I am at a cafeteria and am going to get something to eat. I stand and they put my wheelchair over to the side. My official helper is a retarded man who very seriously wants to help me the best he can. He clutches me around the middle from behind and drags me from food station to food station, hanging on to me diligently. It is uncomfortable. A retarded woman is the supervisor and asks if I want a hamburger. I say yes. She slaps down a pathetic white bread bun and calls for my server, Linda, also retarded. She asks what I want on my second burger and I think I say catsup and mayonnaise, but she says they are out of one of the seven commandments. She tells me which one, like it's a cucumber or something. I say, "No, I said mayonnaise." I turn a corner and someone is complaining he has his bunting pan in a box and the people there have been too rough on it in storage and broke it. A woman complains she's in charge of the emotionally weird section, meaning the retarded people. I am offended by her patronizing attitude. I am annoyed at him as I examine the box, because the box is so flimsy and it is really faulty. Now I am watching a demonstration of blind people weaving mesh together with their bare hands. They stand between two screen door-like mesh screens and run their hands over it like they were playing a harp and it weaves them together. I am impressed. It looks like it would hurt. I go outside to talk with their counselor or supervisor, a nice young man. He is looking at a children's book with my name in it. He says things have improved here since last year when I visited. I say, "You should have seen the patronizing attitude of this lady who worked with the retarded people. I notice my own attitude is patronizing.