You Have a Lovely Voice

View from a Train Window

I’ve thought for a long time about what topic should be at the beginning of this blog. I have a list of ideas that will get longer, I’m sure. Finally, I asked myself, why not start at the beginning? So, let’s give the conversation a foundation.

At the root of it all, I’m an introvert. I can push myself into the spotlight, but only for a short time and then I need to recover. My batteries are drained and I have to recharge. I’m sure this sounds familiar to my sisters and brothers in introvertedness! We live by the creed, “Don’t make me talk. Please and thank you.”

For this reason, I’ve always found it tough to speak up for myself. I rehearse phone calls in my mind before dialing. In school, I rarely spoke up in class because I was too busy deciding what I should say (and if it sounded dumb) to voice it before the topic changed. Heaven forbid that I need to challenge someone or be a “squeaky wheel” when things aren’t going right.

It’s that part about looking dumb that gets me. And that avoidance of awkwardness has bitten me in the ass more than once. You know what, though? If you don’t speak up for yourself, no one else will take up the cause for you. That’s my first nuggets of advice: Be your own advocate. No one will be as good at knowing what you need as you are.

Let’s travel back in time, but not too far back. November 2015. My second trip to the UK, but my first with impaired vision. I decided to fly into Manchester, instead of London. I’d registered for Special Assistance (another post altogether) and had the most delightful man named Chris guiding me through the Manchester airport. I don’t think I’ll get tired of being called “love” in that delightful accent.

As an aside about the accent: As much as I love the Mancusian accent, I get tripped up still. Chris asked me, “How long are you with us?” So, I explained the duration of my trip. He blinked at me. “No, love,” he said. “I asked how long you’d been without eyes?” Oh, the dreaded awkwardness!

Chris guided me and my luggage to the platform of the train that would take me to Bradford. He introduced me to the kindly conductor (not sure that’s the right title, but you know who I mean, I’m sure), who gave me a seat in the office to wait for my train. I bade farewell to Chris and placed my trust in the conductor, who also called me “love.”

Now, I had treated myself on this leg of the journey. I’d booked the first-class car, with a reserved seat. I’d chosen a single seat by the window. When the train arrived, the friendly man put my bag in the rack and settled me into what I presumed was my seat because I couldn’t see the seat numbers. Funny, I hadn’t remembered my seat having a table, but I told myself the man knows his business better than I do, so just accept that maybe the configuration has changed.

I bet you see my mistake, there.

I realized later - much later - that he had bypassed the woman who was camped out with newspapers in my reserved seat to put me in the next open one. Not much of a problem until the woman who had reserved the seat I was in boarded at the next stop.

“You’re in my seat,” she said, not unreasonably.

I apologized, explaining that I couldn’t see the seat numbers and the conductor had seated me there. I asked if she could show me the correct seat, showing her my confirmation.

She took it, looking at the seat labels. I heard a hushed conversation, which turned out to be with the woman in my booked seat, and she came back to me and said, “You can sit over here.” It was an empty row of two seats.

I thanked her, swallowing my embarrassment. Then, quietly fumed as I realized that woman was in my seat and had fobbed me off when asked about it. Did I still have a window seat? Yes. Did I still get where I was going? Sure. Was I as comfortable and enjoying the scenery from the seat I’d paid for? No. I’ve spent eight years wishing I’d stood up for myself in the first place and questioned the conductor’s seat choice for me.

I didn’t have to quietly accept it. That is not to say you sacrifice being kind and polite. You can be all of that and still insist on being treated right. But that’s another topic, for another post.

Stay safe, fellow travelers. And mind the gap!