Your Handicapped Perspective of the Day

Yesterday I went to the store to buy my fiance a card and roses; partly because it was sweet just to do it, and partly because I needed to offer an apology for the events that took place the night before.

At this point you might say, “What did you do?” It does not matter, it’s not the point of this post; but just to satisfy your curiosity I got too drunk and ended up throwing up on the carpet.

I’m one of those people in a wheelchair who actually goes outside and does shit. Like I’m known do to. I went to the store and after picking out what I wanted to buy I realized that I left my wallet at home, so I put the items on hold to go home and get my wallet.

Which more or less means that I already put my wheelchair in my car, but now I got to transfer it two more times then I wanted to. So at this point I would have to put in/take out my wheelchair a total of six times.

Can I do it? Yes? I don’t mind doing it. The only reason I don’t want to is because it adds about 20 minutes to my trip that was not supposed to take that long in the first place.

It was a nice day yesterday in southeast Nebraska. Sunny and warm, but not that humid; kind of reminded me of Washington Summer’s in a weird way. When I came home to get my wallet I had the task of getting out of my driver seat, using the side of the car to help me walk to the trunk, taking my wheelchair out and assembling it, going up the ramp into my house; and by the time I got my wallet I had to do all of those steps in the reverse order.

I get home, I got to the back of my car, took out and assembled my chair. Just as I sat in my chair and wheeled myself over to the ramp that takes me to the front door of my house and I hear, “Do you need any help sir,” to which I said, “No.”

This guy sounded like he was offended that I said, “No.” Look man, I’m doing something that I do many times a day. If I had that much trouble getting into my own house don’t you think I would live somewhere else?

I’m very active, as far as someone in a manual wheelchair is considered. I hear, “Do you need any help,” more times in a week than most people do in a year.

I understand that you want to be nice, as part of me appreciates that you want to be nice. The other part of me however hears that so much that it gets annoying and makes me think that you’re someone who assumes that those of us in wheelchairs are not independent and clearly can’t do anything by ourself’s.

I do this many times a day, I don’t need your help; and for you to assume that I need help with one of the simplest tasks that I do on a daily basis just makes me think that you’re an asshole who just wants to feel better.

Don’t you think if I needed help I’d be like, “Hey, can you help me please,” versus just getting unprovoked help that might not be needed in the first place?

That’s like me being somewhere and asking you if you need help walking. The first time it happens you might just think they’re weird for asking such an odd question, in my case you might even expect it; but being asked that multiple times a day is rather annoying.

If I needed help I’d ask. I much rather ask then having people assume.


The Girl Who Assumed

I don’t know if girls think I’m cute or not. I don’t know if guys think I’m cute or not. I’m not gay, so I don’t really care if guys think I’m cute or not; I mean cool, whatever, I’ll take the compliment, but I don’t care to sleep with you.

I have never been the one to get hit on. Before I met my fiancé I came to this conclusion while talking to women online: it’s half and half, some girls think I’m ulgy and others think I’m really cute.

Then you got the wheelchair issue to worry about. And very often, from what I can tell, girls who find me attractive are quick to slam on the brakes when they find out that I can’t get into a physical fight or do yard work.

So it’s not often that a girl hits on me. And more often than not if they actually get to know me and fall in love with my personality the vast majority of them walk over into the friend zone.

Now a days though, that doesn’t matter. I’m engaged to a wonderful women, someone who I can’t really complain about.

However being hit on, being told I’m that I’m cute is a good feeling. But one day a good thing went too far and that is what I’m going to tell you about if you care to read further.

I got a phone call that morning, a phone call from the company that was selling my my new wheelchair, “Yes Mr. Last Name, your wheelchair is ready for pickup.”

That morning before Shannon went to work she gave me a small task: go to the store and put this in the mail.

Coming from Washington State where a post office is common place, having one in the entire city of Lincoln is weird to me. There might be more than one, but I’m only going off of secondhand information.

Our local grocery store has a mailing service too.

So being that I was in that area of town to pick up my new wheelchair. I went to the grocery store that I used to live next to, mainly because I knew that area of town, but I was also in the same area too.

