Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXIX: Reading the Signs We Miss

The Streets of Manchester

The fascinating people that live in this city or visit it never cease to captivate me. Whilst I do attempt to be inconspicuous, I nearly always fail to blend in, but the attention usually brings compliments that I am glad to accept with gratitude.

The streets of Manchester bring both the familiar and the revealing. Looking at the health dashboard for the north of England, there have been outbreaks of measles and other respiratory viruses, but COVID-19 remains six years on.

I take Coronavirus vaccine boosters twice a year because it is an evolving virus with strains, we have literally forgotten to keep track of. I'm on the take-your-jabs side of the debate.

An Arresting Entrance

Attending a function yesterday, someone arrived late enough to be noticed in more ways than one. First, it was her blonde hair with red highlights and bows to the left and right, very much as one would have imagined Heidi would look, or a traditional Kellnerin (beer maid) at Oktoberfest.

Her dress was purple and slightly body-hugging, and her shoes were platform boots, the type that makes your gait look like a plod. Each footstep was an ungainly stamp, not so much soldiering but what you might observe from a horse in canter.

Her face had a chubby, childlike quality, but it left us wondering if she had left a face mask on, because it seemed unlikely that this was the result of make-up application.

A Mystery Unfolds

An intriguing personality, you might think. You had the urge to introduce yourself and then found yourself tongue-tied, unsure which of the thousand questions coursing through your thoughts to ask first.

After she sat down, it became obvious that she was unsure of what to do. I plucked up the courage to walk across the room to tell her that food was being served around a corner in the longer part of the hall. She seemed to prefer a sprint to a walk, even in this enclosed space, displaying an unnecessary urgency that drew concerned attention.

Even after several people tried to engage her, none came away with her name, who she was, where she came from, or who she was wearing for either fashion or make-up. I doubt anyone paid compliments, and if anything commendable were said, it might have been along the lines of, “You're quite brave to leave home like that.” Everyone wondered who had broken all the mirrors and reflective surfaces in her home; I dare not say care home.

Reading the Signs

In retrospect, many of the signs were there. The sprint across the room when a walk would do, the inability to engage in small talk, the preference for group activities that required no conversation, even the styling choices that perhaps made perfect sense to her but read as incongruous to others.

These weren't eccentricities designed to provoke or performed awkwardness for effect. They were markers, perhaps, of someone navigating a neurotypical social space with a neurodivergent compass.

The unnecessary urgency, the difficulty with eye contact and introduction, the retreat into structured activities like dancing where the rules are clearer and the social demands more predictable; all of this suggested someone for whom these gatherings are both desired and exhausting. Someone who wanted to be there but lacked the social scaffolding that others take for granted.

The Enigma Departs

Later, she got involved in the dancing and some other activities you could do in a group without having to chat to anyone. She remained a mystery, an enigma of sorts, and we left nonplussed. She might have decided on being the girly doll version of Chucky.

She was Black.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog