Category Archives: blindness

Hanging up the Harness: On Guide Dog Retirement

14 Saturday Jan 2023

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UPDATE: April 2, 2023: I finally found the video of the naughtiest and most hilarious thing Jenny has ever done. Enjoy!

Last night, after a long work day, Jenny and I made our way to one of my favourite restaurants in the city and met a few friends – new and old – to celebrate Jenny’s life as a guide dog and her well-deserved retirement. OK, let’s face it, it was for the humans… but Jenn did get to break a few rules, like accepting pets under the table and giving kisses to one of her favourite humans while he put a snazzy new bandana on her.

Over fried chicken, Dorito mac and cheese, and dog-themed beers, my friends and I laughed and joked and talked about this incredible dog and the career she has had. And as I am mentally processing her retirement and training with my next dog, it seems only fitting to pay tribute to her on a blog that has seen her grow up from a rookie guide dog into the wise old soul that she is.

Jenny’s Career, By the Numbers

Number of years as a guide dog: 9.365 (exact calculation since graduation on October 3, 2013)

Number of hours she’s slept under a desk: 16,000 and probably more (40 hours a week for 50 weeks over 8 years and a bit – more, if you don’t count the time she spent hanging out with me while I spent a year job hunting)

Number of jobs she’s accompanied me to: 6

Number of job interviews she’s barked in: 1 (see below for more on that)

Number of kilometers we’ve run together: I stopped counting ages ago – 1500? 2000? More?

Number of finish lines she’s been at: 8 – 3 as a runner, 5 as a “spectator” (read: napping until she notices I’m there and then wiggling her bootie off)

Number of flights she’s been on: 50? Probably more

Number of provinces she’s visited: 6, possibly 7 (BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, and maybe – as a rookie but I always forget what year I went – Nova Scotia)

Number of states she’s visited: 8 (Washington, Oregon, California, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, New York)

Number of cats she’s lived with: 7 – not all at the same time, don’t worry!

Number of doggie friends she’s made: too many to count

Number of human friends she’s made: Everyone, ever – unless you are one specific individual who will remain nameless because they hold the strange distinction of being the only person on this planet that Jenny has not liked

But it’s not Just about the Numbers

Of course it isn’t. You don’t live with another being, day in, day out, for years, and not feel like you know them better than you know yourself. Jenn’s made it easy; she communicates extremely effectively – I once wrote that no one needs a Jenny dictionary. I’ve written a lot about Jenny on this blog – she inspired my first tattoo, made me a runner, and has otherwise taken the world by storm. She has done absolutely nothing half-way – when she’s on, she is on, and when she’s not, she is so very very off. I am convinced she took pandemic shut-downs personally, because after periods of isolation she brought her A game to guiding, as if to say “If you were giving me a break, I’ll show you I didn’t need one; I’ll be the best guide dog ever so you’ll take me more places!” She has known that she’s known that she’s known that she’s right, and has still had the confidence to allow me to make colossal mistakes and then just sit down, head cocked to the side, nudging me with her nose as if to say “When you’re done not listening to me, we have places to go.” Her quick thinking has saved me from getting hit by inattentive or illegal drivers at least two dozen times during her working life, and probably more that I don’t know about. She’s traveled to New York City, one of the busiest, bustlingest cities in the world; crammed herself in the back of a Nissan Altima for a whirlwind awesome road trip; traveled alone with me for nearly a month, visiting new cities every few days… and a bunch more adventures in between. She’s raced with me to finish lines, trained me to finish lines, and met me at finish lines when she decided that she was so over this running thing. Jenny’s not-so-tiny body has squeezed under seats on airplanes, in trains and cars and buses, at concerts and hockey games and plays and operas. She’s guided through crowds so big and loud I couldn’t hear myself think, and shown initiative when I felt so lost and confused that she just knew that if she found something – anything – familiar, we’d put our heads together and we would be OK. Her emergency surgery and miraculous recovery confirmed for me that I am a much better traveler with a harness in my left hand than a cane in my right.

I heard for years that, when your dog is ready to retire, they will tell you. I believed that saying, in a way, but not really. But much like making a soul-deep connection you never knew you needed, you’ll never really know until it happens, and then you know. I knew there would be a time when Jenny’s age would make it likely that she’d slow down, but I never thought we’d be in a time where it was obvious – she was done. And, in her subtle yet in-your-face style, Jenny has shown that she is ready to hang up the harness, whether I am ready or not.

I could go on here for pages and pages about my thoughts and feelings during this time of transition from one dog to another. Maybe one day I will. But for now, this space is for Jenny, to honour her and her amazing brain and personality – and by extension her amazing career as a guide dog – and how she’s done everything she’s ever done with her whole heart. Those of you who’ve met Jenny during her long and amazing career, please chime in here; I’d love to remember with you.

And because I am extremely emotional right now, and need a good laugh, please find:

The Top 5 Naughtiest – And Most Hilarious – things Jenny has Ever done In harness

5. Barking – once – at a dog mannequin in Old Navy – it was just standing there staring at her!

4. Carrying a loaded hot dog bun through an Edmonton pedway. She carried it most of the way through the pedway, let me have a 5-minute conversation with building security, and then showed me she had it while wagging her tail as if to show how good and restrained she’d been. The bun – perfectly intact – went into the garbage.

3. Barking – once – at the company CFO during a job interview. While I was busy trying to gather my composure, convinced that this would be the end of my chances with this company, the man who would later become my boss – without missing a beat – said, “Oh, that’s OK, we all act that way around him.” I worked for that company for a year and a half.

2. Walking down the hall to another office and eating the office dog’s food – while he just sat there and watched her do it. I’d been telling her for months that she had the right to scold him for being naughty, and she had done nothing; I guess this was her way of showing him who’s boss!

1. Running on to a goalball court… in the middle of a game. In her defence, who uses a squeaky toy during a game when they know there will be guide dogs present? There is video evidence of this, but I cannot seem to find it anywhere; please take my word that this is by far the most hilarious and naughtiest thing that Jenny as ever done in her life! (Update April 2, 2023, in case you missed it, I found the video!)

So, What’s Next?

I am blessed to have had more than 9 years with Jenny’s harness in my left hand. She’s more than earned this retirement. Her remaining years will be here at home, with the humans she loves, the cats she thinks she can boss around but mostly ignores, with her days full of love and attention from anyone who wants to give it, and maybe a second career as a therapy dog. I’m a better traveler – and a better human – having had her by my side during so many transitions and experiences in life. Jenny girl, you deserve the best life has to offer you; thank you for giving me the best years of your life, and mine.