There I am, standing in the parking lot directly behind my car with the trunk open. “Do you need any help?” That question is always met with a, “No, but thank you.” Speaking of that, more Nebraskans have asked me that than Washingtonian’s. 

Look people, I know you’re trying to be nice, I get it…but I have a system down, something that I’m so used to doing that if I change it up it will only make it harder. And my fiancé understands this, if we go shopping afterwards she will put food in the car and not even help me, because she knows that I don’t want it, and if I did I’d ask. But those people, the ones who don’t know any better, and there are alot of them, will look at her as if she’s the asshole for not helping a physically disabled man take out/put in his wheelchair.

I finally get my wheelchair assembled and sit down just to shut my trunk and roll into the store around one o’clock in the afternoon. My goal other than sending a package in the mail was to buy a Monster energy drink that I can drink when I get home to sit in front of my TV and play Fallout 4.

I roll on over to customer service and I’m sitting there, waiting in line watching a guy buy a lottery ticket, a girl put some mail in dropoff, another guy buy a pack of cigarettes, and a bunch of workers walk past me as they talk to one another and help bag groceries.

“That is a nice wheelchair.” Being caught off guard I found myself looking up at this girl who appeared to be in her early 30’s wearing green basketball shorts and a black tank top. The only thing I could think of to say was, “Thank you.”

I’m more social than I used to be, so I continue by saying, “it’s new.” I’m still in loss for words just based on the fact that this conversation came out of nowhere and that is not what I expect to be an opening line.

She was a good looking brunette. Not someone I had my jaw drop to the floor for, just okay I guess. Not too tall, not too fat, just kinda…avarage for a girl who wasen’t wearing makeup and looked like she got just got done running around the neighborhood.

Being in a moment of silence she said something that says one of two things: she either thinks I’m super cute and had a, “ughhhhhh what” moment or she has no tact.

“Do you need help taking a bath, or getting dressed, or eating food?” Being a man, one who thinks about sex a lot, I imagined me in a bathtub with her hands on my hard cock.

But that thoght only lasted a half second, I was more offended than anything as i said, “No…I…I can…do…all that stuff without help.”

Then she goes into trying to tell me I’m a man because I’m self sufficient and she can relate to being in a wheelchair because she broke her back playing sports. “Sorry lady, but no you can’t, no matter how much you think you can; being in a wheelchair for 30 days with the ability to walk again is not the same as not being able to walk and spending 15 years in a wheelchair with the ability of not walking.” That’s one of the thoughts I was having at the time and as much as I wanted to say it, I didn’t want to be an asshole.

She eventually stopped talking, I think she realized that she fucked up.

And to be totally honest I kept thinking to myself, “Yea sure lady, if I was single, you could totally rub my dick.”

But like I said,  I love my fiancé, you offended me more than you intended to, and you’re not her.

Are You Sure?

mr-rude-380x341It was a Saturday, my other half was at work, I had nothing to do. I decided to jump on Grand Theft Auto Online, I usually don’t play games with people I do not know, or in video games speak “randoms.” However you can join a lobby without ever entering freemode and exposing yourself to a bunch of others who kill for no reason.

I just bought a third apartment, all three have a ten car garage; therefore I can own up to thirty cars. I need money before I can “pimp out” those cars, and some of them I even need to buy from the website in order to own it.

I jumped in a lobby to play a heist, the biggest money making ventures in the game. Unless you want to go spend real life money to acquire a larger amount of virtual currency.

I start playing with this guy, he is also wearing a mic and can therefore talk to me while I talk to him. Our goal of this mission was to travel from the city to the desert just to hop on jet skies and go to an island to rescue this dude that knew how to hack into the bank we were going to rob.

We’ve been playing for awhile, two of us separated from the other two who didn’t seem to know what they were doing, we finally got to the beach and were swimming into the water to board the jet skies.

Out of nowhere he asked, “Are you drunk”?

I knew where this was going. I’m not dumb, I know I talk slower and deeper than most, I get that; but in no way does that make me stupid. I’ve heard question like this before, but it never went this far, this quick, and this rude.

“No, I’m not drunk.”

He then goes onto ask me, “Are you high?”

I could understand why being drunk would make you slur you speech, but come on man.

“I haven’t been stoned in about two years man.”

