Marjorie sighed. It was a slow night at the snack bar.
“Not really a snack bar at all,” she thought. “Just a closet with one of those half-doors that opens up half-way.”
She realized she hadn’t really described the door to herself correctly. Not that she needed a description for herself; she was sitting right in it. But what if she had to describe it to a blind person?
“It’s not a half door at all,” she said to herself. “It’s a snack-bar in a closet. The whole door opens, but then when I get in, half the door shuts behind me but the other half stays open. I sell stuff through the open half of the door.”
She paused, listening to silent questions. “Not the bottom half. That would be stupid. It’s the top half of the door that stays open.” She paused. “Right.”
She sighed. It was a slow night at the snack bar, and she’d eaten four bags of chips and 2 half and halfs. “What’s a half and half?” asked nobody. “Half hot chocolate, half coffee,” she replied to no one.
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She was so wrapped up in boredom that she hadn’t realized that a long line of blind people were tapping their way towards her with their canes.
Somehow, Marjorie had spoken telepathically to every blind person on campus, and they’d come to her snack bar.
“Great,” she thought. “All uggos.”
“Hey,” said all the blind people, which was the sound of all their feelings getting hurt.
