The Christmas Party

wheelchair

My girlfriend invited me to her companies Christmas party. It just happened to be 23 days after Christmas. It was at the local bowling alley, and even though I could not bowl, I decided to go because I’m new to this state, again.

The small group of friends I had before I left to the state of Washington and now gone. I needed to get out of the house to meet some people and do something. I was having fun talking to all of her employees, but I left with a sour taste in my mouth.

After an hour or so I was talking to my girlfriend again ending the conversation by saying, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to the bathroom.” I’m in the bathroom doing my own thing when some other guy comes into the bathroom. “How ya doin’ fella” was what he said to me.

I was not thinking too much about it until I was exiting the bathroom. I replied back to him saying, “I’m good man, I’m good.” I go back to hang out with my girlfriend for another 15 minutes or so, at this point in the night I had a few beers; so that means I had to go to the bathroom every 15 minutes.

Before I go to the bathroom I gave her my car keys, expecting her to warm up the car before I get there, she said to me, “I’ll be waiting outside.” As I’m coming out of the bathroom I think to myself that there is a door not too far from me and it would be easier to get outside from that door.

I’m going towards that door as a congregation of people were trying to exit the same door. This guy holds the door for me, which is nice, but then he says “are you alright buddy.” I’m looking to my left and right noticing that both of these doors did not have a ramp to the parking lot. As I’m turning around saying “I can’t go out any of these doors,”

I can tell that his girlfriend was scared shitless that I was going to run into her. Before I say that I hear them saying, “it’s okay buddy” and afterwards they said “we can help you down buddy.” I said “it’s okay man” and then he wanted to make sure I didn’t change my mind be saying, “are you sure buddy.” Feeling rather annoyed by now I said “yea man I’m good” he then says “okay buddy.”

My whole point of this story is that we in wheelchairs know how to control our wheelchair better then you think we do, we have a better idea of where it is in space because it has become an extension of our body.

Do not call us ‘buddy’ or ‘fella’ it makes us, me, feel mentally challenged. The guy in the bathroom didn’t think I could go to the bathroom much less sit back down in my wheelchair.

Maybe he was just drunk and liked calling people fella. I’m sure you think I’m over reacting.

When you are aware of how people look at you in a wheelchair and then they address you by these names, you start to feel like everyone is a judgmental asshole.

The other guy called me buddy 5 or 6 times in a 15 second period, I was expecting him to pat me on the top of the head and say “good job.” I can open doors asshole, I can turn around in a 180 degree circle, I can talk, and I can tell that you must think I’m mentally incompetent.

Just because you see someone in a wheelchair does not mean they are not firing on all cylinders. This happens less in highly populated cities, you guys are more used to the whole people in wheelchair thing.

If you live in Nebraska, “holy shit dude, he is in a wheelchair he must be mentally challenged.” If you don’t believe me go to a place where no one knows you, you must be in a building that is highly populated; sit in a wheelchair and see how people treat you, it’s not fun.

I Could Have Been Rich

Money

As I look back to that day I always end up telling myself, “things could be so different if you just…”

This story will take us back in time to the summer of 2001. I must of been 17 years old, about half of a year before I became a legal adult.

This was around the time that all the popular kids were carrying around cell phones that had a monochrome screen with black text and a bright light that came on when you pushed a button, if you were lucky you had a color screen on your cell phone.

I was in high school at the time, about to go into my senior year. At that time I had this friend named Jason, as you may of read in Damn Trash Cans, I ended up living with him a few years later.

Jason was about the same age as me and had a tan, he didn’t go tanning or sit in the sun with the purpose of doing so; he just happened to burn easier then most. He was a fairly tall kid with brown hair and brown eyes, who was clean shaven with hair that was not well taken care of. His hair was not too long, it all laid down; so its not like you were embarrassed to be seen in public with him, I wasn’t at least.

I just got my drivers licence the summer before, at the time I was driving a gray 4 door 1988 Mazda 323. Jason did not live too far from me and during the summer his house was the place to be because his mom was way more relaxed then mine.

They had a pool table, with purple felt, in their garage.  It was not in the best shape being that it was exposed to cold temperature and moisture that came to be a normal thing if you lived in the western half of Washington State.