My Sorta Kinda Maybe (in)Accessible Life: A Lot to Unpack…

10 Friday Jun 2022

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It’s been a while… I know. There’s been a lot to unpack, both literally and figuratively (more on that in another blog post). But I had some pretty interesting experiences in the month of April, culminating in racing my most recent half marathon. And, in an emotionally complicated twist… I received something for free because of an inaccessible system.

Work: Nothing New to Report

I spent the second half of April back in the office. It felt both exciting and surreal, and with the benefit of hindsight it still does. I did, however, have to outsource use of GWS #2 ($50); to be honest it’s getting really old. Apart from that, I’m getting annoyed with the changes they made to GWS #3 – finding anything on there is like a technological maze! (you need THIS information? click on this button and then that link and then maybe you can have it). But, as much as I can shout about intuitiveness being part of accessibility, I can honestly say I could do everything I needed to.

1 outsource: $50

Let’s go Shopping!

I was super excited to attend a local rock and gem show at the end of April. It wasn’t far from my house, and wouldn’t be hard to get to…

Except…

The address for the venue could easily lead one to thinking it was on the street. But there was a big sandwich-board sign directing traffic through a parking lot, behind another building, and facing the street half a block east. There was nothing on the event web site or web page indicating this, and there would be absolutely no way to get your friend who uses a wheelchair into the building…

At the show, I found some amazing stones. I bought a stone I planned to use for a project I’ve been unable to complete for the past several months, was able to touch carved stone statues (I almost brought home a carved jaguar that was AMAZING but would’ve been really heavy to carry home!), and bought a strand of beads that I still maintain will work perfectly with some of the new awesome presents that came in a care package my Mom sent me when we were stuck inside. People engaged me in respectful conversation, pointed out all kinds of neat tactile things, and seemed happy to be out at the show.

At one vendor table (the one with a carved German Shepherd-type dog), I had a lovely conversation with the couple staffing the table. There were stones that I liked, and some that did nothing for me. I had several stones in a bag, and went to pay… And the tap on the credit card reader wasn’t working (apparently it was a thing for most of the weekend). The man behind the counter handed me the machine…

And it was a fully touch screen machine.

Fully touch screens are not accessible for a blind person. Unless the credit or debit card reader interacts with a cell phone, there is no audio feedback telling you what’s on the screen, and no way to enter your pin number without providing it to someone else. I put my would-be purchases back down on the table, apologized, and was about to turn and walk away.

The couple wouldn’t hear of it.

“It’s our machine that’s the problem,” the man said. “The tap feature has been annoying all weekend, and it’s not like you should be telling anyone your pin.” he handed me the stones, and even when I offered to see if my debit card would work with the machine, he refused to take payment for them.

I’ve been on this planet for more than thirty years. I’d like to think that I can tell a “pity present” apart from a small gesture of generosity born of a unique combination of circumstance. I read this situation as the latter. I thanked the couple profusely, put the stones in my bag, and continued enjoying the show.

10 minutes of aimless wandering: $2.50 MINUS gifting of stones = a debit of $22.50

Traveling: I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane…

I was telling my partner recently that I have traveled more in the past six months than I had in the past two years. I visited my family over Christmas, and then, in late April, I flew to Vancouver for my first in-person race since 2019 (Hypo kinda counts… but it’s not a racing race… there is a difference!).

I got a ride to the airport, and was able to find security with no problem. Unfortunately, there was another passenger with a small dog that took a lunge at Jenny while we were waiting in line. I was so startled, and couldn’t breathe. Security was kind, and let me know what had gone on (in short, the small dog came at my dog out of nowhere, and my dog was trying to evade it). They offered me a chair and a glass of water, and once I calmed down I was able to go through security.

I don’t know if anyone else experiences this… but I’ve been asked a lot recently if security can “take my phone” so they can scan my boarding pass. I’m not comfortable with this – I don’t know who they are, and I like knowing exactly where my phone is. unfortunately, one agent tried to argue this point with me – “I’ll take your phone” and “How about you give me directions to where to swipe” to “But it would be easier if…”

Because I travel with a service dog, my hands get swabbed every time I go through the airport. This time, something on my hands triggered the censors, so my bag to put through secondary security screening. The agent was describing everything she was taking out of my bag, and putting it back right where it was. I still don’t know what triggered the censors, but let me tell you I was very glad to get on that plane (though less so when I realized the little dog from the security line was five rows in front of me).

10 minute Security screening delay ($2.50) + 5 minutes arguing why handing over my cell phone to a random person in the security line is a bad idea ($2.08 – that’s it?) = $4.58

Health and Fitness: Back to the Start Line

I’ve written before about running my first half marathon, so I won’t rehash that here (seriously, go read that post!) But it honestly felt like Vancouver was another first half-marathon for me. I had no idea what to expect, since I was putting my body through a whole new stress since recovering from COVID/not COVID. But I was ecstatic!

But before you can get to the start line, you need to get your race package. Depending on the size of the race you register for, you could be picking up your package at a local shop, a community centre, or (in the case of Vancouver) a convention hall. The hall was big, crowded, and was designed to make you go ALL the way around every single exhibit to get the pieces of your kit: Race bib (100% required) at one table, gloves (which I didn’t realize until I got home hadn’t come in the bag with my bib and other odds and ends) at another, race T-shirt (optional, depending on how many races you’ve run) at a tent at the far end, and (because I just like to be difficult) my Run Happy singlet at another table. I’m glad I didn’t go alone, because that was… not easy!

I can only imagine how much effort and organization it takes to put together a race of this size – I felt overwhelmed figuring out how my parents would connect with each other and with me and my guide on race day morning. Since I don’t drive and don’t know Vancouver well, I wanted out of piggy-in-the-middle – I just held my phone while everyone coordinated their wheels. And I am eternally grateful that everything there went off without a hitch.

Once we got to the start line… that was another story. The race was started an hour late due to a suspicious package found on the race course. Because of the delay, my guide and I thought we could make one more trip to the porta potties before we took off running. No sooner had we reached the line than we heard that the race would start in three minutes. The Canadian national anthem was sung, and the elite runners took off, as we wrangled our way into the crowd. We weren’t in our starting corral anymore (where you start the race based on your optimistic finish time), but we just decided to enjoy the journey… what else could we do?

