I'm at the airport and my flight has been delayed two hours. I find a seat near my gate and settle in.
Next to me is an older woman, maybe 70, who immediately starts talking to me like we've known each other for years.
Her: "Delayed too?"
Me: "Yeah, two hours."
Her: "I've been here since 10am. Its now 4."
Me: "Oh no."
Her: "Oh I dont mind. I packed snacks."
(She opens a bag and offers me something wrapped in foil.)
Her: "Homemade oatmeal cookie?"
Me: "Oh, I'm okay thank you."
Her: "Take it. I made too many."
(I take the cookie. It is genuinely one of the best cookies I've ever eaten.)
Me: "This is incredible."
Her: "Brown butter. People always forget the brown butter."
(We end up talking for the next hour and a half. She's 71, flying to visit her son who she hasn't seen in eight months. She used to be a high school English teacher for 35 years. She has strong opinions about the Oxford comma, which she is pro. She thinks modern movies move too fast and don't let scenes breathe. She learned to make cookies from her mother who learned from her mother and the recipe has never been written down, just passed along by memory.)
(When her flight starts boarding she stands up and tucks the rest of the cookies into my bag.)
Her: "For the flight."
Me: "You really don't have to."
Her: "I know."
She got in line and I watched her go. I ate the rest of the cookies on the plane. I still think about the brown butter. I should have asked more questions about the recipe while I had the chance.
(I frequent a game store near my house, even when I'm poor, as in this story. I'm talking to my favourite employee.)
Me: "I'm getting my car fixed. I know this is probably the opposite of why you're here, but please yell at me if I try to buy something."
Employee: "Sure! Never enough opportunities to yell at a customer!"
(The next week I wander in and start admiring a new figurine. I start to walk over to the counter when:)
Employee: "No! Bad, BAD customer! PUT IT DOWN. You're poor, remember?!"
Other Customer: *to me* "What the..?"
Me: *sheepishly putting the figurine down* "I told him to yell at me for buying things. I didn't think he'd DO it!"
(That is why I shop there!)
I went for a job interview last year, and about ten minutes in, I genuinely couldn't tell if the guy was trying to hire me or convince me to leave.
Him: So... why do you want this job?
Me: Honestly? Better pay, Better hours.
He nodded.
Him: Reasonable.
He wrote something down, then looked up again.
Him: What's the biggest mistake you've made at work?
Me: I sent an email to the wrong client.
Him: What happened?
Me: I owned up to it.
He nodded again, a few minutes passed.
Normal interview stuff.
Experience, availability, salary, then he closed my résumé.
Him: Can I give you some advice?
Me: Sure.
Him: If another company offers you more money this week...
...take it.
I laughed because I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
Me: ...You're interviewing me.
Him: I know.
Me: So why are you telling me to work somewhere else?
He shrugged.
Him: I'm telling you not to make decisions because someone was nice to you for forty minutes.
Me: ...Is this part of the interview?
Him: Everything after you walked in was.
I didn't know what to say to that.
He stood up, walked over to the window, then turned back.
Him: One last question.
Me: Okay.
Him: If I offer you this job today...
...are you accepting because you want it...
...or because you don't want to disappoint me?
That question hit me harder than I expected.
I asked if I could think about it over the weekend.
He smiled for the first time.
Him: Good.
Me: Good?
Him: The people who answer too quickly usually don't stay very long."
(The phone rings.)
Cashier: "Hello, [Name] Pizza... Oh, f***, not again."
(She hangs up. A few customers come and go, and the phone rings again.)
Cashier: "Hello, [Name] Piz- f*** this!"
Customer: "Hey, lady, problem with the phone?"
Cashier: "Some sicko keeps calling from a blocked number and making creepy comments."
Customer: "Hang on. I gotta go find my friend."
(He pays and leaves... and comes back with a 6'8" NYPD cop.)
Cop: *with a minor Russian accent* "I hear you're having a problem with a caller?"