At this point he just turned the rudeness meter up to ten as if his favorite song just came on. I couldn’t believe it, did your parents raise you to be an asshole?

“Are you a crack baby?”

I sat there riding my jet ski in silence before I said, “What?”

“Are you a crack baby?”


“You sure?”

At this point I didn’t care about being nice anymore.

“Dude, that is fucking rude man! No, I’m not a crack baby”

That is not only disrespectful to me but is also disrespectful to those child born with a mom who was or is on drugs. Like what the fuck dude, I know I talk deep and slow, but you don’t fucking know me, stop acting like you do.

I can understand not knowing the person, and trying to figure it out, but you don’t got to be as asshole.

I Can’t….What?

EpilepsyDrivingNYC_night_high_speed_car_driving-hdOf all the things that people have said to me I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Who does that? Who is that ignorant? I mean, come on man, you can’t be that unaware of life and people.

When I moved to Washington State in 1998 the first friend I had was this guy by the name of Daniel. He just happened to live across the street from this other kid named Eric.

One night Dan had me over to stay the night and do shit that young kids do. I was a freshman in junior high. Our goal of the night was to see how long we could stay up, I only made it 26 hours before I went home. We listened to music and played Diablo-the first one-on his laptop.

That night Dan called his friend across the street, who I didn’t know at the time, and said, “hey, do you want to come stay the night at my house, I got a friend over.” Eric said something on the phone but I didn’t know what it was and the next thing I heard was, “You know the handicapped guy?” He paused for a second and continued with, “You know that new girl from Nebraska?” Another pause, “Yes, the one that you think is hot.” Yet again another short pause, “It’s her brother.”

17 years later Eric is by far one of my best friends, so much so that he is the number one contender to be the best man at my wedding. Granted we became friends because he thought my sister was hot, but I tend to have that effect on people; once they get to know me as a person they tend to fall in love with me. We have been though some great times, and even some bad ones too, but we have always been there for one another when we needed a friend to talk to. Although I would never be his roommate, that always ruins a friendship.

Eric has this friend named Jon, Jon is now a friend of mine too, we call him Jon Boy. Jon is a white guy with brown eyes, black hair, pretty tall, and in decent physical shape with a tattoo covering his right arm running all around, reaching from his wrist to the very top of his shoulder. Most girls-maybe some guys too-would definitely agree that he is by far the most attractive friend that I have. To be honest I’m kind jealous of him, all of his girlfriends are super hot, the type of girls that are way out of my league.

One day I was sitting at home on the weekend and I was pretty bored so I did the only thing I could think to do at the moment, I called Jon Boy to see what he was up to.

“Hey man, what you doing?” I was listening intently, hoping to hear that he was bored too, “Yea man, I mean Mike is here and all but you can totally stop by if you want to.” That is exactly what I did, I got in my red Volvo 850R that I sadly beat the shit out of, it had an upside down right headlight on the left side of the car with a grey hood that came from a different front end that my dad got at the local junk yard.

One day this guy turned left too late and smacked right into me totaling my sweet ride that had 240 horsepower, for a 5 cylinder engine with a turbo. When I first got the car it was painted a candy red with every window-other than the windshield-tinted, six spoke 18 inch rims panted a gun-metal black with a glossy chrome wrapping all around the exterior of the rims. It was a nice car, a rare care, that I wish I still had.

I pulled into his driveway 15 minutes later and sent him a text message, “Hey, can you open the garage door?” At this age, which really does not seem like that long ago, I would have to guess 2009 or 2010. I was able to walk, but was at the point that I had to notice my surroundings to understand if I could even get from point A to point B. It was like I noticed stuff that most people don’t even think about.

I’d be thinking to myself, “Okay, there is a trashcan there, I can lean onto that, and there is a wall there that I can get to because of the trashcan, and the door is there, I can walk along the wall to get to the door.” Of course I had to walk along my car just to get to the trashcan. Then when I got into the house, which I was already familiar with, I had to plan out a new strategy. I eventually got to the point that I felt comfortable enough around friends to just say, “Fuck this guys, you know me, I’m cool as fuck, I’m crawling around your house.”

