I Hear What You Say, But What Do You Mean?

At the deli counter

Me: I want three slices of honey ham.

Clerk: How do you want it cut?

Huh? There’s more than one way to cut a ham. Really? What other ways are there? How many ways are there?

The deli clerk is standing next to the slicer waiting for my answer. I’m at a loss for an answer! Embarrassed totally! After a long pause, she points me to a chart on the counter glass.

Aha! A visual aide! Just what this autistic person needed! Upon seeing the chart, I saw what she meant.

If she had only asked, “How thick or thin do you want your ham sliced?”, I’d have been on board with her.

At least I didn’t go ahead and answer her question with “cut it with that slicer you’re standing next to”.

I was only at the deli as an errand for a family member. I avoid as much as possible in-person service at a bakery, deli, or meat counter. I avoid it to avoid such situations. If I need help while shopping, it has to be really important, I mean really important, before I ask for it.

I take what is said or asked literally. It’s just a slice of my Autism pie of traits. Some slices of this pie are delicious, and some are tough to swallow. But I do have to enjoy or cope with every slice.

Another example of walking into a verbal instruction “minefield” was a moment when someone simply asked me to “get the phone”. I interpreted that to mean to go over to the landline phone across the room and answer it. I did this even though I was bewildered since I hadn’t heard the phone ring. Hindsight is 20/20 vision and it still boggles my mind that I did do that instead of saying “I didn’t hear it ring” or something like that.

I looked back at the lady who wasn’t laughing at that point. She pointed at her cell phone. What did I do? Despite being puzzled since it wasn’t ringing either, I picked it up too and held it to my ear. I should have asked for clarity, but I was in panic mode!

That’s when she literally instructed me to “hand the cellphone to her”. Now if she had literally said that to begin with, I would have been on board with her.

Because I have a tendency to take what someone says literally, I obviously miss their true message. Sometimes they finally give up and give me the literal interpretation. Such as when my Mom says “we need to ….”.  She really means “ME” instead of “we”. It took me a while to learn that when I moved in with my Mom a few years ago. Life got easier, though, when I did.

Topics of Interest

There are phone calls to friends I seldom or won’t make at all. There are visits too. There are invitations I will not give or receive. One reason besides just being a natural loner is I can’t think of a topic to chat with whoever about. The weather, after all, can only hold a conversation so far.

I admit it is strange for a grown adult, much less a 60+ person, to hide from someone one knows in the store aisle. Yes, I am guilty of that! I don’t avoid every person I know. It depends less on the person and more on whether we have a mutual topic of interest or if I can rely on the person for keeping the conversation going without boring me to tears.

I have few topics of interest and that’s a common trait among us who live on the Spectrum. I can talk a monologue worth on what I live with – Asperger’s Syndrome (Autism). I will talk with utter delight about my obsessions with electronic technology. I enjoy doing a “show and tell” of my bikes and scooters. The problem is I don’t know any of my peers who ride scooters except for my grandnephew and niece. I don’t know anyone, and I do mean anyone, who has anywhere close to the number of electronic gadgets that I do. The only reason someone has even brought up the topic with me is to see if I have a recommendation on a product or if I can diagnose one of their gadgets that is in a coma.

My topics of interest are politics, religion, and history. Two of those topics can get me into hot water! The other can be boring to those who hated history class. I don’t live in a state where my political views are popular. I have to call a friend halfway across the country if I have an urge to discuss politics.

It isn’t the case with all my acquaintances, the few that there are. There is a sweet lady my age that I don’t hide from when we cross paths, usually in the local grocery store. She and I are opposites when it comes to chit-chatting. She chats up a storm and I hang on her every word. I don’t have to worry about there being any dreaded silence with her. She is one who lightens up the room, is a natural at being the center of attention, and, quite frankly, acts plum silly sometimes. My not knowing what she’ll do, what she’ll say, or what she’ll dress up in next is what attracts me to her like a magnet.

On those occasions when someone spots me before I can go into hiding, I am masked for the occasion. I smile and pretend to be engaged. I don’t hinge on their every word because I’m in an internal panic of what should I say and not say, what topic is on or off limits, what to ask and what not to, and above all, how do I gracefully exit.

Finally, truth is I do like people but I don’t like being around them much. Or, to put it another way, I’m real picky!

Behind the Fence

I took up scooter riding during the spring of 2018.  I can understand someone thinking it is an odd sport for someone over 60.  It is just an addition to my long-held obsession with most any gadget that is electric or battery-operated. An inventory of my bedroom is visible proof of my obsession:  multiple computers, TVs, vacuum cleaners, etc.  When I like something, I go way, way overboard.  It just took about six months after my scooter obsession began that I owned multiple scooters and bikes of various brands and sizes.