Customer: "No, no. Do the accent! Make it f***in' scary!"
Cop: *in a deeper voice with a thick accent* "Excuse me. I hear you have problem with caller?"
(The cashier explains. The cop orders a slice of pizza and he and his friend sit and chat for a few minutes. Then the phone rings.)
Cashier: "It's a blocked number!"
Cop: *on the phone, with the accent* "Hello.... You are thinking my body is what? I am thinking your body probably very fragile. Very easy to- Oh, he hung up."
(They stare at the phone a few minutes.)
Customer: "Problem solved?"
Cashier: *to customer* "So... is your buddy there single?"
Cop: *in accent* "Boris have many women. All are love him!"
Customer: "You're married and your name isn't Boris!"
Cop: "Boris is name of accent. Has life of its own."
My studio partner stole my concept for our final showcase. I told her: “Don’t enter this without both names. We designed it together.”
She smiled, said “Relax, I’ll tag you in the post,” and submitted it solo to the city gallery contest.
The piece won $2,000. Her name only.
When I confronted her, she said: “You’re overreacting. I was gonna split the prize.” Then she blocked me.
Said I was “jealous” and “art isn’t about money.”
My program director stepped in: “She’s under a lot of pressure. Don’t destroy her career over one piece.”
But it wasn’t about money.
I gave her a rule. She erased my name anyway.
So I compiled my sketches, dated photos of us working, and texts where she called it “our piece” before the deadline.
No yelling. Just dropped the folder at the gallery and the department.
Turns out she’d done this to 3 other students in her last cohort. I was just the first with a paper trail.
Gallery revoked her award + gave me the full prize. School put her on academic probation.
She lost her grad school recommendation.
And somehow…
I’m the one classmates call “too intense.”
Apparently, in art school, “collaboration” means one person takes the credit.
But protecting your own work with proof?
That makes me the bad guy.
As a neurodivergent, you don't actually want a "normal" life.
You want:
• mornings that don't begin in panic
• work that doesn't require constant masking
• friendships that feel safe instead of exhausting
• enough money to live without chronic stress
• a home that feels like a refuge, not another responsibility
• time to pursue interests without guilt
• permission to exist without explanation
Most neurodivergent people aren't asking for special treatment.
They're asking for a life that doesn't require them to fight their own brain every single day.
(I'm at a checkout line at a clothing store. The cashier is a young girl, can't be more than 17, and she looks absolutely exhausted. It's a Saturday afternoon so the store has been packed all day. The lady in front of me dumps a huge pile of clothes on the counter.)
Cashier: "Did you find everything okay today?"
Lady: "Actually no. Do you have this top in a medium? I only saw large and small."
Cashier: "Let me check in the back."
(She calls someone on a walkie talkie. Waits. Static. Calls again. Waits. A crackling voice eventually responds that they're out of mediums.)
Cashier: "I'm sorry, we're out of mediums in that one."
Lady: "Can you check another location?"
Cashier: "I can check online availability if you'd like."
Lady: "I want to pick it up today though."
Cashier: "The nearest other location is about 12 miles away. I can call and check if they have it."
Lady: "Yes please."
(The cashier calls the other location. Gets put on hold. Waits. Comes back. They have one medium left.)
Lady: "Can you have them hold it for me?"
Cashier: "Yes, I can do that."
(She calls back. Has them hold it. Writes down the address for the lady. The lady then looks at the pile of clothes on the counter.)
Lady: "Actually I think I'm going to go to that location first and come back. Can you hold these for me?"
Cashier: *blinks once* "...Sure."
(The lady left. The cashier folded every single item back up neatly and set them aside. She looked at me and I looked at her and I genuinely didn't know what to say so I just put my one item on the counter.)
Cashier: "Did you find everything okay today?"
Me: "Yes. Everything was perfect. You're doing amazing."
(She laughed a little. It seemed like she needed that.)