Popcorn

So.

This happened.

We went to see "Spiderman" and, unusually for us, we were a little bit late. We can't get our tickets from the automated stations because we use the Access2 card and need a real person help us do that. I spotted a young man at the popcorn station, a place where you can buy tickets as well, and we headed towards him. He knows the system really well and is able to process us through really quickly.

As it turned out the showing that we were going to required us to choose our seats from a seat map. Joe and I both roll our eyes at this ... it's a movie. The fellow showed us seats that he'd chosen for us, like he does for all customers, and when I looked I saw that it was in the middle of the theater and up several stairs. I said to him from my wheelchair: "Um, I'm a wheelchair user. I need the accessible seating."

He burst into a blush and an embarrassed grin.

"Ooops, my bad," he said, and then set about choosing different seats.

And that was it.

That's all that happened.

There is no more to tell.

What didn't happen was more significant than what did.

He didn't get all flustered and apologetic.

He didn't make a big deal about it.

He didn't draw anyone's attention to what was happening.

He didn't make himself the hero of the story.

He didn't make himself the victim in the story.

He didn't me into a victim of my disability.

He didn't do anything other than correct a simple mistake.

Isn't is marvelous when sometimes a disability is just a disability and not a reason for spectacle.