Fie the disbelievers!

I should have seen this coming. Metaphorically speaking.

For a few weeks now, some of my *ahem* colleagues in the mouldmaking department have had to work upstairs in the main body of the factory. This is because a) there are too many moulds in stock, and b) they are short staffed upstairs. In the past I've done more than my fair share of this moving around departments. I once calculated that I spent 11 months out of 36 working at another factory in the group. But now, cos of the peepers, I cannot be asked to work anywhere but the familiar environs of the mouldmaking shop. Upstairs the lighting doesn't suit me, there are too may people dashing around and there is a lot of machinery. I'd be a hindrance up there.

But this is causing resentment. Certain of my *ahem* colleagues seem to think that now I've had the cataracts sorted I'm okay and that it should be me doing the crappy stuff upstairs. Not taking it in turns mind, just me doing the crappy stuff, as I did in the past. Kind of 'last in, first out'. Rumblings are reaching my ears. I'm swinging a leg. Putting it on.

"There's nowt wrong wiv 'im really."

I have even heard that one of them is determined to catch me out. That bothers me. It could be humiliating if they start switching lights off, moving things from their familiar places . . . or it could be downright dangerous. People can be so thick. They can't get their tiny brains round the fact that I've got several visual impairments, and that even though the cataracts are gone, I'm still muddling along with approximately 50% sight loss. Tunnel vision. Blinded by the slightest glare. Slow to adapt in changes to the light. Severe night blindness . . . Yeah, sure. I'm putting it on. *Sigh*

If things escalate then I will have to go see the Personnel manager and ask her to have a word with the numpties.