I went over there a lot to not only play pool, but to get away from my mom who liked to complain about the dumbest shit you have ever heard. His sister was also very cute, so she was a nice bit of eye candy that I didn’t have any shot with.

However this was during the summer, so it was a nice day outside; which means the sun was out and we didn’t get any rain in the past 12 hour period.

In the west side of Washington State, it would start to rain around the end of August or the beginning of September and it would keep going until the following June. There were breaks in between, but it still ended up raining approximately 75% of a 365 day period.

I was driving over to Jason’s house with my windows down jamming to music. If 2001 is any clue I was probably listening to Nelly’s album Country Grammar.

I got over to his house to find out that he had another friend at his house, his name was Aaron. He was a tall dude, must of been standing at 6 foot 2. He had blue eyes and blond hair, being that it was 2001 and the fashion of the pacific northwest was to spike your hair and stick all of your hair out the top of a visor, he looked like the typical hipster of yesteryear.

Jason was into video games such as Final Fantasy. With his creative mind they just started playing this game, an actual physical activity, that was known as Boffing, which is funny to me because according to Urban Dictionary is originated in Ashland, Oregon which is not too far from the California border, about 430 miles south of were we lived.

Boffing was a game in which two or more people would fight medieval style with swords, armor, and shields made out of PVC pipe, foam, and duct tape. As I rolled up into the driveway of his house I saw them outside crafting these so called weapons. After hanging out for awhile they decide that they need to buy more materials because they were almost out.

Aaron drove a blue 1984 Pontiac Firebird, so we took his car to the store. I have not been in a Firebird since I was a wee lad being drove around the streets of Nebraska in my dads 1980 Firebird.

I was excited to ride in his car, however when we got to the store I remembered that I did not have my wheelchair, because it was in my car. Aaron ran over to grab a shopping cart and proceeds to lean it up so I can fall into it.

Here we are two old kids walking into a store while pushing a cart with another 17 year old kid in it. From a outside perspective it must of looked really silly, and that is exactly how the police officer saw it.

As the automatic door slides open we see a Washington State Patrol Officer standing inside of the front door.

He was not a local police officer, he may have locally lived there; but he worked for the state, not the city. “What are you doing,” he told me before I said, “I’m in a shopping cart because I left my wheelchair at home.”

The police officer looked at me like I was trying to play a trick on a person of authority, someone who was working for the state, not the store. It was not his job to tell me rather I could or could not be in a cart, if he really cared that much he should have went over to get an employee of that store.

“Get out of the cart,” the cop told me with his arms crossed. “I’m handicapped,” I gasped with a surprising look on my face. Once again he told me to get out of the cart and I had to remind him that I left my wheelchair at home.

“Why did you leave your wheelchair at home,” he asked. “We took his car” as I pointed at Aaron “my wheelchair is in my car.”

This line of questioning has been going on for awhile now and yet again we got to the point that he was telling me to get out of the cart. To repeat myself for the fourth time I said “I’m handicapped,” I was trying very hard not to yell at this police officer because I was starting to get really annoyed.

“No you’re not” he told me, at this point I was thinking to myself, “you won’t be saying that when you see me walk.”

I look to my side to talk to Aaron who was the one pushing the cart and I told him to tip the cart up so I can walk around in circles. I get out of the cart feeling very upset and thinking to myself “the Washington State justice system really fucked up hiring this asshole.”

I gimp around in 10 foot diameter circles, and I did this about 3 times.

If you were to watch me walk, which I can’t really do 13 years later, you would be watching my body sway for side to side as my head did not even stay in the same area code, I’d also be dragging my right foot behind me because I could not bend my knee to keep the tip of my toes for dragging on the floor behind me.

After I got done walking, if that’s even what to call it; I look over at the cop who is now standing no more then three feet away from Jason. Jason tells the cop, “if you don’t call that handicapped, I don’t know what the fuck you call it.” The police officer, keep in mind his job is to protect people, had the audacity to say “I don’t care, you’re walking.”

At this point the cop and I were no more then two feet from each other, and trust me I was not going to try to fight him because I can’t fight a fly, and he probably would of shot me anyways.

