Tell Me You’re Autistic. Let’s See What Happens

What an exchange taught me about my ignorance

The bill nearly gave me a heart attack. My utility bill, already at $304.00 a month for ONE person leapt to $411.00.

Needless to say I was pissed. Not just pissed, LIVID. The moment the utility opened at 8:30 am I was on the phone with a customer service rep.

I was angry, and she was doing her best to explain.

All I heard were mealy-mouthed excuses, delivered in a flat, unfeeling, condescending tone that made me even madder.

Finally, after we kept talking over each other, she said,

“I’m autistic. I’m trained to help you understand your bill. I’m doing the best I possibly can.”

It would be an understatement to say that stopped me cold. I was hearing a lack of caring from her, and she was getting a lack of understanding from me.

A few minutes after she finished her explanation, I said,

Thank you. First, thank you for telling me you’re autistic. Second, thanks for advocating for yourself. And thank you for giving me the chance to hear you.

That changed everything. We continued our discussion, and she referred me to a customer service lead. But we weren’t done.