my son vs. his own brain

You may recall that my son works in a supermarket at the other end of town. You may also recall that another store in the same chain is just a few blocks from the Devil Girl Pad. I was talking to the man working checkout the other day. He knew the Wendling, and said he was "efficient" at bagging.

I brought this up over dinner last night, natch. My son said, "I don't bag much anymore."
"Why not?"
"I packed a few bags too heavy." I imagined the consequences of that, but I didn't ask about them.
It emerged that he'd tried a lower dose of his ADD meds a few months ago because he didn't like the side effects. He didn't say so, but I know he doesn't like the very fact that he needs the meds.
Silence. "I often forget how hard it is for you," I said.
"It was hard for you, too."
"Very different situation. I got through life by pretending I was someone I wasn't. That won't work for you, and you know it."

Later I asked him, "Is this why you're having trouble getting a full time job there?"
He said he didn't know.
"Who at [your store] knows about your ADD?"
"Upper management knows about everybody." He told me about his co-workers who wear face shields instead of masks because they have asthma.

Jesus, what are we going to do that we aren't doing already?