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This guy walks into a bar and says... - Apr 10, 2004 - Printable Version
- The Cripples Are Pissed!
by Ken Shade
The cripples are pissed! Not just some of us, but all of us.
We had a meeting, and we've decided it's time to exact vengeance on all of you. Expect to be awakened by torch-lit mobs of hooded figures on Hoverounds pulling up your shrubbery and placing flaming colostomy bags on your doorsteps. If your car doesn't start, it may be because of the Depends jammed into the tailpipe. If the sound of your doorbell ringing as you sit down to dinner is followed by a dull thud and crashing aluminum, it's probably a member of our dreaded suicide walker brigade playing Ding-dong Ditch. When your wife runs off with Christopher Reeve, don't say I didn't warn you.
This isn't going to be pretty.
There is no reason it should be.
As I said, we're pissed.
In much the same way that Thomas Jefferson announced to the world the reasons for the American Revolution in the Declaration of independence, I am here announcing the reasons for our impending angry spree of childish pranks and Springer-esque bedlam. Each of the reasons here stated carries with it an implicit promise: If you cut it out, we will, too.
It didn't have to come to this. A little tolerance and civility could have prevented this whole mess. I don't think that most people lucky enough to be in the walking world are deliberately mean, just inconsiderate and uninformed. So, consider this a tutorial filled with things you would have figured out had you ever rolled a mile on my wheels, or even imagined it.
First of all, the fake parking placards you buy at the flea market do not entitle you to park in the blue spaces. In many states, including the one in which I reside, it is estimated that more than half of the parking placards in use are not legit. This makes life a lot harder for those of us who actually need those spots closer to the buildings and curb cuts. (A curb cut is the place where the curb flattens out so that wheelchairs and walker can get on the sidewalk.)
You should also remember that having one legitimately disabled person in your family does not entitle every other member of that family to use the placard whenever they have the car. If you are a seventeen-year-old cheerleader, and you have Grandma's Buick, don't use her permit. Somebody else may need that space. Park in a regular space, and use the extra few steps to practice your "You all want me, but none of you can have me" walk.
Using the blue spaces, fake/borrowed placard or not, when you are not entitled to may seem harmless when you are "only going in for thirty seconds." It isn't. Research shows that the person popping into a business or government office with the intent of staying a minute or less is actually likely to stay between five and ten minutes. That may seem like a very short time to you, but the disabled person has even less time than that to determine if they are going to be able to get into where you already are, or decide to go home and try another day. While you were in the store, several of us may have driven by and sighed "Not today, I guess."
Many of you also seem to believe that the striped areas next to the parking spots for the disabled are for smaller cars, motorcycles shopping carts or picnics. These areas are for wheelchair ramps and lifts. Often we find a blue space, only to be unable to use it because there is no way to get out of our car or van.
Once we are in the building, it would be nice if you didn't treat us as we are carriers of the Andromeda Strain. I promise that you will not catch Multiple Sclerosis if you get on an elevator with me. It isn't exactly an edifying experience when the door opens, ten people re standing there waiting, and not a one of them will dare to get on with you. What, exactly, are you afraid of, anyway? That old man with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his spinal column isn't going to spread his paralysis to you by breathing the same air you're breathing.
ATTENTION, SALES CLERKS, WE ARE DOWN HERE! We know you see us. Pretending not to see us by carefully looking over our heads isn't going to prevent you from having to deal with us at some point. Why make us angry, first, by avoiding asking us what we need?
Parents, your children are afraid enough of people with disabilities without you saying things like: "Get out of the man's way, honey, he's going to run over you if you don't." We are down here in our chairs, looking your children right in the eye. We see the fear and confusion caused by encounters with us. Don't make it any worse, OK? You may think you are making a light-hearted joke, but the kid doesn't see it that way. There's no reason for you to put out the fire with kerosene, and it's hypocritical for you to get so excited about what your kids do when your Ford Explorer is outside taking up two of our parking spaces. Don't act hysterical when your child gets in out way. If you really want to help, stop voting for politicians who are at war with the Americans With Disabilities Act. (If you don't know who they are, you should.)
To help in a smaller, more personal, way, why not simply ask us what we need? We live in our bodies every day. We know what we can do, and what we need help with. We are aware of our own experiences. Take the pressure off of yourself, and us. You don't have to figure it out for us. Ask us. If neither of us know how to solve a problem, such as endcaps that obstruct entire grocery store aisles from wheelchair use, we can work it out together.
I shouldn't have to be saying all of this, but in a world of expanding intellectual horizons, but shrinking interpersonal ones, somebody has to. Many of us use the Internet and international telecommunication to know what is happening this very minute on the other side of the world, but we seem to understand less and less of the experiences of our neighbors, friends, sisters and brothers.
If you can't accept my description of life among the disabled; if you think this is just more whining in a liberal, "the world owes me" kind of way, I have a challenge for you. Rent a chair, and use it for a week. Don't cheat, stay in it. Before you leave the house each day, drink three liters of caffeinated soda. You'll learn about the alien world the person next to you lives in. You'll learn to always be aware of where the curb cuts, elevators, hallway and sidewalk obstructing doors, accessible bathrooms, too-narrow doors, and tall water fountains are. You'll learn about all the places you can't go because of overstocked, overcrowded floor space. You'll learn about being treated like a child. You'll learn how important those blue parking spots really are. You'll learn what it's like to be constantly on the verge of abject humiliation. You'll learn that the simple act of getting dressed is something you have to rest and recover from. You'll learn that everything takes more time, more strength, more energy and more planning. You'll learn that, far from being a bunch of whiners, we are brave and strong to go out and face the world each day. You'll learn that the little bit of help and consideration that we want, that we are not getting, isn't too much to ask. You'll learn so much that it probably won't be necessary to initiate National Run Over The Able-bodied's Toes Week.
But it sure would be fun.
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