A stare way to heaven

Among the many curved balls life throws Paul Carter, none has taken him quite so off guard as a starer’s blessing

Regular readers of this column will be aware that I am often on the receiving end of unusual reactions, comments, looks and behaviour from certain members of the Great British Public. I’ve come to accept this as par for the course. I’m sure you have too. How I react or feel about such situations depends on many factors, including (though not limited to) my general mood, tiredness or blood alcohol level.

I’ve had most things in my time: people walking into lamp posts while staring at me (funny), people asking me the most intimate questions imaginable (occasionally funny) and people wanting to touch me (creepy/sexy depending on the person and your inclination).

Just the other day I was happily standing out on the pavement chatting with a friend, waiting for a lift to come and pick me up to take me wherever it was I was going. Everything was normal. In fact, I don’t think there was anything unusual or notable about the day at all. It was just two people chatting, in the street. Like normal. Can I still say normal? It was a non-disabled day. Whatever.

Then the lady appeared. I don’t know what her name was, but I’m going to call her Joan. She just looked like one. You know how some people have faces that just fit a certain name? She had a Joan-face. Anyway, I digress.

Joan appeared. Like a ninja. I looked around, and there she was. Standing stock still, right next to me. And she preceded to stare at me. From, like, three feet away. Who does that? I thought at first she was being polite and was waiting for my friend and I to finish talking so she could do something standard like ask directions or something. As I was neither in a bad mood, tired or intoxicated, I decided politeness was the order of the day.

“Hello,” I said, which is fairly standard I think you’ll agree, as greetings to strange starey middle-aged women go.

“Hello,” she said. And then stood there some more. And some more. Still staring. Now Joan didn’t look particularly stabby, so I wasn’t concerned for my personal safety – I totally could have taken her – but even by my standards this was social oddity of the highest order. Other, non-weird people were beginning to look. A good minute passed. Practically an hour in awkwardness terms, before Joan whispered “God bless you” in perhaps the most chillingly non-reassuring way before disappearing as quick as she’d arrived. 

I still don’t know what Joan wanted, if she indeed wanted anything at all. But beware Backlashers, wherever there’s a disabled, there’s always a Joan. God bless.