I was in the state of mind where I was not going to walk no matter what he told me, I had a medical condition that gave me the legal right not to. I was talking to this cop and I was hoping that he was going to arrest me, life would of been great for me from the point on.

Everything that was said after that was forgot because I was so angry, my face was as red as a traffic light. Jason and Aaron convinced me to drop it, why the fuck did I do that? I did though.

I spent the rest of the time in that store standing on the edge of the big cart they were pushing. Standing was better the walking, but it was very tiring nonetheless.

Later that night as I’m eating dinner with my family I’m telling this whole story to my dad. Being a stereotypical Italian, he stands up and starts yelling. “Why the hell did you drop it” he asks me. He goes on to tell me everything I was thinking a few hours ago.

 “You should have kept saying no until he arrested you” or “you should of got his badge number.” My dad ended his rant by yelling “you know you could of sued the entire state of Washington for discrimination, you know if you got arrested I would of spent good money on a lawyer, he would of made it so the whole state of Washington wanted to kiss your ass.”

This story is nofiction, it actually happened to me. It’s too late to see anything come from this, and I don’t think I will see any type of authority figure even do so much as to apologize to me.

I want everyone to know what happened to me. If this guy still works for the State of Washington do not go to Home Depot in Puyallup, Washington if you are disabled and forgot your wheelchair.

This is not Home Depot’s fault, but I fail to understand why a Washington State Patrol Officer was standing in your store trying to enforce rules that were not his to enforce.

You’re Obsolete.

The Obsolete Man

On New Years Eve night after coming home from dinner I sat down and turned on the television. I started to watch one of my favorite shows Twilight Zone. They were playing a marathon, the second episode I watched caught my interest.

I think I can relate to it in ways most people can’t, but we can all relate to it to some degree. The full episode is at the bottom if you so choose to watch it. I like this show because it makes people think, many episodes tell a good story.

This episode had to have been centered in either a futuristic society or that of a dictatorship, possibly both. This guy named Mr. Wordsworth is called to trial and is told he has no use anymore. He works as a librarian, this society has eliminated books and literature, therefore he does not have a further use and must die.

The court gives him a choice to decide his method of execution and grants his request which is to  have his final moments televised in an attempt to show the public what happens when someone is deemed, against his own will, to be obsolete.

He also requests to talk to the chancellor in his room, that is going to be blown up per his request, and the chancellor then leaves his room before the last scene of this show.

When the chancellor returns to the courtroom he discovers that his junior officer has replaced him, therefore he is now obsolete. Due to the execution being televised he showed everyone that he was a coward and has disgraced that society.

At the end of the show Rod Serling makes his appearance, as he is known to at the beginning and end of every show. He says “any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of men, that state is obsolete.”

In the long run this has made me think of my employment situation. I moved back to this state to take a job as a drafter.

For those of you that do not know that is someone who produces a detailed blueprint(s) of a part(s), under the supervision of engineers, for manufacture and/or construction.

I’m not going to go into why that job is not there, but it has a lot to do with the shape of this country. Corporations what employees that can do said job, right? Recently the whole shape of the country has given those in charge the ability to make however much money they want.

Which is not necessarily a bad thing, however those in charge happen to be greedy. That is why we have a corporation like Walmart that get away with murder.

According to Statistic Brain, as of December 11th 2013 Walmart annually sold 405 billion dollars worth of product, that’s $405,000,000,000. They also employ two million employees in 4,253 stores country-wide. The Huffington Post reported that 1,525,000 Walmart employees made less than $25,000 a year.

Let’s say that a single mom has two kids and works at Walmart, ASPE says that if they have a total income under $19,530 they are therefore under the line of poverty. I don’t know where they got their numbers from, but a single person is his or her own place can not live off of $19,503. It’s really hard to even live off of $25,000 after you take into account everything you have to pay for just to live.

This is not about Walmart though, I’m just giving you an example. The majority of people who become engineers start out as a machinist and follow the career latter from there. I will not be able to stand, or even walk, forever; I need help as is.

My previous job can lie to me all they want, but I know they were trying to get rid of me because I was a slow machinist, and they totally had the right to do so; but how do I go any further if I can’t do that?