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t even particularly consistent. But we met runners on the route – the woman from the Netherlands who asked if she could take our picture and share it with the blind running group there (yes!) and the runner we traded places with five or six times on the route, to the dozen people who called me inspirational as they ran past me (for the record, that feels weird).

And I gutted it out. I think COVID/not COVID affected things. I think the late start affected things. I think – and know – I can do more. But I am proud of that race in a way I don’t know that I would be proud of my fastest Half.

But once you complete the race… you have to get your stuff. At the start line, you find a table based on your bib number, and your stuff gets put on a bus to the finish line. So while you’re exhausted and hot and wanting to drink a gallon of water and eat a massive bag of chips (just me?), you get to navigate a throng of runners and supporters and find the table with your stuff on it – again, not a thing you can do without sight. Thankfully, the bags are all see-through, so it’s very easy to describe the bag’s contents in the event that your bib number falls off the handles.

I’m coming back to the “you’re so inspirational” comments I received on the race course, because, while they have always sat funny with me, they’ve never sat that heavy and awkward as they did on May 1. It’s not like you can have a long philosophical conversation about how inspiration porn is icky and gross, but my lack of sight doesn’t make me inspirational. It really REALLY doesn’t. It does contribute in some unique ways to how successfully I can run – sometimes finding guides for training runs and races is a challenge, the location of training runs can make transportation an issue – but I had to fight a lot more than blindness to get to that start line. COVID-not COVID was terrible, and took every ounce of energy I had. I’d been dealing with burnout for a very long time (if I am being honest, I think I’d tried to outrun it when I was running flat out in 2019). But we all have our stories of why we run, and what gets us out there; and maybe I’m just frustrated that all people see is woman who can’t see goes running. For the record, that’s boring. And because I couldn’t say that a dozen times on the race… I’m saying it here.

How do you put a dollar value on this? Honestly… you can’t.

The Bottom Line

The end of April (and beginning of May) saw me stronger than I thought I was. but I did experience some hiccups along the way. I’m respectfully submitting an invoice in the amount of…. $32.08.

A comment was left on a previous post that maybe I am undercharging for work I have to “outsource” because I should be able to do it myself but cannot. I think I agree. If anything, this exercise has taught me that we can (and should) put a value on our emotional labour, and the time and loss of dignity we experience based on societal perceptions and inaccessible design. But we can’t really put a dollar value on it… can we?

Oh, and in a happy coincidence? The day this post was published, I got an email from my mortgage provider – the one whose inaccessible web site started this experiment. They have overhauled their web site, fixed the issues with screen reader access, and plan on rolling out a full update next week. As of this publishing, I was able to access all the features of my mortgage.

Sometimes, if you speak up, someone somewhere is listening.

My sorta Kinda Maybe (in)accessible Life: The More Things Change, the More they Stay the Same

22 Friday Apr 2022

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It’s been two weeks since I last checked in here. So much has stayed the same, but things are starting to pick up, especially now that I have the energy to actually do anything more than the absolute bare necessities (thank you very much, covid/not covid!)

Getting out There

Once I was legally permitted to leave my house – in addition to actually having the mental and physical capacity to do so – I couldn’t wait to get out and do things. Exciting things… like going to the pharmacy to fill a prescription, or the bakery the last possible day they were open before closing for Passover. But heading out to pick up a couple things from our local Buy Nothing group proved to be less intuitive and more frustrating than anticipated.

My first “gift” from the Buy Nothing page was a microwave chip maker. It came in its box – practically brand new! – with two trays and a slicer. My Buy Nothing group is in a fairly small area – I can technically walk anywhere to pick things up. However, this area is very easy to get lost in. An avenue suddenly curved slightly and became a street. There was no simple way to tell where along the block the house was located, as the “block” was broken up by multiple avenues (1 Ave, 1A Ave, 1B Avenue). Thankfully, I was able to text the giver, who came out and met me on her sidewalk. I’ll do anything for chips – even get myself lost in a neighborhood that’s supposed to be on a grid pattern!

The second gift was a smart plug – ironically located only a handful of blocks from the chip maker. Knowing the avenue curves and turns into a street, I thought I was prepared for being able to locate the house easily. Not so much… GPS said I was at the house a full two blocks – at the far end of an avenue and a street and around a corner – before I made it there. I loaded Aira to provide visual information since GPS proved useless. After ten minutes of angling, trying to read house numbers ($2.50), a smart plug was in my hand. Unfortunately for me, I still haven’t been able to get my phone to recognize it, and it sits unused, waiting for a time when I have the patience and energy to find some obscure solution I haven’t tried half a dozen times yet.

10 minutes of house locating: $2.50

Work

My second week of working from home felt more like putting one foot in front of the other, and just doing the best I could with what I had. However, what I did learn was that Government Web Site (GWS) #1 – which is mostly accessible, still has that hiccup when certain conditions are met. I was over the moon when I got an email about those conditions that normally means someone else has to click stuff for me, and found I was able to use a touch screen to access information that is not accessible with a keyboard. However, this is definitely not a truly accessible solution – it feels like I have to stand on my head and click my heels three times; without a touch screen, every now and again someone else has to drop everything to help me out.

GWS #2 is still not accessible. Unfortunately, I have twice needed to use it (read: ask someone else to access it for me). I have even spent ten minutes trying to use GWS #2 with the touch screen on my computer (the one that made GWS #1 usable), and even my phone… No dice.

GWS #3 has always been a fully accessible system. It is not overly intuitive – which I honestly believe is part of accessibility – but I have the ability to input and access all the information I need. I used this web site twice over the past two weeks, and ran into zero issues at all.

When my colleague and I set up our accounts on GWS #4 earlier this week, I was told that it had a blue button, and did not look dissimilar to GWS #2 – even the login and setup process was similar. The dread I felt was so powerfully intense… as was the relief I felt when I was able to access all edit fields and buttons completely independently. I guess you can’t really put a price on anxiety, can you?

2 X “outsourcing” = $100; 10 minutes trouble shooting $2.50

Health and Fitness

I am running a half marathon in ten days. Covid/not Covid put a damper on my training, so I have no clue what the race will be like. But my main social outlet is running and runners. Depending on the day, the distance, and the ability and willingness of humans to guide, I can either run independently with Jenny (who is still willing to run!) or I run with a friend guiding me by using a tether. My main running tracker is an app whose android app finally – six years after I started using it – labeled the buttons on its tracking screen. I had previously labeled the buttons myself, but new app updates or resets always reset the labels, too! Being able to just tap a button has taken a load off I hadn’t realize I had been carrying.

