I think it is important that neurotypical people understand how we on the spectrum experience the world.
I’m a substitute teacher and one day last year I went to a high school I would often sub at. When I arrived, they did not give me the class for which I signed up, but had me help in the counselor’s office.
For most people, I suppose, being reassigned when you show up isn’t a big deal. But it is for me. When I saw the fact that I was assigned something other than that which I had chosen, I felt a wave of dread and anxiety. I cannot stand for my expectations not to be met and I do not like things being changed at the last minute. If you want to put me in a bad mood and make me uncommunicative, that’s a great way to do it.
What was worse was that I had to deliver documents to students. That meant going to different classes and having to interact with different teachers. The first thing I did was put the documents in order of room number because the randomness of the order drove me crazy. Then I went from the third floor down to each floor. There were three sets of documents, so I had to visit several class rooms more than once.
I don’t like doing this sort of thing because for one I don’t like interrupting people teaching. And if the door is open, I don’t really know the proper way to announce myself, so I just stand there until someone notices me.
In once classroom a teacher got mad at me because, like I had done in every other classroom, I announced the student’s name for him to get his document. She informed me that I was to hand the document to her and she was to call the student’s name. I told her I was sorry, but nobody had told me I was supposed to do that.
What I really, really, really wanted to say was, “I have a Ph.D. and I have a higher I.Q. than anyone working here and I have to do this ridiculous job because of people like you, so get off my back!”
But I’m pretty sure that would have come across as uncooperative and arrogant.
Instead, I just did as she told me from thereon out. Even though she was the only one to object. Because a confrontation like that–especially one where, because of the social situation I’m in, I cannot actually respond–freaks me out, causes me anxiety, and causes me to go over and over and over the situation that just happened.
The last class period I was put in the In-School Suspension room. There were only four students. When the school day ended, maybe a minute before the bell rang, the students came up and asked me if they could leave. The clock said it was 4:15. I told them they could go. When I left, a vice principal came up to me and asked if the students had left with my permission. I told him yes. He told me I had to keep students from bell to bell. Then he looked at me and said, “Excuse me, do you have a problem with what I just told you?”
I don’t know what look I gave him, but I decided not to try to figure it out. So I told him, “I’m sorry. I have Asperger’s. Whatever look I gave you…”
He shook my hand and sent me on my way. In my head, I thought that apparently my face doesn’t always reflect the content of my mind and heart. He was the first to point it out. I have to wonder how many just went with their interpretation and didn’t confront me and just went away thinking I have a bad attitude. I have to wonder how often a mistaken look has cost me something.