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.

I Feel Like Writing!

I’m the type of person who does not care if my friends use my wheelchair if I’m not.

Back in high school I was in yearbook production, I could also walk; it was not able to walk like most people think of walking, but nonetheless I was able to get myself from point A to B and back again without using my wheelchair.

One day I’m sitting at the computer using Photoshop to design one of the junior pages. I was not in my wheelchair, I was in the nice “school version” of an office chair because I deemed it more comfortable.

My friend Lance had to go interview someone, about something, and said, “Hey bro, can I use your pimp ride?” Which I didn’t care, “Yea man, whatever, just don’t be trying to go down a set of stairs or whatever.”

About 30 minutes later he came back to class and said, “Man, how do you guys do this, my arms hurt.”

About two weeks after that I was staying after school to work on the yearbook and Lance was with me, a few other students, and the teacher. School was pretty empty at this point, and once again I was not sitting in my wheelchair. When I had to go to the bathroom I decided I would just walk there.

For some reason the bathrooms are locked after school, which I didn’t know at the time; by the time I walked 50 feet in one direction, 150 feet in the other direction, and another 1,000 feet that same direction to end up going to the bathroom to just walk 1,150 feet back to class I opened the door to say, “Man, how do you guys walk, my legs hurt.”

And this leads into my topic.

My mom, who didn’t show signs of our disability until 1973 or 1974; at the age of 18, just got a manual wheelchair. Before that she was using a cane or one of those walkers with wheels on them. She was still able to walk, and still is; but as time goes on it is slowly deteriorating and you can tell she is having a harder time doing so.

Me on the other hand didn’t walk until I was 3 and pretty much had a wheelchair my whole life, 33 years later I’m on my fifth wheelchair and due to how active I am I see myself needing another one sometime around the age of 40.

I was able to walk in the past, but it was…different. I can still walk I suppose, but I need assistance with every step. Back when I was able to run, jump, and skip I still had a wheelchair even though I rarely used it. Around the age of 16 when I entered high school I more or less started using my wheelchair when I was away from home.

I had many years since then to figure out shit that most people don’t know how to do. Wheelie’s, opening doors, getting into my car, and toning my muscles to take me places.

So now my mom is asking me, “How do you open doors?” I can tell her, “You go up to the door until you can’t go any further, then put one hand on the door handle and keep your other hand on the wheel, roll backwards as fast as you car and swing the door open. Then take that arm that you were holding the door open with and use it to catch the door as is closes, use the door and your one arm to move though the door.” Or, “Go up to the door, crack it open, and slowly run into it until it opens to the point that allows you to push yourself though the door.”

But, I don’t know how much she will understand that. She has never done it before. It’s kinda like explaining how to swim when you only know how to stand in a pool.

And she doesn’t have the same arm tone that I do. I can go 500 yards on a sidewalk and not be tired, but I don’t know if she can; and hills, come on man, I can get up a 30 degree incline and understand the physics of weight changes and whatnot. I can even do the same thing on grass based on the fact that I know how to do a wheelie.

But she does not. Part of me wants to call her and say, “You need to go to the mall and just cruise, get your arm strength up.” Then going up a hill, I don’t know if she’ll be able to navigate that without falling backwards because she doesn’t know any better.

Then going down a hill, seems easy, but that too requires knowledge of how to stop, how to steer your chair at a fast rate of speed, and how to control each wheel if you lose traction. The breaks won’t do shit in that case, they might burn your hands and cause you to crash into whatever you’re not steering away from.

Like, I’m not there. I can’t take her to the mall and give her wheelchair lessons. My dad is a motherfucking genius when it comes to physics, but I don’t know how much he can help either. I’m 1,600 miles away I just can’t be like, “Do this,” and even when I do move to Oregon I’ll still be about 200 miles away.

Last night I told her, “Go to Youtube, that’s a good resource for almost anything that you want to know.”

I was on the phone with her when she said, “Boy, carpet is so much harder then wood.” Part of me felt good that she can finally grasp that understanding, and part of me was like “Well no shit.”

Should I Be Mad?

This story may take turns, chances are – like most of my posts – they have improper grammar due to the fact that I’m really bad at editing myself. I’m writing this without any preparation – yet again like the mass majority of my posts. If I’m talking about one thing but then the drunken train conductor derails the train into another topic, don’t be surprised.

As you might know I was born with a physical disability that is rare and hereditary in nature. My disability is known as, or called, Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia or otherwise referred to as HSP.