I did go to school, twice, and have obtained two degrees.

I thought about being a tattoo artist, but that requires me to go back to school to take an art class. I don’t even know if I’ll pick up on that, I draw but I don’t feel as if it is close to being able to compare it to what tattoo artist’s can do.

I even thought about a cashier, but then that requires me to stand, yes I know that I can get accommodations, but will that needed space allow everyone else the ability to work? Then I need to be fast at that also, I’ll need to be able to not only talk to customers while keeping a smile on my face but I’ll need to make sure that the line moves fast.

That means I will need to be fast at using the calculator, grabbing the right amount of change, as well as bagging the product(s). That job is out of the question.

Then I thought to myself “I’ll be a stocker.” Then I realized that they push around heavy carts full of product, and I can’t do that in my wheelchair. The long and short is that I can not run, jump, or skip; what type of job can I do? Am I obsolete?

I feel like it most of the time. I know that living in this country I can go onto disability, which I have; but $10,776 is a lot less than $19,530. I’m way under the poverty line, if it weren’t for my parents how would I live off of that?

Even if I got rid of my car, my car insurance, my phone, my clothes, and my food, I can barely afford rent for any place that does not require me to worry about getting shot on a nightly basis. Even if I go onto food stamp, how can I afford my utilities?

What do I do? What does everyone else to? As Rod Serling mentioned any ideology that fails to recognize the worth men is obsolete. Is this country obsolete?

Damn Trash Cans

trash-can

“There is salt and pepper all over this counter, what the hell were you doing last night?”

That’s what I ended up thinking when I woke up the next morning. If you read I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables When I Was A Kid, you have heard about this infamous trash can. This is one of many great times I had with my friend Eric, after all if you can’t laugh during a bad situation, you are not having that much fun in life.

There I was laying in my bed, at the time I had of those bunk beds that had a futon on the bottom that you could fold into a couch. I had a small bedroom in this apartment, by the time you put a desk against one of the walls and the bed against the opposite wall, you didn’t have more than 2 inches (5.25 centimeters) between the edge of the bed, when it was folded out, and the back of my desk chair.

This means that the television, the old big box television, was about 3 feet away from you when you sat on the couch.  This made a great spot for playing video games or watching TV. However that night I was sick, I may have had something on the TV, but I was sleeping between my “episodes of sickness.”

I think it was about the fifth or sixth time I woke up that night, my door was closed and I did my “sick thing” again. At that point I decided that the trashcan needed to be emptied and washed out, again. As I get myself out of bed the door opens, who is it, Eric. It was about three in the morning at this time and Jason, who just got into bed, had to get up in 3 hours.

Eric then sat down to watch TV, rather it was already on or not I can not remember, mind you that Eric came into my bedroom with two double shots of whiskey.

Eric then started talking to me saying a bunch of nonsense, I stop him and said, “you may not want to sleep in here,” he then asked why, I looked at him like he was dumb and said, “because I’m sick.” “I don’t care man,” he said as I was picking up the trashcan. “Do you need to empty that” he asked, and I said yes, then the trashcan was ripped away from me.

I hear him dumping the trashcan into the kitchen sick, not the bathtub; but I was thinking to myself, “whatever, it’s already done, yelling at him wont do anything.” I’m laying in bed again as he comes in and starts talking to me, “where is my trashcan” I asked, “what trashcan” he asked.

After a slight pause in conversation, “Can I take these shots of whiskey before I go get your trashcan,” he asked me before he stood up. I didn’t really have a problem with Eric drinking more, because I can’t really stop him; and he is an adult, if he wants to drink some more he can.

I’m laying in my bed watching whatever channel he turned it to, and he comes back into my room with a trashcan, but it was not the original one. He brought me the tall 13 gallon trashcan, I will refer to this as a black trash can.

“What the hell man.” He asks me what he did wrong, as far as he was concerned I asked for a trashcan; so he brought me a trashcan. As I’m trying to explain to him that it is not the white trash can, which took about 5 minutes to do, he is also trying to tell me that there was no such thing as a white trash can. He eventually decides to go find this trashcan that no longer exists!

