I had always been hyper-independent, preferring to get the wrong bus than ask for help with my visual impairment. When I finally acknowledged it, I was overwhelmed by the love and support of friends and strangers
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n the first week of summer 2019, I decided I wanted a job. I was 16, finally old enough to attend festivals and concerts with my friends; all I needed was the money. With no prior work experience, I scraped together a CV that didn’t even fill a page and sent it to every shop and cafe in my little village in Chelmsford, Essex. Miraculously, I was offered a job interview at the local fast food restaurant.
I remember the nerves I felt on the way there. What would they ask me? Would they like me? In the end, I had nothing to worry about. The interview went well and the hiring manager seemed ready to hand me a contract. But, before I left, he asked me to try out serving a customer. “Just give her the items shown next to her order number on that screen,” he said, pointing to a monitor on the wall behind him.
To my horror, I couldn’t make out a single word on the display. The customer, a woman with her young daughter, stood impatiently as I froze. I didn’t know what to say. After a few awkward minutes, the hiring manager dismissed me and I received a rejection email the next morning. My dreams of attending Wireless and Reading festivals with my friends disintegrated – and I had another, more important, revelation: for the first time in my life, I realised that I was disabled.
