Piotr Redlinski for The New York Times

Complaint Box Fit to Be Tied? Send your tales of ire and indignation — no more than 500 words, please — to: metropolitan@nytimes.com.

Maneuvering through New York City as a person with cerebral palsy can be a constant irritation. Just making my way down subway stairs at rush hour, with people breathing down my neck, is holy terror. But it is not the physical strain of steps and crowds that is my main source of anxiety. It is the naïve, inappropriate and sometimes downright mean comments that people make.

Because the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck at birth, I have an awkward gait and slurred speech. In the disability realm, mine are relatively minor. I don’t use assistance devices. I have two master’s degrees and have been a professor and poet for many years. I am married (to an able-bodied man) and have one child (also able-bodied). Other than my inability to spell, I’m a completely functioning, productive member of society.

Most people, however, have no experience with successful people with disabilities. They are left to rely on the old stereotype that we are all sitting in our apartments alone collecting Social Security checks and watching soap operas — or should be.

People who would otherwise mind their manners feel they have carte blanche when it comes to commenting on my condition. Bus riders have referred to me as mentally backward (while I was reading James Joyce), and waitresses routinely ask my companion what I want to order. In a club, once, an older man asked me to dance. Upon hearing my voice, he commented to his friend, “She’s some kind of retard,” and walked off.

Three times, I have been brushed off by the police when reporting suspicious behavior, like nearly being attacked by a homeless man. Now, if I see something, I think twice before saying something, since probably no one will pay attention anyway. Strangers routinely mistake me for a drunk or ask God to bless me. The other day on the subway, while one man criticized my son for being too loud, another pointed out that I was disabled, so he should make an exception.

The problem isn’t exactly that people have these reactions. The problem is that they have no tact. It’s as though they have some kind of disconnect and think I don’t hear, or can’t process, their comments. Sometimes I feel like screaming: “Hello! There’s a human being in here. And she’s registering your stupidity.”

Jennifer Bartlett, author of “Derivative of the Moving Image” (University of New Mexico Press, 2007), lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.