Another app I am excited to try is the Revision Fitness app. It’s been developed by a visually impaired Paralympian, and at first glance all of the workouts are fully described – something that’s generally missing from most workout apps on the market. I had planned to use my free trial during the first week of April… and we all know how that went.

Home and Personal Care

Last week, one of my favorite bath and body shops (L’Occitane) had a huge sale on their entire store. I scooped up some old favourite products, and decided to try a few new ones. When my box arrived, I was happy to receive my pampering items, but a part of me was disappointed, too. L’Occitane’s foundation has proclaimed that they are committed to labeling as many of their products as possible in braille. For years, I have purchased products, knowing that I could read the label on the bottles of shower gel or cardboard sleeves around a perfume without even having to use my sense of smell at all. Even their travel bottles had their full product name (“Cherry shower gel”, “Lavender Foaming bath”) on the bottles. My new products just said “shower gel” without any other identifier. I think it might be a blip – I’ll probably treat myself around my birthday this summer – but having something that’s so accessible be changed in such a way felt like something had been taken from me. Imagine going through your pantry, and your boxes of crackers – instead of saying “Ritz” or “Wheat Thins” or “Triscuit” – every box in your pantry just says “crackers”. Could you open your box and smell the crackers? Sure! Could you shake the box to determine your choice by weight? Of course. But the simplest way to tell your items apart is to read the label on the packaging. As it stands, I placed an elastic band around one “shower gel” to tell it apart from the other “Shower gel.” Now I just have to remember which one has the elastic!

I finally got the hang of the Covid test thing. I got to the point where over a 4-day period, I only needed fifteen minutes of Aira (read: working eyeballs!) to read my Covid test results. Still all negative, thankfully!

I’ve also chosen to not do business with a local business because their web sites are not accessible. One web site had a contact form that wouldn’t let me select anything in a drop-down menu – keyboard, touch screen, it didn’t matter. I spent fifteen minutes trying both, in case I missed a mandatory field. But nope… if there was a drop-down menu, I had no access to it. I seriously debated contacting the business/web site provider, but it was in the middle of Covid/not Covid, and I just didn’t have the mental energy to explain that I was really just trying to get in touch with them, and by the way I was having challenges accessing their web site, so would they mind fixing it so I could give them my business? I decided against this approach for two reasons: (1) I have other options out there for that particular service; and (2) the company mentioned a heavy reliance on technology, so I wasn’t confident that accessibility wouldn’t be an issue during our entire business relationship.

15 minutes of test result reading ($3.75) + 15 minutes of inaccessible web site navigation ($3.75) = $7.50

The Bottom Line

If it looks like I am throwing a pity party, I’m not convinced I’m not. I thought this exercise – quantifying the “little things” in my day that make this blind life harder – would be interesting and informative. Instead, while I am grateful for the things that put me on an equal playing field, I’m seeing how very very far we have to go.

I am respectfully submitting an “invoice” in the amount of $112.50 + a box of elastics.

My Sorta Kinda Maybe (in)Accessible Life: The COVID/not COVID Edition

08 Friday Apr 2022

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When I first conceptualized this experiment, the one thing I didn’t expect was life grinding to a screeching hault! I received word over the weekend that I had come into contact with someone who tested positive for COVID-19. And, what do you know! I had symptoms! So… I got to go approximately nowhere, and see approximately no one.

But after a week of fatigue and brain mud… I still had a few hiccups along the way.

A Quick Adjustment to Calculations

In my initial post, I provided a monetary value for certain inaccessible systems/experiences of ableism/etc. The one thing I failed to consider was: What would I do in a situation where I had no choice but to ask someone to do something for me that I cannot do for myself… at all? Especially if it’s a thing I should – in any other instance – be able to do for myself. So, I have implemented a flat rate for those instances of $50. This is because I not only have a history of trying to work through something I should be able to do, but I need to take someone else away from their life because of it. $50 – no matter the complexity or duration of an activity – could “compensate” for my loss of dignity, as well as taking into account someone else’s time.

Social Life

Seriously, what social life? I’ve been stuck at home for nearly a week! I did attend a restaurant last Friday to celebrate my partner’s and my third anniversary. The menus were accessible online, and the staff was great (read: not patronizing or weird). No unpaid emotional stuff here!

Around the House

For someone who has lived for two years during a global pandemic, I’m surprised I haven’t had to take a COVID test before now. A friend dropped off two tests for me on Sunday. I found the instructions for the test confusing and clunky, though I could read the information online or on my phone. However, I was not able to read the test results myself.

Over the past six days, I have taken six COVID tests. For the record, they have all come back negative. Over the past six days, I have spent 80 minutes using a service called Aira (an online service that connects blind people with employees whose eyes work better than ours and who provide visual information that we cannot see). The fact that Aira has a free promotion for COVID-related tasks and information is hardly the point. I can’t access my test results independently and privately (the same is true for pregnancy tests, for the record).

80 minutes at $15/hour: $20

Work

I love being able to work from home, especially feeling like this! This makes me blessed and privileged, and I don’t take that lightly.

Did you know that PDF documents – particularly ones that are scanned – are often not accessible to screen reader users like myself? This is because they are usually scanned as images by default. In order to read any PDF that gets sent to me, that involves a – paid – upgraded license of Adobe. Wait… Someone needs to pay so that I can read standard document formats? Yup! If I wanted that same functionality at home, I would have to pay $20 per month. I’m adding this to my ledger because it’s absurd.

I regularly use government web sites (GWS) in order to do my job. GWS #1 is mostly accessible, except when certain criteria are met. I ran into such a situation with GWS #1, where I could not physically click a link myself and had to get someone else to do it for me ($50). Once that was done, I was ready to run, but still I couldn’t do this thing myself and had to “subcontract” someone else.

GWS #2 presented a whole other problem. A few months ago I had an extremely long conversation (a total of 2 hours – $30) with the developers of GWS #2. It came to light that because I use a screen reader, GWS #2 doesn’t play nice (with any screen reader); the presence alone of a screen reader means that I have no ability to use GWS #2 at all. Even after a minimum of two new releases, GWS #2 is still inaccessible. I was placed in a position this week where someone else had to use GWS #2 for me ($50). I am blessed to work with understanding people… but what if I didn’t? Thankfully, most of the rest of my work-based activities are intuitive and accesible.

