Who’s the Customer Here Then
A cheeky look at mistaken identity, invisible assumptions, and the fine art of buying your own scone.
Let me paint you a picture.
You are queueing at your local café. You have already clocked the scone situation. Generous cream. Promising jam. Strong potential.
You have your money ready. You know your order. Life is good.
Then it happens.
The barista hands your change to the person behind you.
You both pause.
They look confused. You look confused.
And somewhere in the background, a quiet voice says, “Ah yes. Invisible again.”
Welcome to the curious world of mistaken identity.
Who is the carer here
Let us clear something up straight away.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with having a carer. Carers are brilliant. Essential, even.
But not every wheelchair user has one with them. And not every person standing nearby has been assigned the role.
Yet somehow, society loves a guessing game.
You order your drink. You ask your question. You are clearly present.
And still, someone turns to the person next to you and says, “Do they take sugar?”
At which point your friend might lean in and say, “They can actually talk.”
And you smile. Or sigh. Or mentally award yourself points for not saying what you really want to say.
The disappearing act
It is not just cafés.
You book tickets somewhere and get asked who you are visiting.
You pay for something and the conversation happens around you, not with you.
You ask a question and the answer is directed elsewhere, as if you are merely the transport.
There is a strange moment in all of this where your personhood seems to slip slightly out of focus.
You are there.
You are engaged.
You are holding the money.
And yet somehow, you are not quite the main character.
It is not just about wheelchairs
This is not limited to wheelchair users.
People with hidden disabilities face a different version of the same thing.
The looks when using an accessible toilet.
The comments about priority seating.
The classic line, “But you do not look disabled.”
At that point, you have a choice.
Educate. Ignore. Or deploy a perfectly timed response.
Something along the lines of, “And you do not look like someone who says that. But here we are.”
What is really going on
Most of the time, it is not unkindness.
It is assumption.
Outdated ideas about what disability looks like and how it behaves.
The idea that disability comes with a script. A support person. A particular way of communicating.
So when someone turns up who does not follow that script, confident, independent, possibly eyeing up a very good scone, the system falters.
People hesitate.
They default to what they think is right.
And sometimes, they get it wrong.
Handling it with style
There is no single way to respond.
Some days it is humour.
“Actually, the person behind me is my emotional support squirrel.”
Some days it is gentle correction.
“No worries, but I can answer for myself.”
And some days, it is a look, a pause, and a quiet decision to move on and enjoy your scone.
All are valid.
A simple shift
Here is the thing.
This is not complicated.
Talk to the person in front of you.
Not about them. Not around them. To them.
If someone asks a question, answer them.
If someone is paying, give them the change.
It is not advanced customer service. It is basic human interaction.
Final thought
Disabled people are not a mystery to be solved.
We are not always part of a pair.
We are not always being assisted.
And we are certainly not always visiting someone else.
Sometimes, we are just out for a coffee.
Sometimes, we are the main event.
So next time you find yourself in that moment, café, shop, museum, wherever it may be, remember this.
The person in front of you is the person to talk to.
Simple as that.
And for the record, we have already decided how we take our tea.
Strong. With just the right amount of everything.