On Monday, June 15, I received my layoff notice, and my life nearly flipped upside down.  Nine days later, on June 24, I received a job offer from my second interview.  No one is more surprised than me!  My first day was today, and I am still coming down from the emotional and mental overload that arriving at a new workplace always brings.  Even something as basic as setting up my desk the way I want it seems like this impossible task when coupled with figuring out who’s in which office, updating my screen reader so that it can be used on their system, and dealing with the sheer amount of information that looks so effortless when it’s being processed by someone else.  That having been said, I am thrilled to be employed again, so quickly, and based on my own description of my capabilities.  They’ve welcomed Jenny and I with open arms, given me a great space to work in, and put an air purifier at my desk because another coworker has allergies to dogs.  I feel like I can use my own experience in both administrative work and customer service and improve on skills that have gone by the wayside (writing by hand, for example).  Words cannot express my joy at the way my life has turned around so quickly.

And yet…

Alongside that joy and relief and complex sense of nervousness comes a strange feeling of guilt.  Guilt because I have succeeded while many I know are still struggling.  Some I know and love have struggled for months to find consistent work, some forced to do day jobs to help make ends meet; others (primarily visually impaired friends( have struggled and fought for years for an opportunity like mine.  There are even those who have been turned down for job after job after job, been turned down so many times that they have given up.  I have no idea what to do with this feeling, beyond being the best hardest worker I can be at whatever I do.  People talk, and while I know I am not the only topic of conversation at the office, the fact is that I DO represent blind people to those who work with me.  I will never be perfect, after all (like Meagan so eloquently put it, it’s a human thing), but it is a very small professional world out there; every job I have ever had almost creepily – if peripherally – included someone who had a connection to a job I had before.  My previous employer went to university with someone who was also visually impaired, and I firmly believed that experience enabled him to advocate on my behalf.  So without putting too much pressure on myself, I hope my own experience, work ethic, and willingness to make things work will enable me to push back and advocate by proxy for you, whoever and wherever you are.

On Monday, I was escorted into the board room of my place of employment and handed a half a dozen sheets of paper, effectively saying that my services are no longer needed.   It was quick, brutal, yet oddly compassionate in a way; I somewhat expected it at some point, but not on Monday, and certainly not in the way it was done.

From noon on Monday, I’ve joined the ranks of the unemployed here in Alberta, a province (like my previous employer) heavily reliant on oil.  Oil prices have declined sharply over the past six months, and I am by no means the only Albertan in this position.  That doesn’t make it any easier to handle.  For two or three days, I was an emotional wreck, crying at everything, not really allowing myself to grieve the loss of my job.  Poor Jenny picked up on my through-the-roof stress levels, and it was pretty ugly.  It was like a pop bottle effect – you are stressed, dog picks up on it, misbehaves, you get more stressed, dog misbehaves more, and around and around we go.

I hate job hunting.  I hate it with a passion rivaled by few other activities.  I hate looking through job ads for jobs that don’t require a driver’s license or who aren’t way out in the boonies with unreliable transportation.  I hate feeling qualified for a job just to be told at an interview that an employer thinks I can’t type 80 words per minute, talk to people nicely, or keep papers or electronic files organized because I can’t see.  I hate being over-qualified for some jobs and under-qualified for others.  But persevere I must, because my own dignity is on the line; without working, I feel incredibly inadequate as a person… there, I’ve said it!

Thankfully, there are some very serious positives to this whole situation.  I did not leave on bad terms, nor was I let go for incompetence; through no fault of my own, I am without work.  I can choose to take this opportunity to make jewelry (thanks for the encouragement, guys!), take supplementary training courses to make myself more employable, and the job market is good enough that I can get my foot in the door for plenty of interviews.  Ben recently got hired to work up north, so I will take this time to spend with him when he IS home, and with friends when he’s gone.  I told one of my former coworkers yesterday when I picked up my things that one day, I will think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  But I am not quite there yet, and for now, that’s OK.  The fact that I can say this at all is all I need to know that I will come out the other side stronger and wiser for this experience.

For those – especially those who are blind or visually impaired – who are job hunting, keep going.  Send out that resume.  If you don’t have experience, take the opportunity to get some training if you can.  If you get figuratively kicked in the teeth during an interview because of perceptions of your skills and abilities, push back and make them account for their perceptions.  Above all, pick yourself up and don’t give up!  This has served me well before, and it will serve me well again.  I will be brave and strong and informed, and fight another day.

Very few people, when you get right down to it, like being mistaken for someone else.  Sure, if the comparison is favorable, it might stroke the ego, but at the end of the day it can be a little disconcerting.  I can’t imagine the complicated feelings faced by identical twins or siblings with a strong resemblance, since I am neither.  But I am blind, and as such, I – and those like me – seem to be interchangeable, even though some of us look nothing alike.

I have been in stores, malls, or on the bus, and had people come up to me asking when I got my “new” dog (apparently my “old” dog last week was a Golden Retriever), or when I dyed my hair darker (never), or how they swore I took the #52 bus last Tuesday (which goes to a part of the city I’ve never been to).  My friend Meagan, who I reference here often, used to get asked where her “sister” was, or people would just assume she was me and I was her (apparently we do resemble each other somewhat).  Most of the time I just shrug it off, but it seems I am not alone in being confused for someone else.

Brandon told me about traveling to another city and frequently being called by the name of someone who lived there.  Allison describes being called the name of every other local blind woman she knows.  Kelly used to sing at church with another blind woman; they look nothing alike, but the pastor always called them by the wrong name.  Michelle has a guide dog the same colour as someone else in her city, so sighted people constantly either get them confused or ask if they know each other; but the blind community in the same city can tell them apart just by voice.  Steve thinks this “mistaken identity” happens with every blind person who’s ever taken a taxi, though chose not to provide personal anecdotes.

So, why does this happen?  Perhaps because we are a very very small percentage of the population, or generally highly visible.  Perhaps it’s because some of us have similar mannerisms, use a cane or guide dog, or have nifty cell phones that talk to us.  Either way, it is by turns amusing and annoying, especially with how often it happens.

But what if you, like me, have a lookalike?  For years I have heard the “I saw you there!” and put it down to the inevitable, common comparisons outlined above.  But it wasn’t until about a year ago that I thought it might be true.  A bus driver I know reasonably well told me the story.  At that point, I had ridden his bus once or twice a week for several months, and we would have conversations on the road, so he recognized me on sight.  One day, he saw me at the University campus with my guide dog.  He took a detour out of his way, called my name, I turned around… and it wasn’t me!  He told me about this a couple of days later, and how embarrassed he was by the whole incident.  So anyone who knows someone who had this happen to them in Edmonton, you have my sympathies!  And by the way, it’d be neat to meet you, because I’m sure you’ve got stories about where people tell you you’ve been.  Who knows… it might have just been me!