scan me When I Was Ignored for Being Autistic Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter Today at work, I had a moment that left me both hurt and seen. An older man came in trying to return a brake hose. The part was right, but he had installed it on the wrong side of his car. When he explained it, it didn’t make sense to me—his words got jumbled, and I told him plainly: “I’m autistic, and you’re confusing me.” Instead of slowing down or respecting that, he turned his attention to my coworker John. He even said, “He said he’s autistic, maybe you can help me,” like I wasn’t standing right there anymore. Then he added that he had a granddaughter who is autistic. That stung even more. I thought, I hope he treats her better than he treated me. In that moment, I started to feel myself nearing shutdown. What bothers me is not knowing exactly what signs I was giving off that made it obvious. John later told me he noticed it happening—that’s why he hung up on his own cus...

Today, I fucking lost it. A guy came into the store asking about a 400 small block Chevy. I looked up a '70 Impala with one. I asked a simple, necessary question: was it a 2-barrel or 4-barrel carb? Because it matters. It changes the head gaskets. It’s not just some minor detail—it changes the part entirely. He didn’t like me asking. He started puffing up, saying he’s been building engines for 30 years, and that all 400s are the same. But they’re not. They are not the same. I tried to show him on the screen, tried to walk him through the difference, but then he started yelling. And that’s when everything shut down. My body. My brain. Too loud. Too close. Too fast. I blacked out. I don’t remember what happened next. Mikey told me I screamed at the guy. Told him to fucking leave. Told him to get out of the store. I don’t remember that part. I don’t even remember being able to speak. But I guess I did, because apparently I stormed off, punched a radiator, and shoved a tool cart into t...