Sometimes, I'm invisible

I'm out for dinner, drinking a couple of beers with a friend. I excuse myself to use the restroom, do what I need to do, wash my hands, and approach the paper towel dispenser to dry them.


Crap! It's one of those motion-detector dispensers.

I wave my hand in front of it. Nothing.

I move closer and wave again. Nothing.

I wave harder. I back up and wave. I move my hand toward, then away from, the little red light. Just as I start doing my silly little "what-a-stupid-situation" dance in front of it (cue the sarcasm), someone walks into the restroom. She's a bit startled, so I explain: "The paper towel dispenser doesn't see me."


 The woman kindly waves her hand in front of the dispenser, which obediently provides her with a paper towel, and locks herself into a stall. I dry my hands and re-join my friend.

I'm invisible to paper towel dispensers. Consistently. No matter what moves I make in front of them, no matter how hard I concentrate to be corporeal, I simply don't exist to them. Motion-detector sinks? No problem. Soap dispensers? They squirt me every time. But I'll be damned if I can dry my hands without using the legs of my jeans. There's just something about paper towel dispensers.


 Well, ok, and the occasional automatic door.



The first time it happened, I was looking down at my purse, putting my keys away. *BONK!* I walked right into the glass door. Mystified, I backed up. Yep. There was a motion detector. I aimed myself at the center of it and walked toward the door again. It stayed stolidly closed. I considered for a moment and jumped up and down a little on the rubber mat thing-y, thinking maybe it not only had to see me but also *feel* me. Nope. I waved my hand, approached and retreated, and started doing the aforementioned dance when someone walked up and right through the yawning opening left by an obedient automatic door. I dove through the doorway, rather than risk being trapped outside, hungry and grocerly-less.

 Now, I'm not the sort of person that anyone would accuse of being unnoticeable, much less "invisible." So what's up with paper towel motion detectors? It's not that I'm moving too quickly because when I have a problem with them, I slow down. It's not that I don't move deliberately -- I work that angle as well. And, goodness knows, commanding attention is never a challenge for me.

Why don't paper towel dispensers see me?

Lately, something has changed. I don't know what cosmic shift has taken place, but paper towel dispensers have started noticing me. I walk right up, look them in their beady little electronic eyes, and am promptly served a paper towel with which to dry my hands. It's weird.

And I'm nervously suspicious.