He comes back into my room after about ten minutes, but this time he had another shot of whiskey. It was a single shot this time, but there were now three shot glasses in my room, one that was about to be drank. I looked at him with a confused look on my face and said, “what the hell man, I can’t throw up in there.”  

He sits down to watch TV and talks to me about his ex, who I really didn’t care about, but he is my best friend so I got to act like I care. I remind him, after he starts to cry, that he needs to go get my trashcan, so he leaves the room again.

He comes back with the black trashcan, keep in mind that the bag was still in the can and it was full of trash. As I’m yelling at him that the trashcan is not white and there is in fact a white trashcan by the sink, where he left it. 

“What the hell guys, shut up I need to go to work in two hours,” Jason was yelling at both of us from his bedroom. I finally decided that I was just going to have to clean out both trash cans in the morning. I told him that he can bring me the black trash can but he needed to take out the bag.

He turns around in the hallway, with trashcan in hand, and disappears for an unknown amount of time.

This time he comes back into my room with a piece of toast, that was actually toasted and not brunt! He sits down and eats this toast, the whole time I’m looking at him as if he just lost all use of short-term memory. This whole time he is eating I do not say anything to him, I just continue to stare. By the time he ate about half of his toast he looked at me and said, “what.” 

After telling him about the trashcan again he leaves my room, with his last half of eaten toast. He returns to my room, this time with the trash bag alone and full of trash, not tied. I’m starting to get very annoyed as I explain to him that not only can I not throw up into a plastic bag full of trash, I can’t stand it up either.

He disappears into the dark part of the house and drifts back into the dim light with a salt and pepper shaker, both full. “What am I going to do with those man? Throw up on the floor and hope I have enough salt to soak it up,” Eric looked at me like a little puppy, like he did something right and I should pat him on the head.

I was tired of this going on, most people would have been about an hour ago, but Eric is my best friend, and it was highly comical to me. At this point I figured that no matter how many things I tell him to do he wont get any of them right.

He was in my room again and saw the empty shot classes and asked me if I wanted to take a shot with him! After I tell him that I’m not going to take a shot with him, he asked me if he can have a shot. I tell him that at this point he was not allowed to drink anymore. He asked me why and I had to explain to him that for the past hour or two I have been asking him to do shit for me, and he didn’t get anything right; and he misplaced the white trashcan in the kitchen, that apparently didn’t exist anymore.

“Bring me the damn black trashcan,” he already took the bag out of the trashcan. He comes back with the black trashcan, without a bag in it. He then shuts the door because I told him to, hey he got something right!

He sits down in my desk chair and gets on the computer to look at porn, which is kinda weird, but whatever.

He then turns around to talk to me, I don’t remember what he was trying to tell me but I interrupted him to say that in the morning I was going to find a white trashcan.

Soon after he ended up slumping over in the chair with his forehead rested on my knee. If he was awake he would be staring at the floor. I eventually kicked his forehead off of me and turned off the TV, I just let him sleep on the floor. Luckily I did not have to throw up again the rest of the night, so in all reality Eric didn’t have to do anything.

The following morning I woke up, like I do most mornings I turned on the TV. Eric was no longer on the floor, at some point during the night he had enough sense to jump onto the top bunk.

When Eric woke up, we start talking. I found out what I assumed, he did not remember any of last night. At this point he knew of the white trash can, so we got up to go into the kitchen to find something to eat. I walked out there to find some interesting things.

A trash bag with trash in it, but no trashcan. A white trashcan by the sink. A few empty shot glasses next to a bottle of half empty whiskey. Salt, pepper, and sugar shakers in the middle of the counter. A half eaten piece of toast. Full cups of water; and apparently when he made toast he thought it would taste really good with salt, sugar, and pepper; that he got all over the counter.

I promised him I would not tell this story to anyone, but you don’t know him. So does it matter? I find the whole thing highly comical and I cherish these type of stories. He really was a great guy, I just baby sat him more often than I would have liked to. After we got done cleaning everything I took him home. That was the trashcan story, I hope you found it amusing, if so please let me know by leaving a comment below.