A 27 year old-I think I was that old-crawling around the house. I don’t blame people for thinking that it was weird, because it was; but I had a very valid excuse, and it wasn’t because I was drunk either.

To put a better time stamp on this story, Modern Warfare 2 came out, but it was about another year or two before Modern Warfare 3 was released. And that’s exactly what Jon and Mike were doing, sitting down playing Modern Warfare 2 online, split screen style. They were the type of guys that would play the game for countless hours without ever playing the single player campaign.

I was watching them play and both of them were kicking ass, doing multiple shit, things that I would never think about doing. The end of the match came and their stats popped up on the screen. Mike, who was slightly better than Jon, had 18 kills and 2 deaths over the course of 5 minutes, or whatever it was.

Jon saw me looking at the 52 inch HDTV and said, “Hey man, you wanna play?”

“No man, I run around like a chicken with my head cut off, I’m lucky if I get one kill, I’m even luckier if I die less than ten times.”

“That’s why you need to practice man.”

“I get too pissed off and sad at other people before I can even do that.”

At that point the conversation drifted into a past event where Mike was so pissed off, for a really dumb reason too, that he went outside and poured lighter fluid all over his controller before watching it burn in the driveway. Like, what the fuck? Who the fuck does that? But I didn’t have to buy a new controller, so it’s his problem I guess.

Jon lived with his dad at the time, his dad came down the stairs to talk to me. They had one of those split level homes, where when you enter the front door and you could either go up to the first floor or down to the basement. He had to go to work and I was parked behind him. His dad kind of knew who I was although we never really talked before. “Hey Dan, I got to go to work, can you move your car.”

As I grab my keys up off of the floor and start to figure out how I’m going to stand up I said “yeah.”

Mike is…he just doesn’t fucking think about what he says, how it sounds, who he is saying it to, or if it will even offend the person. Out of nowhere, like an uninvited dick pic, Mike says, “They let you people drive.”

I could not think of what to say, I think Jon was waiting to see my reaction as we sat there at stared at each other as if we were simultaneously thinking, “What the fuck?”

After staring at Mike for a while while my mouth was opening but words were not coming out I finally said, “Fuck you too.”

Granted the fact that he was an acquaintance who has known me for a while now, but only in passing or group activities; I was not too offended. He was just stupid, or maybe he had a mental disability that came with a lack of tact and social interactions. Whatever the case I was offended, but not so much that it ruined my day.

I went outside, moved my car, came back, and at some point I left to go back home. I don’t really remember the rest of that day, in fact I could not even begin to tell you about what else happened that day. If I was able to somehow watch that memory like it were a TV show, I could probably remember how I felt in situations that are not even entertaining, but I don’t, so that is the end of that story.

But really man, I think the part that pissed me off the most was, “You people.” I can cut him some more slack if he asked, “You can drive,” or “Disabled people can drive,” or even, “I didn’t know they let handicapped people drive.” But “You people,” come on man.

Running Home.


“I feel bad man.” I actually felt bad, what was that kid going to think? Even more so what were his parents going to think?

I was asked this question so often that I became a smartass. Once upon a time I was lying in bed with the mother of my child and she said something that stuck in my head and was not the smartest thing to say. I got to admit it was pretty damn funny, but it was on the mean side.

Eric was sitting in the passenger side of my car right before we went to get some pizza. We were planning on getting some pizza before we came back home to drink. “Don’t feel bad man, that was the greatest thing I ever heard.”

That night I was sitting in my apartment with nothing to do and my roommate was away from the house. At this point in time I don’t think my roommate liked me too much. He had a girlfriend who didn’t like me much. Later on in life she became his wife, at that point we kind of feel off and there has been very little to no conversation between the both of us. But that is beside the point. Anyhow I didn’t see him a lot.

And I was unemployed; I think that had a lot to do with why he didn’t really like me at that time.

My friend Eric called me, after our conversation I ended up driving up the hill and to the other side of town to pick him up and turn around just to go back down the hill to end up at my apartment. At that point in my life I was driving a 1996 Volvo 850R, a rare vehicle, they only made about 200 of them in the two years from 1996 to 1998. It looked the same as any other Volvo 850 or Volvo 850 Turbo, but my car was producing more horsepower than the others. It was painted red and had tinted windows all around with 17” 6-spoke rims that were gunmetal black with a brushed aluminum on the outside of the rims surrounding the spokes. That car also produced  240HP, I’m so sad I treated that car like shit and ended up giving it to some kid in Seattle for $1000, hopefully he turned it back into its former glory.

