Why I Struggle With Employment as a 'Smart' Autistic Person

“But you’re so smart!”

If I had a dollar for every time someone’s told me that, I wouldn’t need either disability benefits or work.

Two of my special interests are actually useful and somewhat dangerous: military aircraft and computers. European Martial Arts was my planned thesis for college, but that dream’s probably dead. I can visually identify the planes that fly over my apartment from the base and tell you what they’re carrying. I’m going to school for cybersecurity and hoping to turn that into something. But that’s only the surface level, what you see with a casual interaction. What you don’t see is my struggles to get a job and the utter hellscape of keeping it.

You don’t see the overworked job coach who gets me a job scrubbing toilets because it’s “all we can find.” You don’t see me filling out six or seven job applications online and not being able to check on them because the “personality quiz” flagged them as red and they never got to HR. You don’t see me failing to “make friends” at work so I have a future reference. Because I’m “smart,” I should be able to “figure things out.”

And that’s just getting the job. When I get the job, you don’t see me smiling even though I’m dying inside because it’s Christmas and I barely rolled out of bed this morning because it’s dark 14 hours out of 24. You don’t see my rash of absences as evidence of something wrong, you see it as an issue in need of “counseling,” even though my personnel file has it marked clear as day that I have extra days off. You don’t see me crying myself to sleep tonight and awake tomorrow because people don’t understand or don’t care that I’m just a cog in the wheel, and I was called out because I wasn’t fast enough. You don’t see an unsupportive management that won’t back me up on matters of legality when I have to see your ID to sell you alcohol. Because I’m “smart,” I should be able to “figure things out.”

Yes, I am smart by book standards. There isn’t a book on the planet I can’t render down into constituent components and have memorized inside of a month — if I care enough. There also isn’t a test on the planet you can give me that I can’t find some way of defeating. I’m autistic and I also deal with depression. Being autistic means I’m not very good with people. Well, I can be very good with people. I’m not good at drama. I’m not good at online job applications when it asks me for the fifth time, “Do you like parties?” I’m not good at job interviews when they ask me, “What’s your greatest weakness?”

I’m not good at people when they call me “wondering” why their bill is so high because all they pay is the past due balance. I’m not good at people when they’re in the checkout, the kids are screaming, they’re tired, all they want is their cigarettes and they demand, “Why do you want my ID? Where’s your supervisor?” I’m not good at supervisors when they ask me, “Why do you think you’re in here?” I’m not good with falling into traps, and that seems to be 90 percent of employment. Because yes, I am smart. Just not like that.