The Blind Leading the Blind

I think there might be a colony of blind people living in my apartment building. Out on the street yesterday, I watched as a parade of 25 blind folks with their canes and guide dogs exited the building and entered taxi cabs. It may explain why we're allowed to have pets in our apartment.

I watched as one man in sunglasses walked briskly on the gym treadmill, his Golden Retriever trotting along with him.

This morning in the elevator, a blind woman named Cathy began telling me about how she had just finished reading the Bible.

"Which version?" I asked.

"Well, I listened to it on tape, but then when I got bored, I read it in braille," she said.

Another man bumped into me as I was getting off the elevator.

"Oh excuse me," he said. "How are you? I'm Ken."

Ken was nice enough, but he bumped into me three more times as we exited the building and then waited at the bus stop together. Each time he ran into me with his cane or his hands, he introduced himself again, thinking I was a different person.

Feeling awkward, I kept responding in a different voice, the last time mimicking a Soutern belle waiting for her bus.

I kept wanting to ask Ken if he knew any famous blind people. But then I realized that my asking him if he knew Stevie Wonder was like his asking me if I knew the prime minister of China . . . which I don't.