10 Things Not to Say to a Person in a Wheelchair

Wheelchair

I’ll be gone for a while, because I’m working on another idea that will then be a post. Not like more than 3 of you care, but I’m going to try to keep my promise of doing updates fairly often. This has come to my mind after reading a post on The Huffington Post.

I am however going to put my own spin on it, as you may know I am a person who is a wheelchair, so I feel like I’m more than qualified to give my following experiences on the following. In the following article, I say ‘you’ a lot, I may not be addressing you, however the word you is a good way of keeping ones interest.

1.Slow down there. You might get a speeding ticket. 

I understand that you are telling me to slow down. Cops do not give you speeding tickets for running, do they? It’s exercise right? We can’t use our legs, and some of us can’t use our arms either, but to the ones of us in manual wheelchairs we see it as exercise too.

It is a rather annoying question, after being in a wheelchair for the past 27 years, on and off, I have a pretty good idea how to control my wheelchair, more than most people would assume. For some reason, some, able-bodied individuals assume those in a wheelchairs are mentally incompetent.

Our goal is not to hit you, and even if we do all you’re going to turn around and say “I’m sorry.” Remember this question is not original, we hear it more than you realize.

2. What happened to you?

While I do not mind asking this question, it is still a very rude question to ask. I’m sure we can find a problem with you and ask the same thing.

I don’t mind answering the question because it shows that someone is willing to get to know me, more often than not people who do get to know me tend to fall in love with the person I am.

However as you may have read in I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables As A Kid there are a handful of people who should not ask me this question. If you want to ask someone this question you should get to know that person first.

3. How fast does that thing go?

This happens to be a question heard by those in automatic wheelchairs, however I have heard it before, a few hundred times. We don’t keep a radar detector on us, and even if we did, I highly doubt it would even pick that up.

I assume it’s as fast as you can run, you don’t see us going around asking how fast you can run. I would just advise you don’t ask it because it shows us your ignorance.

4.  Do you know so and so in a wheelchair too?

Okay, I most likely do not. Just because people in wheelchairs happen to be a minority does not mean we all know one another. That’s like asking you if you know John Doe because he too is an atheist, or do you know Andy Smith, he also served in the military.

5. Is your significant other also in a wheelchair? 

Why would you even assume that only handicapped people can only love other handicapped people? My girlfriend is not in a wheelchair, nor was my kids mother, or my father.

Love does not have limits.

Speaking of love, if someone makes you happy, it’s not anyone’s place to tell you that you can’t be; religion or otherwise.

That is another ignorant question, if you want to be seen as a nice person you might want to rethink your line of questioning.

6. I’d rather die than be disabled.

If you even want to say that to me, or any other disabled person, regardless of the severity of said disability, just go stick your head up your ass and never come back.

Even if you really think like that, we don’t want to hear it; chances are we don’t even want to know you.

7. You’re good-looking for being in a wheelchair.

Well thank you, but who says that we can’t just be good-looking, do you really have to add the ‘for being in a wheelchair’ part.

We need to look good from time to time too, just like you. Other then it being a rude question anyways, it makes it sound as if you label us as less than human.

8. Good for you.

We had to adapt to living in a wheelchair, that means we learned how to do really basic stuff such as picking shit up off of the floor, opening doors, or even going outside. Don’t make us feel like we’re incompetent.

9. Can I ask you a personal question?

This goes really well with question number 2 and I don’t know what more I can say about that. However we do get several other weird questions.

From what I understand people are wanting to know if I am able to have sex. Most are smart enough not to ask me, but they fail by asking my girlfriend. Is she not supposed to be mad at the same question?

Ask a valid question, that is not rude, we are not talking parrots on display for your amusement.

10. Hey Speed Racer. Can you pop a wheelie?

Don’t be going around referring to a grown adult by a cartoony name. Just because I’m going by you does not mean you need to be calling me Speed Racer.

I do not mind the wheelie part of the question however, I can do it, and I even taught some of my friends, who were not disabled, to be able to do it to.

I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables When I Was A Kid

vegetables-10

I have a lot of ideas of what to write, but I figure that if I want people to read my stuff I have to entertain them as well, so I bring to you one of my many stories in life that you might find amusing.

Some of you might not find this funny, some of you might want to call me a jackass, hopefully you don’t.