2 outsourced tasks from GWS ($100) + 2 hours of troubleshooting with no results ($23) = $130

The Bottom Line

I made it through this week, and I am none the worse for wear. On the (in)accessibility/emotional labour front, I respectfully submit an invoice in the amount of $150.

My Sorta Kinda Maybe (in)Accessible Life: Unpaid Emotional Labour

01 Friday Apr 2022

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For those who do not know me, welcome! I am visually impaired (or blind, if you prefer) and I navigate my corner of the world (northern Canada) with my guide dog, Jenny. My blindness is not a tragedy, but it can be a source of frustration sometimes. But I Live a full life, with a partner I love and a job I think I’m good at, and a house I’m still making my own even when I’m not chronicling that journey anymore, and friends who just get it. I am very blessed. But sometimes, I get very very tired. As society opens up, and more people are confronted with my visibility in public, I’m being re-confronted with limitations to access, invasions of personal boundaries, and overt discomfort around disability that I haven’t had to confront too frequently for the past two years. And I had little patience for it before the pandemic; I certainly don’t have much now. But recent experiences have made me think about all the extra steps I need to go through to live a productive and fulfilled life. Sure, technology like screen reading software, tactile or talking devices, visual interpreting services (both free and paid) are all available and make my current standard of living possible. However, there are barriers for me to fully participate in society on a truly equal playing field; those barriers can be structural or attitudinal, covert or overt, intentional or misinformed. But they do exist, and I make decisions every single day whether they are barriers I need to break down, or leave intact because I only have so much energy in a day. I recently wondered, what would happen if I got paid to do all that extra barrier breaking work?

What Started This Idea?

It all started with a visit to the website for my mortgage provider. I’ve been reading books on financial management lately, and I liked the simple idea of putting your “windfalls” (unexpected sources of extra funds, like a raise at work or a big tax rebate) into savings. But I have a mortgage to pay, and I wondered if I could split my “windfalls” into twos or threes – RRSP, RDSP, and mortgage. So I found myself visiting the web site for my mortgage provider to find out what pre-payment privileges I had. Imagine my surprise when all I could do was put my computer into “browse mode”, tab around to all the links, with the complete inability to read any non-linked text on the web site. In short, if the information wasn’t embedded in a link, there was no way for me to read it. At all. Since I don’t have any other screen readers on my computer, my options to try a different screen reader didn’t really exist. So I tried on my phone. Well, that was even more fruitless; not even the links were readable. All I knew was that I was on the right website, and nothing more.

I emailed my mortgage provider, explained the situation, and let them know that I would really like the particular information regarding my pre-payment privileges, but it would be a great idea if they could fix their web site so that all mortgage holders (even little miss screen reader user over here) could access all aspects of their mortgage.

The trouble-shooting – reloading the browser, reloading the screen reader, tabbing around, logging in on my phone, emailing the mortgage provider – took approximately 30 minutes in total. If I got paid to do the work I did, just to have equal access to information, based on minimum wage in Alberta, I would have been paid $7.50 (before tax). How often do I just jump in and do this work, without considering the monetary cost involved, not to mention the lost productivity?

What this will look Like

My plan is, for 30 days, to post a weekly “bill” on this blog, for all the emotional labour I engage in – from working around inaccessible software or systems ($15/hr), to re-addressing issues of exclusion or inaccessibility that I have previously addressed ($20/hr), to being a “teachable moment” to the general public ($25/hr). It will include things around my home, my work, and extracurricular activities. I will not post identifying information, and to that end some aspects of this blog may be composites of several events. But at the end of the month, I want to have a blog about life as a blind person in 2022.

What this Blog is NOT

I will not call out specific people, organizations or entities. This post is about the overarching concept of inaccessibility and attitudinal barriers to full inclusion for me, personally. Each person’s journey is unique, and how I work around my vision impairment – and others’ response to it – may not be how someone else does it. This is not a blog that intends on continuing the harmful idea “well, if I can do it this way, so can everyone.” The tools in my adaptive toolbox are varied, but I’m sure there’s a “wrench” or a “screwdriver” missing somewhere. This can not, and should not, negate the exercise on its face. It’s one of discovery, because – if nothing else – I’m curious. This blog will not include a “bill” for instances where I have made a conscious, informed, and prolonged choice to not do something (like sticking braille labels on an appliance I use regularly); prolonged lack of motivation is not what I’m going for here.

What do you Want to See?

I have a few things planned for the next thirty days. They will include ordinary things like shopping, eating out at restaurants, and spending time with friends. They will also include flying (something I’ve only rarely done since late 2019), and running an in-person race. I know I’ve blogged a lot here about various activities I’ve enjoyed , or frustrating experiences of discrimination, among other things; but I have 30 days, a few ideas of my own, and I’d love to hear yours.

Let’s explore this idea together.

An Open letter to Uber: Thanks for My Supper, But You can Do better

22 Saturday Jan 2022

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Like many people who have access to smartphones, I’ve used Uber for years – sometimes frequently, sometimes sporadically – to get my groceries, order meals in, or receive a ride from Point A to Point B. Most of the time, I’ve had excellent drivers with clean vehicles. But a recent experience has caused me to seriously question – when is enough, enough?

It was a Wednesday morning in January. I’d recently returned home from a wonderful trip to visit my family in another province – for the first time in two years. The entire time I was gone – and for almost a week afterward – Alberta was caught in the grip of a deep freeze, with temperatures dipping well below -30 degrees Celsius.

Normally, my commute to work occurs on foot. But with the temperatures being that cold, and the very real risk of frostbite to myself and my guide dog, I decided to take an Uber to work. I booked the ride through the app, got notified of the driver and vehicle assigned to my trip, dressed myself and Jenny (my guide dog) in appropriate layers, put on my mask, and waited for the Uber to arrive.

I should’ve known something was wrong – or at least not quite right – when the driver pulled up across the street from my house. This happens about 50% of the time, because for some reason the GPS units put my house across the street. Normally, the drivers see me waiting, or see the house number, and turn around to get to the correct side of the street. This one did not. Jenny and I crossed the residential street and walked around the front of the Uber to the passenger side. Only then did the driver roll down the window.

*** Please note: The portions of conversation are recalled from the best of my recollections, and may not be exact word-for-word transcription; however, I have stayed true to the spirit of the discussion.

“Did you call an Uber?” the driver asked.

“Yes. Who are you here for?” I asked him.

