Two Heartening Shots of Anti-Ableism

or, how two unrelated Old White People surprised me

I’ve been pouring a lot in your inbox-direction this week, I know. I figured I would keep my thoughts to myself long enough to give at least one of you the chance to miss me, but then! A surprising thing happened! and then it happened again in an unrelated location with someone else! and it’s on-theme to the point that I could have written this shit. But you know why I wouldn’t have? I wouldn’t have written it because I didn’t think it could happen, and it did, and I want to tell you what it was before I forget the details.

For a bit of context, lest anyone assume I’m out here judging elderly white American-folk for no reason (I doubt anyone assumes that, these days, but let’s make things clear.) Most of the time, when old white people stop me, it’s either to ask me if I have polio, to tell me about someone they used to know that had polio, to comisserate about their age-related aches and pains with someone who must understand because clearly my body was always decrepit whereas theirs was once robust, or to even “sympathize” about how they thought they had it bad because they’re old now but look at ME! Imagine being so unfortunate as to be me! In Placerville a veteran of the Korean War asked me when I was going to get new legs, every time he saw me. (Every blessed time.) When I finally confronted him about being sick of this, he denied ever saying it.) In Seattle, an old dude called out, “Faster, faster!” as I walked by. HILARIOUS.

So when I was sitting at Peet’s, the closest thing our pseudo-suburban neck of the woods has to a neighborhood coffeehouse, and a dignifiedly-dressed elderly white man leaned down and said, “Can I ask you something?” I thought, oh god, here it comes, he’s gonna ask me ‘what happened?’ before he says hi.

Instead he said, “Where did you get your shoes? Did you get them in Mexico?” I was, for a moment, pleasantly stunned. Then I said, “I actually just got them online. I wish I had gotten them in Mexico.”

Adorably, he replied, “Oh, online! I didn’t even think of that.” Imagine not even thinking of the internet. What a life.

After a sweetly memorable conversation and about an hour or so of managing to get work done sort of, I went to Trader Joe’s to find some sort of savory snack I didn’t need. The place had been newly stocked with Christmas chocolates and it seemed like salty indulgences didn’t exist in the store anymore so I started wondering around, probably at least half-dissociating in response to my frustration, just dazed.

An elderly woman walked by with her cart, staring at my feet. Here it comes, I thought again. God I’m really not in the mood right now. And then she said:

“I like your shoes.”

Though of course I thanked her, I could not convey in passing how relieved I was. Still am, honestly. Was it it about these shoes that holds such appeal for San Francisco old-guard hippies? I’ll…I’ll let you decide? I welcome any and all theories in the comments.

I own a lot of Keens, by the way, for various occassions in various incarnations. They are not currently sponsering me, but if they wanted to, I would shill to the skies. (I’ve got my convictions, but I can be thoughtfully bought.) I could go on a big thing about my gradually-healing relationship to shoes — once a realm traumatically closed off to me from a fashion point of view or so I thought, because I require certain supports not assumed by the fashion industrial complex — but if you’ve kept up with me this week, you’ve had enough of my thoughts in your head already. I’ll end this with simple gratitude, because I initially started this newsletter without having any clue who, if anyone, would actually read it. Knowing people have + do? It really means the world to me, and makes all the aforementioned absurdities very, very close to worth it.