My mom gave the disability to me, her mom gave it to her, I gave it to my son. My uncle, her brother, also had it. I don’t know much about how my uncle was effected, but what little I did see him he was better than I was but worse of then my mom; he was able to walk like I could when I was around the age of 23, couldn’t walk without support but seemed to have the energy to do so. My mom used to play basketball in high school, she did not show any signs of our disability until she was 18 years old.

Me on the other hand showed it as soon as I started walking, maybe even before then. I took my first step at the age of 11 months, but I fell down right away and gave up. It was kind of like I said, “Fuck that shit, I’m not doing that again.” But I did, I started walking on a regular basis sometime around the age of 3.

My disability has the nature of getting worse over time, that being said I used to be able to walk and now I can’t walk without assistance. Those of us born with the disability are theorized to plateau at some unknown point in life. I can still drive a car with the use of my feet. Even when I could walk you could look at me and say, “That kid walks funny.” It was not easy to hide the fact that I was physically disabled, in fact it was almost impossible unless I sat in a chair my entire life.

If you did not catch on by now, everyone who has my disability is effected differently, while the University of Michigan is doing studies and found the particular gene in the DNA strain; everyone is effected differently and it is almost impossible to distinguish how person A is effected differently than person B without physically having communication with said people.

My son is currently 13 years old, his mom broke up with me when he was around the age of 3. After breaking up with me she got married to someone in the military and from that my son spent the last 9 years moving from Washington State, up to Alaska, down to Texas, over to Florida, and when he was 12 they moved back to Washington State due to his step-father getting a job offer in Seattle.

Last time I saw my kid was July of 2016 when my aunt took me with her to Washington State as a way of her visiting her sister; my mom. Both of her sisters do not have our disability.

From what I can tell, my son, who has my disability according to the University of Michigan, does not show signs of our disability. He does, but you would not know it at first glance. You’d have to wait until he was tired of walking, or just tired in general. I remember being at Mt. Rainier watching my kid walk towards the bathroom, I was not really able to see anything other than a very minor angular change of his foot when he steps forward with said leg.

So this is where the story breaks off into another direction.

A few weeks ago I was on Facebook and saw one my sisters posts, in said post she used the word retarded as a way of explaining her and her friend hanging out and being stupid. From there came comments that were trying to correct her on using such word in said fashion. I go onto leave a comment that said something along the lines of, I can’t find the post anymore…she deleted it. I said something to the effect of…

I think of it as someone calling me a cripple.

Over the years I’ve learned how to poke fun at myself.

Unless it’s me using the word against myself, or a close friend using the word towards me in a humorous fashion; it’s offensive. I would not call you a cripple due to the fact that you might be offended by that, and even then…that is not the correct way to describe an individual with a physical disability.

Later that night I was in the kitchen heating a pizza in the oven when my sister called and said, “Can you please delete that last comment that you made.” With a slightly confused look on my face that quickly turned into anger  I asked, “Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to know that I’m disabled.”

We got into a short fight afterwards and shorty after she said, “It’s not you decision to…” I hung up on her. Shortly after that I sent her a text message that said, “Don’t be afraid or who you are.” Which went straight into her asking, “Why did you hang up on me?” To which I said, “Because I was offended…”

My sister…we didn’t know that she had HSP until a blood test to try to find a cure was conducted, which is where the University of Michigan comes into play. My sister grew up showing no signs of said disability. She ran track, she was on the diving team, she did gymnastics in high school; she was a very active person. No one knew that she had it until we got word from the University of Michigan that told us otherwise. She didn’t show signs until she was….29, 30, 31; I don’t know.

It has been said that those who “develop” a disability much later in life have a much harder time coping with their new found lack of movement.

“I was offended…you’re more or less telling me in a round about way that you are ashamed that you are like your brother and that you just want to act like the whole thing does not exist.”

“No, it’s not like that at all; you just don’t have the right to tell my friends things about me that they don’t know.”

While I can agree with that, that does not mean that I was not offended. After thinking about it for the past few days I came to the conclusion that I’m jealous oh her.

Unlike her I was never able to hide the fact that I had a physical disability. I had a…difficult time as a kid. Other kids don’t fucking know, and they use your misfortune as a way to gain popularity among other kids who think the same thing. It took me a long time to figure out who I was, it took me a move to another state to understand that kids just make fun of you based on what they don’t know.

It took me awhile to understand that if you don’t give them the reaction that they are looking for (which is their fucked up way of gaining popularity) and you address, and explain, the elephant in the room people tend to be more inviting.

It took me a long time to understand this, and I’m currently in the state of mind where: Well fuck it, I am who I am; if you don’t like it, I’m not going to try to be someone I’m not.

