“I just bought things from blind people,” I tell Jake when he comes into my studio.
“You bought things from blind people?”
“Just now?” He’s perplexed. He was only upstairs for a moment.
“Yeah. Things made by blind people.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because they’re BLIND!” I say. “They are blind.”
He tilts his head and looks at me sideways, waiting for the logic. “OK…?”
“They can’t SEE!” I explain, “and that’s sad.” As I was saying ‘yes’ to items crafted by the blind, this seemed reason enough. Now it seems ridiculous and really kind of funny.
“OK. So….um, what did you buy?”
“A broom, ” I say, ” A broom and some potholders.”
“There were blind people at the door? Where was I?” The look on his face only makes me laugh harder, and I can barely answer him. He’s disappointed to have missed the blind.
“No, Jake. The blind people were on the phone. Well, they were calling for the blind people. Blind people can call, but I don’t think he was blind. My broom will be here next week. It’s being delivered by a blind postal worker.”
“Really?!” He asks, his eyes opening wide. A blind postal worker would make up for the blind not being at the door.
I shake my head and say, “No,” but it only comes out as a squeak, because the laughter is wrestling it for space, and winning.
“Well, how much did you spend?”
“SEVENTY DOLLARS!” And now we’re both laughing, and tears are rolling down my cheeks.
“You spent seventy dollars on a broom and some potholders? Why?”
“Because THEY’RE BLIND! They’re BLIND! And I’m not, and I feel so badly.”
“But…do you have an extra seventy dollars…for a broom?”
“No, not really,” I admit, taking a deep breath and trying to stop laughing, “I have a month to send them the check, though. They’re calling back in a minute to verify the address. I just felt so bad that they’re blind.” I straighten up and take another deep breath and blow it out.
“Yeah, but did you have to buy a seventy dollar broom? Couldn’t you have given them a tour…..or guided them around or something?
“GUIDE them! Guide the BLIND? Honey,” I say, laughing again,”the blind do not want me to guide them.” That is the very last thing the blind need.
And then the phone rings, and Jake checks the caller ID. “It’s Mobile Blind,” he says.
“Mo-beel blind? Oh. OHH! Mo-beel Blind!” That’s what it said for the previous call, but I thought it meant it was a blind mobile phone call. A cell phone with the number blocked. You know, a blind call. Five minutes ago in my head, this made sense. I tell Jake this, and he points out that Caller ID also shows the number. Not so blind now, huh?
I try to stop laughing as I take the call, because blindness is not funny. But I can’t stop laughing, and the nice lady who works for the blind gets a giggle in her voice. She confirms my address and reviews the items I’ve ordered, and when she gets to the broom I start laughing so hard I can barely give confirmation that I have, yes, ordered these items from the blind. Of Mobile.
Getting off the phone, I turn to Jake who is bent over in laughter, holding his stomach.
“The Mobile Blind!” I say. Now I get it.