The Cookie Incident

Written By: Laurie Rubin

Two years ago, I met with a job placement counselor at an organization for the blind in New York City to see what resources are out there for someone like me looking for a disabilities advocacy position in addition to my singing. He advised me to join a group called the Go-to-Work Club which is made up of people like myself looking for all kinds of positions who meet with employers to talk about interview techniques and what they look for in candidates for various jobs. This also was somewhat of a networking opportunity.

This job counselor who happens to be sighted got us some very informative and interesting meetings with the HR departments at universities, big companies in the financial district, and Independent Living Centers for people with disabilities. I learned a lot from the Go-to-Work Club meetings, was thoroughly impressed and inspired by the quality of visually impaired people in the group, and really received a lot of helpful information during our meetings with various employers.

One experience however stands out like the proverbial sore thumb.This particular meeting was with the director of the Human Resources Department at the very blind organization that was providing such resources as job counseling and the go-to-work club itself, so naturally, this would be the most helpful one of all right? Surely an HR person here would be well versed in all things blindness, correct?.

Well, the awakening I was about to have was as rude and cold as the blustery December day we'd all be walking out in after the meeting.Like all the other people who had hosted our meetings, the HR person had very kindly arranged for us to have some refreshments during her presentation, an assortment of cookies, soda, and water. Our placement counselor casually mentioned that such goodies were provided for us, but that we should wait to start eating until our presenter was there. He didn't tell us where the cookies and soda were, so naturally the people with sight in the room had the advantage.

Then, our presenter came in and before she so much as introduced herself, she grabbed a cookie. She began the meeting, had us all introduce ourselves, and began with a list of do's and don'ts for how we were to conduct ourselves in an interview. She said,"Now this is all from my own experience, and I can tell you what we look for and what puts an interviewer off."

She continued to munch and munch as she droned on through her list of topics. My stomach growled audibly as I thought of how our sighted presenter had the delicious mouth watering cookie in her hand. I began to daydream about cookie flavors, wondering what sort of assortment lay in front of us without us totally blind people knowing. Were their oatmeal raisin? Perhaps white chocolate macadamia? Were they chewy in consistency or very crispy? Were they the size of a Chip's Ahoy, or were they like a Mrs. Fields Cookie? Ah Mrs. Fields, that's something I haven't had since childhood.

Suddenly, my daydreams were interrupted.

"And don't forget folks," she said with her mouth full of cookie,"That you should never, absolutely never eat or drink anything while being interviewed."

Her pearls of wisdom got me thinking. Did she realize what mixed signals she was sending us? Did she somehow surmise that our blindness would prevent us from hearing her munching away? Did she not stop to think that the absence of a cookie in front of me or some of the other totally blind people in the room meant that we had no idea where they were, what kinds of cookies there were to choose from, or if it was appropriate to take one? My curiosity got the better of me, and I had to point out this cookie discrepancy to her.

But how?

Finally, a window of opportunity for me to do so presented itself. The presenter acknowledged my guide dog and that he was eating crumbs. Even though I knew perfectly well where those crumbs were coming from, I asked in the sweetest most innocent voice I could muster, "What crumbs." The lady seeming unperturbed, said, "Oh the crumbs from the cookies we're eating." Again, knowing perfectly well what cookies she was referring to, but to make clear that of course a blind person would not automatically know what she was talking about.

I asked, "What cookies."

She said, "Oh, there are cookies in here." Incredulously she added, "What is it, do you want one? Are you hungry?"

Suddenly, my heart started beating so hard and fast I was sure everyone in the room could hear it. I was hot with rage, a rage that had suddenly and unexpectedly filled me for such a minor infraction and a benign sense of cluelessness. The idea of this was like a hot poker in my side though, that people working at a blind organization would be this insensitive, that unaware of the consumers it is serving.

I thought back to our other meetings with presenters who are not accustomed to working with blind people, such as those at the financial companies, and it was they who graciously welcomed us, showing us where the refreshments were before we sat down."

Can't I just want a cookie? Do I need to be some underfed, inept, strange Neanderthal for asking about cookies in a room that others can see? Can't a girl know where cookies are without being given the third degree?" my insides shouted.

So I stewed and stewed over this in the meeting, feeling that the anger inside me might soon overflow into caustic words that would burn every bridge that might have been built for me in this group for networking. To add insult to insult, the woman continued to chew and chew on what seemed to be the bottomless plate of cookies as she was talking, not even giving us the respect to treat us like dignified job seekers.

After the meeting, the counselor told us that before we go, we should have cookies as there happened to be some left. Then, unafraid of what they would think, I asked what kinds of cookies there were, and I asked for two nice big delicious cookies, one sugar, and one chocolate chip. I also heard others in the room who were totally blind asking about the cookies, what kinds, if they could have one.

I realize that posture when you're trying to network for a job is everything. Even though nobody would think anything of it if a sighted person discretely took a cookie or two or three, we who can't see are suddenly rude or ravenous if we ask for the same right of our sighted counterparts. Perhaps it was my low blood sugar, perhaps it was the weather's getting increasingly colder, perhaps it was this minor infraction adding fuel to the fire of anger I felt about how already difficult it was for blind people to find jobs that sent me into a silent frenzy, but whatever the case might have been, there is a happy ending to the story. I not only got two delicious cookies after the meeting, but I was the last one to leave the room as I had something to ask the counselor. One last lonely cookie was waiting to be eaten, which then found a home in my stomach.