Part of  me being targeted by bullies in school was because I gave them the reaction that they were looking for. I wanted to be popular, but at that time in my life I kept trying to be someone that I was not just because I thought people might like me if I was different. That has also taught me something about girls!

If you’re a dork and you like the color pink, or whatever it is; own that shit, be proud of it. Girls love confidence, if you like to  eat eggs with ketchup, fucking own that shit; don’t try to turn into someone you think she wants you to be, fucking be yourself and be proud of it! Don’t be an asshole, every relationship has it’s struggles which require compromise.

I’m just saying…if you like rap music, expand your musical tastes because she is a fan of heavy metal, don’t stop liking it because she doesn’t like it. However if she, I don’t know…stops having sex with you because you like rap; you might want to reevaluate the person that she is.

I have to understand that my sister is on a different life path, her perspective is not the same as mine. She grew up with me, in the same house, going to the same school; she saw what I went though. Or did she? She saw it, but I don’t think she fully understood it.

From my perspective hearing her tell me that was the same as, “I saw what you went though as a kid, and I don’t want that to happen to me, so I just going to Donald Trump this bitch and act like it doesn’t exist.”

Which makes me wonder, “If we were not related would she have been one of those who made fun of me in school?”

So, I understand that her perspective is different than mine, but I’m jealous that she got to do something that I was never able to do.

There are a lot of people that can do things that I can’t, I’m not jealous of them; they did not grow up with me, they do not have the same disability that I do, and they were not able to hide that disability for about a third of their life.

She has a hard time coming, and the longer she is afraid to tell people that she is disabled the harder it is going to be on her.

I understand not letting people know that you are disabled. There have been people I talked to online who have no idea that I’m disabled, I understand not letting people know. But the moment where you’re afraid to let yourself know is where my anger comes from.

Am I right for being mad at my sister for this particular issue?

How do I address it if she wants my advice? We are clearly looking at the same picture through two different pieces of glass. I can’t just look at her and say, “Shit happens, get used to it,” she wont see that the same way I do.

That’s like a mime trying to show you how to be a public speaker with the same audience.

Can You Be too Nice

I’ve been told many things by my father, he continues to tell me stuff all the time. As much as he says shit that makes me think, “Is my dad an asshole?” He also has many nuggets of wisdom he has dropped on me throughout the years, one of the things that had the most impact on me was, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t force it to drink,” that has thought me that you can only do so much and if someone is not going to listen to you it’s going to be a waste of your time to try to get them to listen to something they don’t want to listen to.

Sometimes that person might even know that they should listen to you, but their emotions have tricked them to do the opposite. But this is not want this story is about, however I did mention a few times here and here if you care to read.

One of the things my dad had always told me was: “You can’t be mad at someone for what they don’t know.” But can you?

So I’m hanging out at home and Shannon gave me three things to do while she is at work: Do the dishes, fold the clothes, take out the trash, and “You can do laundry if you want to because it’s all in the bathroom.”

The first thing I do is listen to podcast while doing about a hour and a half worth of dishes. When I was done I used some of those clean dishes to have hot dogs and drink a Monster while watching part 8 of a video game walkthough on YouTube.

I usually don’t watch someone else play a video game, but it this case…I will never play Resident Evil 7, it dose not seem as scary as I thought it might. But part of my disability is hyperactive nerves and when I’m watching a horror movie I’ll find myself looking at the ground until that demon jumps out of the wall. That being said horror is my favorite kind of movie even if I jump two feet every time I see something scary pop out of nowhere, even if I see it coming form two miles away.

If I play video games like that I’m known to turn into the guy who stands in one spot and never ever beats the game because he doesn’t want to go out of that door, and I’m tired of knocking shit over and accidentally throwing my controller against the wall due to me jumping two feet over nothing.

Afterwards I was rolling around my house looking for a sweatshirt so that I could take the first of two trash bags outside. A few posts ago I mentioned that my house was up to A.D.A. regulations. That being said…every house in our neighborhood that looks just like mine has a small patio leading into the front door and in order to get onto that patio you need to step up two concrete steps. Unlike the other houses, my house is on a hill, oh wow, look at that; Nebraska actually has changes in elevation!

The owner of the house has made a ramp that allows me easy access from the driveway to the front door or vise-versa. That being so, I tied the trash bag, put the trash on my lap, opened the door, went outside, turned my chair to the side so I could reach the door to close said door, and closed it just to start using gravity to roll me down the ramp that turns the other way when you’re at the half-way point.