He confirmed my first name. I moved to open the rear door.

“This isn’t UberPet. You need another vehicle.”

Jenny stood calmly at my side, in her highly visible guide dog harness, lifting her boot-and-baby-sock-covered feet in the cold. “This is a service animal. It is illegal to deny me access.”

*unclear mumbling from the driver*

“Service animal,” I said firmly, reaching to open the door again.

The driver mumbled something else, rolled up the window, and – to my astonishment – drove away, leaving me and my guide dog in the bitter cold.

Two neighbors saw what happened. One offered me a ride to work. It was only when I got into his truck that I saw in the Uber app that another vehicle had been assigned to me. I let the new driver know that I was getting a ride to work, but was having technical difficulties canceling his trip and that I was very sorry. Eventually, I was able to cancel the ride (and was charged $5.25), and made it to work only 90 seconds late.

When I got in to work, I was fuming. Now that I was safe and warm and at work, the full implications of what happened finally hit me. Not only had I been denied service by an Uber driver – something which is well-documented in both the United States and Canada, and for which Uber has recently been ordered to pay one customer for repeated denials – but the driver saw absolutely nothing wrong with leaving someone outside on a day that was so bitterly cold. In very real terms, that driver would rather risk my life than provide me service to which I am legally entitled.

Over the coming days, I reported the issue to Uber, received my $5.25 cancellation fee back, spoke to an Uber representative, and received a small credit – which I decided to put toward my partner’s and my supper after a grueling work day. I figured it was done, a blip on the radar, and I could go about my regular millennial existence.

But now I’m not so sure.

My colleagues – when I told the story a couple of days later – were furious on my behalf. One of them said the driver should get fired. Before Uber came on the scene here, I wrote a blog post on this very topic – and I’m still not sure how I feel about this issue. Uber claims to notify drivers of their legal obligations to transport service animals, and yet I have many friends who frequently experience access denials with their guide and service dogs. Now, the common excuse I’ve heard is that Uber drivers are fraudulently claiming service dog handlers are not wearing masks (as per Uber policy and/or state, provincial, or municipal law). Someone else I know recently experienced an almost identical refusal to mine – claiming that they should have ordered an UberPet (which, by the way, is not available in all locations AND is more expensive). Is the message really and truly getting through? Whether the access denial is due to the perception that a dog is a pet, or drivers think they can lie about riders not wearing masks, the denial to a rider with a task-trained service dog who is well-behaved and under handler control is still illegal in many jurisdictions. Uber seems to think they can throw a few bucks at each rider they’ve denied access to, allow their algorithm to not match that driver with this rider, and they can go on their merry way because they “addressed the issue.”

I realize I’m coming from a place of extreme privilege; I can take my dollars elsewhere. And the more I think about it, the more I’m seriously considering getting out of the Ubersphere. Companies bear the responsibility of following laws, and ensuring those that work for – or are contracted to – them, do likewise. For now, I’m on the fence. But when is enough, enough?

My life is worth living, Uber; the fact that a driver believed otherwise is still chilling to me (no pun intended). I’m thankful the individuals I’ve spoken to about this – both in my local community and with Uber – have understood the seriousness of the situation and dealt with it with compassion and outrage. But Uber, as a company, needs to pay more than lip service and monetary compensation – large or small. Uber can and should do better. You know it, and the disability community knows it. Maybe you should actually do better.

“Who Peed in the Ice Cream?”: This Blind Girl’s Hilarious misadventures in the Land of Emojis

30 Monday Aug 2021

Posted by in blindness, Ultimate Blog Challenge

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Two years ago, my friend and guide runner asked me a question. It started with the careful pause he always uses when he’s not sure if what he’s asking is going to be offensive (if he’s reading this, it NEVER has been!) But he asked me if I had ever seen the poop emoji. In truth, I hadn’t. I don’t even think any of my friends had sent a text to me with the poop emoji in it. I at first thought I had prudish friends; turns out, my friends were polite enough to not send poop pictures to me, specifically (truly appreciated, guys!)

So I asked the vast social network I’ve created over the years… what is this poop emoji? I found it, no problem; my screen reader describes the 💩 as a “Pile of poo”… but what does it look like? And why in the world would anyone use it?

First off, it looks like chocolate ice cream. With big eyes… and a smile? So now it’s a smiling pile of poo? And you’d use it in places where only an image would suffice. not sure why it has to smile, but oooookay!

This sent me on an intermittent search for interesting emojis. I’ve received them in texts and on social media, but they baffle me. I mean… there’s a ⛄ (“snowman without snow”) which has been described as a floating snowman? Isn’t a floating snowman really creepy? Why not just use the regular snowman ☃️ instead? And I can’t possibly forget the hilarious conversation where we were talking about real ice cream (Fudgesicles, to be specific) where I asked (at the behest of my partner) why there was yellow stuff in the 🍨 (ice cream emoji). The response I got back really isn’t fit for printing. But can someone clarify for me if the 🍨 really looks like someone peed on it? And why someone would use it instead of the 🍦 (“Soft Ice Cream?”)

What about the facial expressions? “Sad but Relieved Face” 😥 mostly makes sense, but always seems to confuse me. Are you sad, or relieved? And is one more prevalent than the other? And why isn’t 🤯 (“exploding head”) described as something along the lines of “mind blown”? For the record, I once used it instead of 😤 (“Face with Steam from Nose”) to describe being furious about something… that really confused the recipient!

Then there are the ones I found completely by accident. One of the cats was doing something hilarious, and of course I had to message someone about it. The last word of my sentence was “cat” and then I dictated the words “Face with tears of Joy emoji. Instead of 😂 I wound up with a cat with tears of joy, 😹 which I have since learned looks really creepy!

But I needn’t fear! Coming to the rescue is Emojipedia, a vast database (rabbit hole) of emojis. Not only are they described – even in a sentence or two – but they give helpful tidbits of what they are supposed to convey. But while I do find this helpful, as emojis are a part of the technological world that we live in, I 100% agree with a dear, funny, friend of mine: “I thought we had moved beyond hieroglyphics.”

Apparently not.

And, to this day, I have still never used the poop emoji.

OrCam MyEye: Promising Tech?