I try to color my stories with words that make you feel like you were there, so if you are one of those that do not like to read a lot, this is not the story for you.

The year was around the time frame of 2008, summer I think, in Washington State. I was sitting at home doing nothing and was feeling board, as I was wondering around my apartment trying to find something to do as my friend Eric called

Guys keep their phone conversations really short, “man, I’m bored” so I said “me too,” after I said “I’m coming to pick you up” I hung up the phone, I pressed the end button on my archaic cell phone, before high-definition and touch screens were even a thing. Back when polyphonic ringtones were the bees knees and the cats pajamas.

On a side note this was a Monday, I remember that because I just took my son back to his moms the day before.

We got back to the apartment and still didn’t have much to do other than watch TV.

Back then Eric really liked his alcohol, at that time I lived with a roommate that kept a liquor cabinet. This particular liquor cabinet had a pretty good selection. We used to have parties at the apartment where Jason, my roommate, would collect five dollars from everyone who wanted to drink, and if you gave him five dollars you could drink until you dropped.

That makes us sound irresponsible, we made sure that no one had more than they could handle, and we were very careful on which ones and how many of our friends were invited.

To make a long story short, Eric and I decided to drink that night, like most other nights. Eric was putting the ten dollars I gave him into the “liquor collection,” I looked at him and said “dude, were going to get hungry and then we wont be able to go anywhere” he pointed at me and said “so, you got food here” I then grabbed my car keys and told him that we were going to go get pizza.

It was a somewhat bright day out, it was in the summer so it was not raining, it was about 6:00 at night. As we are headed to my car I saw this kid riding on one of those skinny skateboards with a handle bar. This kid most definitely saw me before I saw him because as he approached us he asked “are you drunk?”

I knew this kid was talking to me for reasons you’ll find out. I quickly said “no,” he then asked “what is wrong with you?” With a very annoyed tone to my voice I said “everything” and looked down as I continued to walk towards my car.

Kids are curious, but they don’t understand some things! I didn’t want to sit there and have a long conversation with a kid that was, most likely, not going to understand the majority of what I had to tell him. Because of the fact that I was thinking, I toned out the whole conversation taking place between Eric and this kid.

As I’m thinking I also thought of my kids mom who once gave me the best idea of what to tell someone next time that question was asked.

I look up and join back into the conversation. As I’m looking at the kid I ask him “do you want to know why I walk this way?” Of course he said “yes,” after all that is why he came over to talk to us.  I then said “It’s a sad story man, I don’t know if I should tell you.” This did exactly what I wanted it to do, it peaked his interest. He was on the edge of his seat waiting for me to say more.

I looked at him and simply said “I didn’t eat my vegetables as a kid!” His eyes were very wide as he said “really?” Eric then said “yea man, it sucks, you better go eat some carrots or broccoli.” This kid ran across the yard, forgetting his scooter, to go back to his apartment.

As we sit in the car Eric is laughing as he tells me how great it was and asks me “where did you come up with that shit, that was the best thing I have ever heard.” I then proceeded to tell him that I kind of felt bad about it, he says “why man, he is at home right now eating vegetables, his parents are happy that you scared the shit out of him”.

We get back home from Alfy’s Pizza and it is now starting to get dark, street lights were starting to come on. After eating two pieces of pizza, I took a shot of vodka with Eric and as fast as I could I walked into the bathroom to throw up in the sink. I was not even drunk, but Eric gave me shit for it anyways.

You know how I told you it was on a Monday? I spent the rest of the night throwing up into an empty trash can. That brings up another story I will have to write about, it’s quite funny because Eric is drunk as hell at this point.

I was sick because that previous weekend I was hanging out with my kid, who was about three years old at the time, and he was very sick the whole weekend.

A few hours later my roommate came home and spends the rest of the night drinking with Eric as I lay in bed throwing up every two hours.

That is my story that I like to call ‘I Didn’t Eat My Vegetables When I Was A Kid.’  Maybe I’ll tell the whole ‘Trash Can’ story, it’s quite funny.

I hope you found entertainment in this story, I’d love to hear your comments. The longer you pay attention to this blog the higher your chances of finding out why I walk this way.