Just as I’m doing this I see two kids outside walking past my house via the sidewalk. I look up to see one of these two kids putting a piece of pizza in the other hand just to take the trash bag from me as he walks over to the outside trashcan to throw it away.

As he grabbed it I was slightly caught off guard as I say, “Oh…thank you very much,” as he replied with, “You’re very welcome.”

So I turned around and came back in the house to grab the second trash bag, but instead of that I found myself thinking, “That’s a nice kid.” A few other thoughts are drifting around in my head such as, “When I was that young kids were not that nice.” As thoughts are drifting though my head I think, “Did he just help me because he assumed that I can’t do it?”

And that got me to thinking  about every time I go somewhere with my fiance and she gets back into the car while I’m putting my wheelchair in my trunk; watching people look at her as if they’re thinking, “Wow, she’s an asshole!”

As far as that goes, I have a system…I rely on that system, if anything fucks up that system…

If you see me standing at the back of my car disassembling my wheelchair to lift it into my trunk and you say, “Do you need any help,” I’ll always say, “No,” I might even finish by saying, “Thank you though.”

When putting away, or even taking out, my wheelchair I have a system of taking it out/putting it back and what parts need to be removed first, and how to balance myself against my bumper while I do it. I also know how to work my wheelchair, you don’t. If another body invades my space, it fucks up my whole world and makes me uncomfortable. That does not mean I hate you, I’m glad you want to help, I understand that it is not your intention to upset me.

I just don’t like turning around, finding a new way to balance myself, and making you feel like you’re doing to whole thing by yourself because I can’t be in your way. I understand that you might attempt to know, but you really don’t; every time you move, I have to move in a way that I’m not used to it that situation. You might be able to move around other person, but I can’t, well I can…but if I try to I’ll most likely fall and try to grab onto your body for support…

And grabbing onto someone you don’t know, while I have an excuse to do so in said situation; it’s still weird. And you don’t know my disability, if I grab you you’ll grab me back, which is awesome; but they way that you assume is correct to do so just makes it harder for me to walk.

It’s best that I just stay out of your way, and then I need to give you instruction on how to assemble/dissemble my wheelchair as well as where to put the pieces because it’s the best fit in my trunk.

I think all of this when I look at you and say, “No, thank you though.”

And then I’m looked at like I’m weird for not wanting help. And Shannon knows this, I explained this to her. When we get done shopping she’ll just get in the passenger seat and wait for me. Other people must assume she is an asshole. She knows that if I needed help I would ask, but I don’t; so she sits there and looks like an asshole.

I do things by myself. Oh look at that, someone in a wheelchair who tries his hardest to be as independent as possible! Shannon isn’t always going to be there, neither will some random ass person; I got to learn how to do shit on my own.

Once again, I know you are tying to be nice, but it’s often not needed.

So…that all runs into, “Do they just do it because they don’t know any better? Are they assuming that someone in a wheelchair can’t do anything”

Not in a Wheelchair

I had a dream the other night. While I can not remember the specifics of said dream. I do remember that my fiance was in it. Tonight she was laying in bed with me asking…

Earlier that day I woke up and looked at my phone to see a text message from Shannon and I can’t really remember what was said, nor do I care to find my phone and go backwards in my text log to find out. But I do remember telling her that I had a dream with her in it, but it wasn’t the bed dream and I shortly explained.

We were laying in bed when she said, “So you had a dream about me that I was mad at you because you didn’t go on a hike with me when we were on vacation.” This lead to me explaining to her what little of the dream I remembered as she asked, “Were you disabled in this dream?” And this was after she said, “Well that just makes me look like an asshole.”

So, as far as that question goes; for those of you who do not know, yes, I am physically disabled and spend the majority of my day in a manual wheelchair. However I’m not disabled in my dreams. I never watch myself walk, I don’t sit there and watch myself walk. Mainly because I can’t walk as well as I used to, but also because it’s hard for anyone to watch themselves walk. So that’s where I think I get that from.

I know that I’m disabled in my dreams, I might even be in my wheelchair, but if I had to run from zombies I could get out of my wheelchair and run like I was trying to get the gold metal in the Olympics.

I remember having dreams where I said something like, “You can’t legally do that, I’m disabled and you can’t discriminate against me in the workplace; and by you taking those actions, you’re not telling me otherwise.” In that same dream I’d end up running the football better than Marshawn Lynch.

She asked me and it made me wonder, “How many people in wheelchairs view themselves the same way in their dreams?”