24 Tuesday Aug 2021

Posted by in blindness, Ultimate Blog Challenge

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It should come as no surprise that technology has greatly enhanced my life as a blind person. Everything from screen reading technology to OCR apps to visual interpreting services has played a role in making my life more enjoyable and more equitable, both personally and professionally. I’ve been fairly reluctant to jump on the most recent tech out there, largely because there’s so much of it; it seems that not a week goes by without some new tech that’s designed for blind people – from shoes to backpacks to smart canes – much of which either never makes it to market or is prohibitively expensive.

I’d heard about the OrCam MyEye over the past little while, and I have always been interested in trying it out. Wearable technology that reads stuff? I could use that! Why not? I was given an opportunity to test one out recently, and I chose to take it for what it was worth.

What is OrCam MyEye?

In short, OrCam MyEye is a talking camera. It attaches to a pair of sunglasses with magnets, and uses hand gestures, voice commands, or finger controls to perform its functions. It can automatically detect text in your surroundings, read newspapers or documents, describe a scene, and even recognize pre-programmed faces.

Initial Impressions

When I first was interested in OrCam, I went to their web site, which offered financing plans for up to twelve months for Canadians. I added the device to my cart, entered my contact information for financing information, and was given the irresistible opportunity to pay nearly $2700, with the balance split over two monthly payments of $900 per month. Hardly twelve convenient and reasonable monthly payments! I exited the web site and went on about my night.

The next day, I received a phone call from OrCam. I told the caller that I wasn’t interested in the device, especially given the lack of reasonable financing options available in addition to the up-front payment. I was asked what my vision was like, if I had trouble recognizing faces, if I could use their smart-read features, and on and on. I repeated myself, that I was not interested at this time, and would be ending the call.

I then got an email. It was clear it was a form letter, because it stated something about it being a pleasure to speak with me and the hope that my questions were answered satisfactorily. I replied, asking OrCam to not contact me again.

Another Option

I was able to borrow the OrCam for two weeks from a Canadian assistive technology company. I received the device in a box, with a whole bunch of extra little things that I still can’t identify. The device charged, I was ready to try it out.

A Day at the Mall

Before taking the OrCam for a true test of its paces, I tried it out on some documents. There’s a lot of head angling and paper angling and lighting considerations that I hadn’t considered, but I soon got the hang of using the OrCam to tell what random pieces of paper were scattered across my table. I wouldn’t want to use it for professional documents, but I could get the job done.

Once I figured out the gestures, I was ready to hit the road. The first thing I tried to do was to read the bus stop sign to get downtown. After some angling and fiddling, I was able to read what buses stopped at my local stop, and where they concluded. While waiting for the bus, I used the automatic text finding feature and located a stop sign about a hundred feet away. The trip to the mall was less eventful. I was unable to read the route numbers on the bus itself (glare? signage? angles?), but I was able to read several signs and messages on the LRT. I was mildly impressed!

The mall was an exercise in complicated frustration. We started at the food court, where I was able to read parts of some vendors’ menu boards, but actually had no idea what restaurant would be serving me my pizza or tacos or sandwich. I couldn’t get the right angles; I was either so close that I was cutting off parts of the menus, or I’d be moving backwards into the flow of foot traffic. Deciding on a lunch spot was simpler without the OrCam – I remembered where the taco spot was, and tacos sounded good, it didn’t matter where they came from, I was just hungry.

Lunch consumed, I tried the mall as a whole. I used the text-find feature, reading basically anything and everything the camera could pick up. I found some stores only by the web sites listed on their signs, and knew some others had sales. But again, the angles were all wrong; I was either too close to get a whole sign, or I’d have to step back into the flow of foot traffic to get any more meaningful information. I was, however, able to catch the mall hours from several different angles.

The Bottom Line

I wanted to love the OrCam. I wanted it to be as helpful for me as their marketing makes it look. But if my initial introduction to their sales tactics didn’t put me off it, my cumbersome experience in the mall cemented it for me. I have other tools at my disposal – like Aira, Be my Eyes, and Lookout – and all of them are considerably more affordable and less cumbersome than the OrCam proved itself to be for me. I hope it can continue to grow and help more people, but this blind user is giving it a hard pass.

“We don’t Serve your Kind Here”: On Restaurants and Accessibility

21 Saturday Aug 2021

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I am fortunate. I’m privileged to be in a city with a vibrant food culture, and the financial means to regularly treat myself to meals I don’t have to cook. Over the years I’ve sat in restaurants that have had various nods to inclusion and universal usability. But now that I’m thinking about it, there has almost always been some form of a barrier to access – either my own or for someone I’m with.

Getting in the Door

I must admit – to my shame – that I don’t think much about getting inside a restaurant as a barrier to access… but why wouldn’t it be? Getting through the door could be interpreted a variety of ways. Can your customers get to your location by many means of transport (safe pedestrian access, public transportation), or is it only accessible by car? What about getting inside? Is the door heavy, or does it open easily or automatically? Are their smooth access points to the building, or are their any steps to come inside? Neglecting any of these considerations could actually decrease your customer base, because it limits access to those who can drive (or pay for taxis), or are reliably ambulatory on two feet.

So, We’ve come inside… Now What?

So, you’ve got the perfect location, and barrier-free access to the building… That’s awesome! Can everyone enjoy your hospitality? Are your tables at varying heights? Is there enough space to navigate a wheelchair or walker or service dog or stroller between them? Is there enough quiet space for conversation to be possible, or for breaks from a sensory onslaught? How about menus? Can the menus be accessed through smartphone apps, braille, or large print? Is the lighting bright enough so your entire customer base can read them without squinting, or just asking the server for recommendations? Are the washrooms easy to access and navigate? Is your staff trained on local or federal laws regarding service dog access? In my own experience, at least one (and usually several) of the answers to these questions is “no.” And, as before, this either decreases your repeat customer base (at best), or provides a seriously negative experience (at worst).

“Why the Third Degree? You Aren’t my Only Customer!”

You could be reading this piece, wringing your hands, thinking that you have a hundred other things to think about rather than five hundred questions about access to your restaurant. After all, if I don’t come to your place of business, there’s always someone else who’ll take my place. You don’t have a ton of wheelchair users, or blind people, or people who use service dogs, anyway. You’ll serve us if we’re there, but systemic change… that’s just too hard and complicated, with too few returns. You may not post a sign saying “disabled people not welcome” (if you did, that would be illegal!) but the unspoken language of many eating establishments speaks just as loudly as any posted sign. This begs the question: Are disabled people (one of the largest minorities in the country) not showing up, or have we been denied access?