It is two years later and my herd of wheels still see plenty of action. It is winter at this writing and so it is hit and miss when I can go for a ride. I’m cold-natured and am allergic to cold wind blowing in my face even with a cap and full sweatsuit of armor. I live in an area where highs in the 70’s isn’t unusual in December. But highs in the 30’s isn’t either.

I used to ride down neighborhood streets. I didn’t realize how cracked up my hometown sidewalks were until I started riding. I am still not sure if it is safer riding on the streets to steer clear of the cracks. Most drivers generously give me the right of way when crossing the street. But a couple of exceptions did give me quite a scare when I thought the driver had given me the go-ahead.

My favorite place to ride was the parks. More space to roam. Fewer cracks and no auto traffic on the trail.

It used to be but now I ride or scoot in the backyard. I know how many laps around the yard equals a mile. That’s my goal is to ride at least a mile before putting my bike back to bed. It’s not as much fun at the park or even the neighborhood. But it is SAFE. Sure it is safe from sidewalk cracks, potholes, and traffic. But that’s not what I retreated from. It is safe from people. It’s not that I don’t like people. I just don’t like being around them much.

It got to the point where I just had enough of unwanted and unsolicited attention and comments. I didn’t know my gray hair and wrinkles could get so much attention when I’m riding on two wheels.

For instance, on an early fall day, I was riding one of my bikes down a neighborhood street past the elementary school I attended back in the day. I passed by a young man getting out of his pick-up. He saw me and said, “Way to go, Grandma!” It stung. I didn’t dare cut my bike trip short because of him. Yet it took the air out of the sheer pleasure bike riding gives me.

A slice of the Autism pie is over sensitivity. I wish it wasn’t in the pie like the slice of meltdowns. A slight bit of criticism or someone’s cutting remark can throw me into a tailspin. I will remember it years later, usually in the shower or when I lay my head down to sleep and my brain wakes up and uploads files of such memories as that bike ride.

I do wonder still if I had been a 60-something male, would the man have said such substituting “Grandpa”? Maybe and maybe not. Probably if he was hitting 90, maybe.

Just because a woman has gray hair doesn’t disqualify her from riding a bike, scooter, or motorcycle. This wasn’t the first time I got comments or looks on peoples’ faces as if what in the world is that old lady thinking. Such as when I was getting out my scooter from my car and a passer-by said, “Are you going to ride that thing, Ma’am?” I just nodded but afterwards I wished I had said, “No, I’m taking it for a walk.”

It is far from ideal to ride behind the fence but it has one thing going for it – it is SAFE! I am safe from the outside world of people who might make comments that crush my spirit.

I just wish to be left alone to do my thing. Curiosity about my scooters is one thing. That’s okay. I can appreciate someone giving me a thumbs up or waving hello at me. I’m not hiding from them.

A lady with gray hair and wrinkles isn’t always someone’s grandmother. She may be a wanna-be grandmother for whom motherhood, as well as marriage, eluded her.

So That’s Why!

A family member set up a social media account for her two children. This application was made for children and designed so that parents can monitor their child’s contacts and activities. She added me as a contact and I considered that an honor.

I was deeply touched when one of them messaged me the first time. I’ve chatted with her longer online than I think I ever have in person when she’s been come over to visit. Well, one reason for that is when she has been over, she’s occupied with a member of one of my scooters or video game consoles.

In one of our half-hour chat session. I brought up the word “Autism” to her. It wasn’t a word familiar to her yet. I kept the conversation light on this serious topic.

I told her some of my traits and she lit up like a firecracker and said, “So that’s why you run in place. I thought you were just getting exercise”. Now that cracked me up! Well, exercise is one reason but when I’m excited, one of the things I often do is run in place. Stemming in a nutshell is repetitive movement.

Oh, how I stem! Let me count the ways. Rock, pace, jog, nail biting, leg bobbling, swaying my “bod”, etc.

I told her that’s why I have all my various gadgets. “IS THAT WHY!!!!” she exclaimed! It had not escaped her notice of my three TVs, three computers, five voice-speakers, e-bikes, etc.

I don’t know how much of what I told her sunk in. I kept the chat simple and light. I want her to know why I am the way that I am. Of why I am different from other family members.

And, when she inevitably will cross paths with someone who has Autism, she will respond to the person with acceptance partly because of me.