My roommate at the time had a policy that if you left five dollars in the bar you could drink until you stopped. Which Eric took advantage of, I think this made Jason question the amount of money that he was asking for. As far as parties went, it was not a bad idea because none of the friends got too wasted to function and therefore didn’t drink that much.

Eric on the other hand took advantage of this, and my house became his favorite place to drink. The fact that we were both unemployed had a lot to do with it.

I was sitting there on the couch watching TV and said “dude, I’m fucking hungry.” Eric looked at me with a shot of whiskey in his hand and said, “me too.”

“We better get food before we can’t.”

So we decided to go get some pizza before we got too drunk, at this point I only had half of a beer and was okay to drive. So that’s what we did.

Eric was the first to exit the front door; I followed behind him because I had to lock the door behind me. As we were walking towards my car that was only parked a few feet away from the door we see a kid riding on a Razor scooter.

Just a kid doing things which children do. I didn’t see any issue with what this kid was doing, he was just cruising down the sidewalk that ran along the perimeter of the parking lot, enjoying a nice summer day in Washington.

He rolled by and stopped in front of Eric who was still standing on the sidewalk staring at the front of my car. I was hobbling over to my car, this kid stopped his scooter because he saw me walking and was naturally curious. I don’t blame him for being curious, however I got made fun of so much as a kid that do this day I don’t really like kids asking me questions.

I’m afraid that even if I do try to explain it to kids they won’t understand and will continue to judge me based off of it. Based off of past experiences I just try to avoid this whole situation.

He stood there watching me walk back to my car. When I walk I can’t even hide the fact that I’m disabled. My head is bobbing up and down every time I take  a step and my right foot lift up but I still drag the toe of my shoe behind me as my legs is turned outward due to the fact that my hips have rotated over time.

Just like I was expecting, but didn’t want, he looks at me and asked a question that I was not really prepared for in this situation. I heard it from drunk people who didn’t know me, but this was the first time I heard it from a kid who appeared to only be ten years old.

“Are you drunk?”

I didn’t even look at him, I was still focused on the location of my car as I chuckle at the same time that Eric does. Eric goes onto say, “No, he is not drunk.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

The first reaction I had was to say, “everything,” and just shut up while I’m walking towards my driver’s side door.

As I’m walking over to my car I can hear Eric talking to this kid but I was so upset that I wasn’t even able to register what was being said between the two. Blinded by anger I continued to go about my business as I opened the door of my car. As soon as the door of my car swung open the thought of my kids mother poped into my head while I stood there and think with the door wide open as I stare at the instrument cluster on the interior of the car.

I looked up a few seconds later, stared at this kid. Eric is still in front of him on the sidewalk as I say, “do you want to know why I walk this way?”

This kid looked at me all excited and said, “yes”

I looked at him with a slight smile on my face. I could tell Eric wasn’t even expecting me to say what I was about to.  This kid looked back at me as I said, “I didn’t eat my vegetables as a kid.”

After looking at me with a shocked look on his face this kid said, “really,” with a tone in his voice as if he was considered for his own well being.  Eric stood there, I could tell he wanted to start laughing but he managed to keep a straight face as he said, “yea man…you better run on home and eat some vegetables.”

We watched this kid pick up his scooter and turn around with haste as he ran back home.

Sitting in my car before we even leave the parking lot I turned the key and said, “I feel bad man.”

The next thing I heard was, “you got him to eat vegetables man, I bet his parents are happy as hell.”

“But I lied to him.”

“Man that was classic, funniest shit I ever heard.”

I Wish He Arrested Me

maxresdefaultI was trying to think of something to write about, part of me was like, “no one reads my shit, so no one cares.” The other part of me said, “someone might care.” I could not really think of anything, especially a story that was related to my disability, at the last second a light bulb went off in my head.

For a few of you that already follow my blog that seem to have a point to it this might end up being a repeat story, but I’m going to try to shorten it and not bring up useless information.