There Is a Better Way

Just this afternoon, I stumbled across a New York Times article reviewing a universally accessible restaurant in Harlem. The author brought a guest (a wheelchair user) who described the experience – from rolling from the sidewalk into the front door to the table at the correct height to eat at – as “a dream.” Even something so simple as easily accessing a washroom was seamless… and the one concern that was raised was addressed within minutes.

I recently celebrated a birthday. To support the animal rescue for which I’ve volunteered since the start of this year, I purchased several auction items which coincidentally included a gift certificate for Paddy’s Pub and Kitchen in St. Albert. Deciding to give it a try, my partner and I hopped a bus to St. Albert, got totally lost in the terminal, crossed a very busy arterial road (OK, let’s call it what it was: a multi-lane highway), got lost, and finally found the place. From the minute we walked in, we were provided amazing service – from asking if Jenny would like some water (she did) to recommending what’s become my new favourite beer (MH Brew Company’s Creamsicle Ale) to reading the menu because their web site’s menu was graphical, and the one on Uber Eats was incomplete. I also couldn’t help noticing how wide the isle was, with plenty of space to move and to distance, and not feel like I was going to fall on top of anyone. I can’t speak for the overall wheelchair-friendliness of the place (sorry!) but it was open enough to move, quiet enough to have a conversation, and I never once felt like an inconvenience when our server read the entire (very long) menu. And the carrot cake for my birthday? That alone was worth taking an Uber home for!

This is how access should be. This is, in effect, what customer service is: making your product or service enjoyable by the widest customer base possible.

I first started thinking about barriers to access when I was meeting a group of service dog users for supper at a Red Robin restaurant in Edmonton. I’d been there many times before with friends, and loved how seamless my experiences had always been – from the always-updated braille menus I could actually read, to the unparalleled training their staff clearly received around disability. My evening went off without a hitch… until one of the other service dog users and I both headed toward the washroom. She led the way in her foldable wheelchair, and Jenny and I followed behind. The door to the washroom pulled outward – toward us. There was only one accessible stall, which my companion took, while Jenny and I squished into one of the smaller ones. The sinks were almost too high for her to reach, and I had to hand her paper towels from the dispenser that stopped just above my shoulder. To head back to the table, I went in front of her to push the door outward so she could make the sharp 90-degree turn, twice, to leave the tiny restroom. I’d considered wheelchair access to buildings before, but it seemed just so incongruous that a place that had been so welcoming to me had thrown up barriers for someone else.

I could list a hundred other examples of exclusion – from buildings in touristy north American cities like Jasper, Alberta, and New York, with stairs-only access; to eating establishments with either hard-copy paper or graphic-only online menus; to the restaurant in Bozeman that I found out later was reachable only by car across a busy highway. But rare beacons of hopeful inclusion like Red Robin, Paddy’s and Contento give me hope that more will follow their example. I realize there are some true limitations; if your place is in a predominately car-centric area, can you make your overall experience a valuable trade-off for a taxi or Uber ride there? You may not be able to alter the architecture of your building right now, but the next time you renovate you could revise a few things to make your place easier to navigate for staff and patrons alike. You can make sure your complete menu is updated and available on delivery apps that serve your local area so that patrons can access them through technology that already meets their needs. You can educate yourself and your staff on service dog laws and etiquette – which includes your actual rights as a business owner – so that I can hopefully stop reading articles about service dogs being turned away from businesses, and fear the same happening to me, my loved ones, or fellow community members. In a hundred little ways, you can post those subliminal signs that I as a customer matter. Who knows? Maybe one day you will ask this question of your fellow restaurateurs: “Are we really serving everybody? Or are we stating – by inattention, design, or apathy – that we don’t serve those people?”

It’s never too late – or too much work – to do better.

Could you Be My Eyes?

17 Tuesday Aug 2021

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I’ve written before about visual interpreting service Aira more than once. In case you missed those brilliant pieces of my wisdom (read: my personal opinion and experience), I pay Aira a monthly fee to provide visual information and assist with inaccessible apps. But Aira is by no means the only spare pair of eyes I can call in a pinch. But when I ask someone to Be my Eyes, I use that service for different tasks than Aira.

Early Be my Eyes Marketing

I’d be remis if I didn’t address the initial marketing strategy of Be My Eyes. When it first became available late in 2015, it had a really icky message. “Help the blind see!” or “Do a good deed!” The exact wording of their slogan at the time isn’t something I can recall, but it made me reluctant to use the service until such a point as they cleaned up their marketing and made blind people feel less like a charity case. Thankfully, they’ve now changed their slogan to “See the World Together”, and their outward marketing is more of collaboration and mutual benefit to both sighted and blind alike.

Universally Accessible

Be my Eyes is a free service. Basically, if you have a smart phone, you can use it. If you speak more than one language, you can use that language to request or provide assistance. I’ve primarily spoken to volunteers from my home country of Canada, but there have been times where my “eyes” are located in England or South Africa. If I just need a quick check of when my yogurt expires, or how many kilometers I’ve ridden on my exercise bike workout, I’m more likely to reach for Be my Eyes, rather than Aira.

Corporate Partnerships

One of the handy things about Be my Eyes is their partnerships with global companies in technology, blindness services, and personal care items. These partnerships use the Be my Eyes video platform to connect a blind person to an employee from (for example) Google, Guide dogs for the Blind, and ClearBlue. So if you need a hand with your Google Doc, or want a trainer to take a look at your guide dog’s behavior, or are concerned about pregnancy or fertility, there’s someone who knows the product specifically and can provide an extra bit of information without a crash course in tech or guide dogs or whatever.

A few Drawbacks

The quality of volunteers – and the information they provide – can definitely be hit or miss. I’ve had amazing volunteers who have spent half an hour with me going through all the swag in a race kit. I’ve also had volunteers who were unable to provide directions so they could better see what I was needing help with (“Bring your phone up. No… not up, but UP!”) Volunteers have been at home watching TV, or out at a club. Volunteers have been in their sixties, and I swear I’ve had more than one who couldn’t have been older than twelve. Overall, however, my experiences with Be my Eyes have been generally positive. Now, if only they could fix their bug that messes up my phone’s speaker after every call…

The Bottom line

I don’t use Be my Eyes for confidential information, or for anything that requires a third party to log into my computer to work through an accessibility glitch (I still use Aira for that). but for another tool in my toolbox – which means I’m not relying on friends and family – it’s a welcome addition. Adding their useful corporate partnerships, and it’s an app that’s sticking around. I can’t wait to see where it goes next.