By Archer Rosenkrantz
When I was a kid, I was different. It’s probably the autism. The things I was interested in and the things I wanted didn’t make sense to most people. I wanted three things the most: video games, a reptile, and a job. Looking back, my need for engaging in underpaid labor seems weird, but heck, getting a job was so much fun. I didn’t have many friends in high school, and I spent most of my time inside and outside of school alone. A job sounded stimulating, engaging, and interesting. My first job found me because of my autism, and I’m so grateful for that. I think most of my jobs find me because of my autism. Who woulda thought?
Near my highschool there was a laser tag arena in construction, and I spotted it right after I turned 16. I wanted to see so badly what the arena might look like that I dragged a begrudging friend over to help lift me up so I could look into the windows. I peered inside, catching glimpses of laser tag in the works. “Can I help you?” said a man behind us. We screamed, and I was dropped on my back in front of the person who would soon be my first boss.
I was the first official employee hired at that laser tag arena and soon became the most experienced person in the building after my boss sold the company and left. I worked there for three years, and I loved nearly every moment of it because I loved laser tag. When I wasn’t in school, I was playing laser tag, and getting paid to do it. Even though I was getting minimum wage, that job was cool as hell. It took my autistic interest and curiosity with laser tag to find it, and that’s cool as hell as well!
Fast forward four years. I had graduated college, and with the power of my degree, I landed my first “real job.” It was a nice salaried position as an events coordinator. I spent five days a week slouched over a laptop in an office, and I hated it. My back ached, the lights were too bright, the office was too loud, and I was bored. So very bored. Nobody warned me that “real jobs” weren’t cool and fun! This was nothing like running around in a low light arena with glowing lights and a laser blaster! This sucked! Yes I was getting paid a lot more, but it didn’t feel worth it. My autism brain was screaming, so I decided to reach out to my HR department to help make this more comfortable for me.
I needed some accommodations if I was going to make this work. Stimming is a need for my brain. I need to keep moving constantly, as is typical for some autistics. Also, the lighting was too bright, and it was too loud in our office, so I was constantly overstimulated. Everything I did at my job was from a computer, things that could be done at home. When I asked to work remotely for my autism, I was met with no’s. GOODBYE ABLEIST OFFICE JOB! I bounced.
This experience had me thinking. Was I not cut out for the American capitalistic dream of working 9-5 in an office Monday-Friday? Is it my autism that will keep me from being able to be a productive member of society? I learned a few things down the road: the American 9-5 desk job wasn’t great for most people and “productive” is relative and should not equate to my self worth. If my autism could find me laser tag, it could find me more cool jobs, so help me.
I still have weird interests and wants. When I quit my fancy job out of college to be a puppeteer, my parents thought I’d lost it. Here me out, puppets are rad. Anyone that tells you otherwise is probably neurotypical. Maybe, I don’t know… I’m not a puppetry psychologist! I asked around to find out who in my community worked with puppets, and even joined the Rocky Mountain Puppetry Guild. Turns out, there isn’t that many puppeteers out there, so when gigs pop up, they aren’t too competitive! My first puppet job was traveling around Colorado with a giant bacteria puppet for a company called Meow Wolf. This wasn’t laser tag, but it sure gave me the same incredible feeling. In the puppet, it was dark and quiet, and I had to keep moving to keep the puppet alive. It was autism heaven.
Since then, I’ve worked in the worlds of the different and abnormal, and it’s been amazing. From circus adjacent performance to stage shows to immersive experiences, I find places where it’s safe to be me. Without my autism, I might have never sought out jobs on the fringe of society. I cannot work a “normal” or typical American job because it isn’t built for my neurodivergence. My brain has very different needs, and that doesn’t make me less valuable or successful to this world. The world certainly has made me feel that way, and I still struggle with navigating that. Every day with autism is another big adventure, and I’m learning, growing and discovering how to survive and how to thrive when I need to make money.
Society has constantly tried to make people with support needs feel like they aren’t contributing when typical jobs don’t work for them. We are not lesser because our work looks different. Artists, activists, hard workers, and incredible humans, we are all these things and more. Spending more time in autistic spaces has taught me that we view the world differently, and we will never be another cog in the machine. We will always be seeking out places where we belong. These unconventional spaces are home to autistics, and they make us feel less alone. Puppeteers aren’t conventional folks, and differences make every puppeteer shine. My stims, my knowledge, my autistic power takes me farther than I’d ever thought it could in these spaces. When I can find jobs that meet my support needs, the world seems a lot less bleak.
Dear Reader: Are you a neurotypical in the workforce? Here’s some examples of how you can make your work environment more accessible to autistic folks!
Wear headphones when listening to media on your devices
Allow for alternative lighting in shared spaces
Provide communal fidget toys (they make everyone more productive!)
Allow for working remotely (increases productivity)
Provide a safe environment for expressing any support needs and make sure to accommodate
Allow for health related absences and flexible hours for making up work