After a day of travelling, I was anxious to check in to my room. And I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day.
As I waited for the elevator to take me up, a member of that diversity in philosophy project quickly approached, almost out of nowhere.
I had never met this philosopher before, but I recognized them from photos on philosophy websites. I’ve also engaged in email discussions with them and other members of their project about how disability should be integrated into the project.
When they read my name on the nametag, they seemed to come alive, saying something garbled, something that I couldn’t understand, something about the symposium on my book and how the project needed to get me on one of its panels. I probably smiled and nodded in agreement.
They hoped that I would attend their session the next morning and looked rather bewildered when I said that I planned to go to a close friend’s session instead.
The elevator came. Its doors opened. We both got on. The doors closed. We pressed buttons for our respective desired floors. All the while, they talked to me in an animated fashion.
Until the elevator doors opened at another floor and someone-more-important-than-me got on. Then I disappeared, fading into the wood panelling of the space that I/we had briefly occupied.
When the elevator doors opened again, both the project member and someone-more-important-than-me got off, discussing possible dinner arrangements. Though someone-more-important-than-me rushed ahead, the project member seemed to wave goodbye before the doors closed after them.
I got off on the next floor and walked the length of the hall to my room.
Entering the room, I threw my prized pink backpack on the bed and went directly to the window, flinging the diaphanous drapes wide open.
There it was. Grouse Mountain. I took a deep breath. I was at the APA again.