Cops…police, whatever you want to call them we should look up to them, but a lot of us don’t. This is not a story about cops and how they may or may not doing their job. This is about one of those bad apples and how it affected me.

It was around the year of 2000 and I think I was a sophomore in high school, either way I went to my friends house on this day.

I lived in Puyallup, Washington at the time. If you’re from that general area it was actually South Hill, if you’re from anywhere else it was about 50 miles south of Seattle.

My friend who moved from Kent had a childhood friend over at his house that day when I showed up. He (not his friend) was into larping, if you don’t know what that is it is when you make weapons out of PVC pipe, foam, and duct tape (or similar objects.)

He needed to go to Home Depot to get more supplies. For those of you that feel that weird connection because you live there too, it was the one next to Walmart… the one that apparently is not there anymore because it moved across the street.

Anyhow, his friend Aaron drove a blue 1984 Pontiac Firebird, at that time I drove a 1988 Mazda 323; so we took his car to the store. I was also walked at that age with little need of assistance, but it was getting worse over time; I used my wheelchair when I would otherwise be walking a large distance over a long period of time.

I got out of his car and stood in the parking lot staring at the front of Walmart while I was thinking, “dammit, my wheelchair is still in my car.” My car was now about a mile or two away.

“I got you man, it’s cool,” Aaron shouted as he ran over to the nearest shopping cart storage place things. I don’t know what they’re called, the places in the parking lots with bars on both sides with two rows of shopping carts in between them.

He came up behind me with a Home Depot shopping cart, leans it forward while he tells me to lean back. So I do, I didn’t see anything wrong with this. I forgot my wheelchair, I was using what I had to do what I could.

The automatic doors open and Aaron is pushing the cart while he is talking to Jason, this whole time my eyes are focused on this Washington State Patrol Officer standing a few feet inside of  the front door.

“What are you doing,” the police officer said while looking at me with his arms crossed over his upper torso. I didn’t want to really explain that I was in a shopping cart, he could see that I was, he was not that stupid. I looked at him with a mix of a terrified feeling and also a feeling that I was in the right because of my disability.

There I was with the bottom half of my legs hanging outside of the cart as I said, “I’m handicapped.”

From there he wondered why I was not in my wheelchair, which is a justifiable question so I politely answered him by saying, “I forgot my chair in my car.” This then goes into further detail because he was under the impression I was not that forgetful, but I was. I go onto to tell him that we took Aaron’s car and my wheelchair was still in the back on my car that was parked in Jason’s driveway.

At some point in this conversation I repeated myself by saying, “I’m handicapped.” He then had the nerve to say, “no you’re not.”

“Yes I am”

“No you’re not”

“Do you want to see my medical papers?”

“No, because you’re not disabled”

“If you say so, but I’m not lying to you.”

“Yes you are”

I look to my right so I could talk to Aaron who was standing behind me, “dude, lean the fucking cart forward.” A pause in our conversation goes on while the police officer is saying something that I’m not paying attention to anymore. Nothing is said between Aaron and I until I say, “I want to prove to this fine member of society that I’m not handicapped.” At this point I was pissed and the last thing that came out of my mouth reflected that.

I get up out of the cart and walk in circles about two or three times. When I stop I could see that my friend Jason was looking at the cop saying, “if you do not call that handicapped I don’t know what you call it.”

The cops looks at my red face that is filled with so much anger that I could be mistaken for a firetruck and he said, “I don’t care, you’re walking.”

This was at the same time I was thinking, “I’m in the right motherfucker, I’ll argue with you until you lose your fucking job.” Of course I did not say that. This conversation continued and I can not remember what was actually said, I just remember the next thing I was going to do was ask for his badge number.

This was after he said that he would take me down to the station if I didn’t walk.

Jason and Aaron convinced me to shut up and walk. Not that I couldn’t walk, but that far…for that long. It was not a pleasurable experience for me ever since I saw this fine upstanding member of authority.

Why he thought he was an employee at Home Depot was beyond me. Writing this story is actually making me mad. If he didn’t want me to ride in the cart, fine; but I’m fucking handicapped, show me another way to do it. He did not write the Home Depot policy, and I’m pretty sure that a cop does not have authority on private property unless told do by said owner of that property.

