Blind people have some advantages - not many, but a few. The two senses that I've found superior to that of most sighted people are hearing and smell. There's also a third sense that is often enhanced in the blind, the sense of touch. With the right person, in the right situation, touch offers a very fine way of "seeing" someone.
While wedged into the booth at the Hilton coffee shop with colleagues, I could tell from the tone of the conversation that the guys were deferring to the lady from the Boston office in a way that meant that she was either very attractive or high up in the organization. That's how men relate to women in a business environment; most guys aren't aware of how their voices and conversational style give them away.
Her voice sounded a bit low and husky - and showed self assurance. As for how she smelled, I was too far away to figure that out in the crowded restaurant, and there were all sorts of food odors in the air.
But if I could get close enough to check that out, well...we'll see about getting close. It's only the beginning of a three-day sales meeting.
At a lull in the conversation I said in her direction, "Sorry, I didn't get your name. Mine is Brad."
"Katherine," she said. "Kate to my friends."
"Pleased to meet you," I replied. "Welcome to the Big Apple."
The conversation continued, with the usual bullshit. There was complaining about organizational problems, but people were guarded in how much they bitched. No telling who might be a snitch in this sort of group, most of whom were strangers. I can usually detect guarded conversation; that's not difficult. It's not only what they say, but there is a special quality that affects speech when one is not completely at ease, something like tightening of the vocal chords. Big deal to know such things! I think of those skills as "survival tools." They're quite helpful because I can't read facial expressions.
I lost vision after a nasty fall from my bike as a teenager - I ran into a fence and took a sharp spike in the forehead. At first the doctors thought that I wouldn't survive or would suffer brain damage, but blindness was the only major loss. That makes me lucky, I suppose. The folks were great in keeping me from feeling sorry for myself and making sure that I would develop skills (and attitudes) to survive in the sighted world. As proof of how well I developed such skills, I'm now chief system software guru in the NYC office.
Life is pretty good but I've been lonely since Sonia moved out. She went to L.A. for a new job. However, we'd been cooling off for a while before the move. She decided that I'm way too "intellectual" for her, whatever that means. She was a hot lady and very inventive in bed - I miss that a lot.
We headed back to the meeting after lunch, as a group. I had my hand on the shoulder of Mark from our office. I get around that way without pulling the folding cane out my jacket pocket and doing the "tap-tap" dance with the cane to move around. Mark's a good friend and a hell of programmer. At meetings like this he helps out a lot.
She was walking next to me. Before she spoke I knew that she was wearing "Fleurs de Provence." I've learned to identify most perfumes, a side effect of a long affair with a woman in the fragrance business. Then I heard the low voice that I would come to know much better before the weekend was over.
"I'm looking for a place to have dinner tonight. The guys from my office are going to a hot strip show tonight - that's not my thing. Can you recommend something?"
"There's a wide choice here. What kind of food do you want? French, Chinese, or you-name-it."
"French, that's my favorite."
"Like your perfume, eh?"
"How did you know that? Most guys don't know much about perfume. And I'm not drenched in the stuff. It's supposed to be quite subtle."
"I'm good at that for a reason. I'm what they now call 'visually impaired'. That means I'm blind."
After a long pause, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry for myself, and it bothers me for anyone to feel that way."
After another pause, "Sorry for feeling sorry. How can I make up for that?"
"Have dinner with me. I'm free tonight and would be happy to show you the town - well, so to speak."
She laughed at the lame attempt to be funny and responded, "I'm free and would be pleased to accept your invitation. How about 8:00 at the registration desk?"
"Fine, meet you then."
I dressed carefully. My things are well organized. I have little braille labels sewn into my suits and ties so that I can avoid looking like "Andy the Clown" when I put my duds on. Having cleaned up and dressed, I touched the face of my watch to check the time. At 7:45 I headed down to the lobby.
Just before leaving the room I unfolded the cane and used it to get to the elevator bank. The cane is a dead giveaway, saying, "careful, cripple here." I hate that, but one must survive. I suppose there are worse things, like having no legs. But this is all stupid shit; you play the hand dealt to you and don't feel sorry about yourself. I got over all that a long time ago. A stray thought crossed my mind: Of course I hope she isn't repelled by the "handicap", but what if she is the opposite - a strange doll who is attracted to cripples? There are weirdos like that. All I want is a normal date with a nice woman. Come on, man - this is a dinner date, nothing more!! Lighten up!
At the registration desk she came up to me and I had the same experience as before - damn, she smells good! "Been waiting long?", she asked. I turned toward the voice and responded.
"No, I just came down. I called for a reservation at a very nice restaurant on 53rd, just three blocks east of here. It's called 'Coq d'or.' We can walk it easily."
