I personally love hearing that other people experience some of my day-to-day travel/O&M woes and that I am not alone!
I love a good travel story so in honor of Meet the Blind Month. Which it indeed is this glorious month of October, in case I fogot to mention that. Dang it! I knew I was forgetting something! I share with you one of my most witty and wonderful friends...
Hello, blog readers. My name is April. Some of you may already know me and I guess the rest of you do now! I love writing, working out, reading Braille and, perhaps above all, making people laugh.
I was also asked to write about what I don't like, so I guess I'll tell you I have an aversion to raw tomatoes, maybe because I have a fear of having them thrown at me if my comedy isn't good enough! Just kidding.
Hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I enjoyed surviving the tale and living to tell about it!
I was on my second or third drop route in Ruston when I was preparing to cross a busy street. I made the mistake of extending my cane a little too far in front of me before I was ready to cross. Suddenly I heard a crunch as a large truck rolled by. I also discovered that a good chunk of my cane had been amputated.
I knew the common sense thing to do would be to call the Center to send reinforcements to bring me another cane, but I wondered if there was some way I could try to put it back together. As I stood pondering posible solutions, a man approached and said, "Ma'am, I saw what happened to your cane. I know where the rest of it is."
He stepped out into the road and brought me the other half. I asked him if he had any tape so that we could try to piece it together. Seeming just a little dubious at the prospect of taping it together, he proceeded to his vehicle and brought back the tape. I held the cane together as well as I could while he wrapped the tape, which he told me was bright orange, around the broken joint.
I proceeded back to the Center, my cane becoming increasingly flexible as I neared my destination. As I crossed the rickety planks of the Bonner bridge (it was made of wood back then), my cane began swinging like a fishing pole and I had to use very creative pencil grip to finish my drop route. By the time I reached my travel instructor's office, my cane had become completely disjointed.
"You made it back with that?" my instructor queried quizzically as I held up my battle-scarred staff. Unfortunately, as I had already replaced my cane a couple of times just recently, I didn't have the money for another one. I had to use a dilapidated cane a friend of mine had lying around, which had been made two inches shorter when a stroller ran over it, and from which he had scraped off all the white paint. I stuck a tip on the end of it and managed to secure some white spray paint from the shop and sprayed my cane until it was covered with a very uneven coat of white. It looked as if it had been wrapped in paper mache. Luckily, it just managed to pass muster with my instructor so I could use it on travel.
For my graduation some kindhearted folks took pity on me and bought me a new cane and some tips.
First off, aren't you totally impressed with April's "I won't give up attitude?" I certainly am. I would have probably sat on the corner and cried.