Man…Washington State, I love it; but you really fucked up when you hired that ass hat.

Of course that night when I told my dad he was just as pissed as I was.

“You should have got his fucking badge number.”

“I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you.”

“Jason convinced me to drop it.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?”

My mom is in the family room watching King 5 news while my dad is talking at a loud volume. From the family room we can hear my mom yelling, “Bill, watch your language.”

Before I could give him an answer my dad was quick to yell, “you know you could have stayed there and called me, I would have showed up and I would of hired the best fucking lawyer in this whole state.”

A pause before he continues to yell, “you know how much money you’d have?”

It ended…as pissed as we were my dad and I both know that when something is over, it’s more or less done.

So yea, there you go. There is my story about discrimination form a police office. Fun times indeed.

I hope this guy doesn’t work there anymore.

The Lady in the Parking Lot


My girlfriend and I just moved out of my parents house, my dad just quit his job and moved back to Washington State because he didn’t see his job going anywhere fast, and his place of employment never hired me, which was promised to my dad and I; that was the whole reason why I moved back to Nebraska in the first place.

We lived in our own place again; it was nice to do whatever we wanted without worrying about parents. I can’t remember how long we have lived here, must have been about four months of so. It was a cloudy day, not to hot but not too cold. Typical Western Washington weather without the rain, unlike Washington it was really windy that day. At this point in time I did not have a job and decided to go for a pointless drive after cleaning up around the house.

I just got a new car; I saw this as good of an excuse as any to drive my new car for no reason in particular. I upgraded for a 2006 Kia Spetra5 that was painted black to a 2013 Hyundai Elantra that was painted red.

I made the decision to drive down the highway and stop in at Hy-Vee, which is a grocery store in town, I think I was going to go buy a fifth of whiskey, an energy drink, and a pack of cigarettes.  I pull up in the parking lot and park in one of the disabled parking spaces, reach my hand over and rotate the keys turning the car off and pulling up the emergency break.

I reach down and grab my disabled parking pass that I keep in the side of my driver’s door and with a quick movement of one hand I slap the parking pass onto my rear view mirror. I then reach down and pop my truck at the same time I’m trying to open the door using my elbow to slowly push the door away from the car.

I keep my flat red manual wheelchair with some 3 spoke aluminum rims in my truck. Every time I put my chair inside of or take it out of my trunk. I put both wheels on the rigid frame, pull up the back of the seat and put on my “asspad.”

I get out of my car and use the side of my car to assist me with the task of walking towards the back of my car. I’m doing my normal thing, taking my wheelchair out of the car piece by piece and re-assembling them. Every now and then someone, usually men, come up and ask, “do you need any help.” I understand that you are trying to help and it was nice of you to ask but I always say, “no, I’m good, thank you though.”

First of all, if I needed help doing that than wouldn’t that mean I needed help every time I went somewhere? If I needed help wouldn’t you think I would have someone with me to help? I’m sorry, handicapped people go places to. I know they are just trying to be nice, but really dude; this is not my first or last trip to the rodeo.

Second of all, I have a system in place. If you fuck up that system it fucks up my whole day. You take away what I’m using to stand up while lifting a wheel less frame. Then you’re in my way, and I need to try to figure out how to move and or stand when something new enters my environment.

But that is not what this story is about, that question doesn’t even bother me that much. However I do find it pretty funny when people assume my fiance is being an asshole because she is not helping me.

At this point the frame of my wheelchair is in front of me laying in the parking lot with one wheel connected. One of my other wheels is lifted up by my hand while the other side of the wheel is still rested on the floor of my trunk along with the pad that I sit on.

I’m doing my thing, not really paying attention to much, every now and then I look up to be a natural observer of people. The next thing I know is this old lady is walking by me and as she looks at me she opens her mouth without thinking. “You’re a brave man for being out of the house by yourself!”

Really lady, do you think all handicapped just say at home when we have no help from anyone? I don’t know anything else to say about this.

If I had no form of a personal filter I would have said, “you’re pretty brave too, I guess old people can be active too; look at you, all able to walk with a walker by yourself”