, come join myself and “The Mouth,” named after the famous YouTuber (ahahahaha YouTuBird!) who is basically a ventriloquist genius. Search him up if you have not.

Stay tuned for Day 2; if I can keep up my writing flow, I’ll catch up tonight.

Also, in case anyone cares, Alexa is playing me the Dream Street album, and it is two-thousands-bubblegum-tastic and I have no shame.

Okay, more laterz. Huggles if wanted.