The Festivial

There I was, looking at the rolling hills covered in grass, scattered with tress here and there. These were not the type of rolling hills you would expect to see in Eastern Washington or Northern California, but hills nonetheless; hills that started at your feet and only sat two feet high.

See, normally I’m not disabled in my dreams; technically I was not disabled in this one either. If I walk, or run, in my dreams I don’t have the same difficulty as I do in real life.

I remember having a dream where I was running backwards with a double barrel shotguns in each hand as I showed zombies what it’s like to cease all brain activity.

I was sitting on a hill, in my wheelchair, listening to the distant sounds of live bands from every direction around me.

If you have ever been to a festival located in the Pacific Northwest, picture that.

I don’t know how or why I ended up being pushed by some dude, but there I was being pushed around, over the grass, at a fast rate of speed by a guy who I didn’t know. A drunk guy with a beard and a chubby midsection.

He was running, with me in front of him as I reached down and held onto the frame of my wheelchair with each hand while I sit in for  the ride of my life.

Every wheelchair has a footrest, a place to rest your feet. This footrest typically sits in front of you, in front of the tires a few inches above the ground. High enough to allow for a 360 degree rotation of the wheels that are on the front of the chair; the ones that are three inches in diameter, the ones most people don’t think about.

Up this hill down that hill, the physics of the situation were blowing past the mind of my driver as I sit there having fun with the thought of what could happen.

Picture a line, as if you were drawing on a piece of paper. That line is four inches long, point A sits three and a half inches above the other line that has an arc to it. You’re just hoping that point B of the straight line does not crash into the line that has an arc.

Up another hill, this is like the fifth hill we have been up and the fourth hill we have been down. At the top of this hill I see two trees, one on my left and one on my right as I also see a congregation of people standing about thirty feet in front of me.

Here we go…another hill and we are going down at a speed that makes you think Forest Gump was taking me across the country and back again.

This time it didn’t work like it did the first four, at the bottom of the hill the front of my footrest impacted with the ground, bringing my chair to a complete stop as it continued to go forward on a different axis of rotation.

I was thrown from my wheelchair as my body crashes into the ground in front of me. The wheelchair is now laying on the ground with it’s left wheel kissing the ground like a grandma forcing a kiss upon her grandchild’s cheek. The right tire is spinning as fast as it can go, just in the air; spinning with whatever momentum was left.

Forest Gump is now laying on the left side of his body as he was thrown to the ground also.

A few seconds later the driver gets up and walks over to me with his arm stretched in front of him pointing all of his fingers at the ground, “Man, do you need help…I’m so sorry.”

Catching him by surprise was me looking up at him with water spilling out of my eyes as I swing my arm in his direction hoping for a high five as I’m laughing and pumping with so much adrenaline that you would think I was Hunter S. Thompson sitting on a bed in a hotel room before my lawyer turns into Satan with six boobs on his back.

“Are you okay,” he says with a smile on his face as my hand slaps into his, “Yea man, that was fun”

“You sure?”

“Yea man, thank you for treating me like a person and showing me a good time.”

Kids Do Not Make You Disabled!

People are pissing me off today. And it all started with a memory that I thought I forgot.

I went to the store today, I went to go buy a 12 pack of Mountain Dew. When I pulled into the disabled parking spot, which I can legally do I didn’t notice this, maybe because they were empty at the time.

I pop my trunk, turned off my car, and grabbed my wheelchair. A new wheelchair by the way. I roll into the store and end up buying a 12 pack of pop as well as a single energy drink. Pretty simple stop but it took me an hour to do.

I wrote a post awhile ago about how I wish I could just run from point A to point B without taking an hour to do it. The store is not even a mile from my house. Going to my car to put my wheelchair in the car, driving two minutes down the road, taking my chair out to shop, putting my chair back in, driving home, and taking my chair back out takes longer than most people think.

By the time I was ready to drive back home with wheelchair in trunk I sat in my car for awhile staring at the two cars parked in front of me. They knew each other based on the fact that the passenger of the van went into the store with the driver of the Grand Am that was parked next to them.

But they didn’t go into the store first, the two of them had to bullshit with each other in the parking lot first, for what seemed like a good five minutes.

So I was parked in a disabled spot, the van that was facing me, nose to nose, was also in a disabled parking spot. This van had what seemed to be 7 occupants, 6 once the front passenger went into the store with the driver of the other car who now had one occupant.

Between the two cars was an empty parking space, one that is meant to be empty; outlined in yellow with diagonal lines though it. Both of these cars were parked in disabled spots and neither of them had disabled plates or a disabled sticker which only tells me that they are not supposed to be parked there.

By the time I got am employees attention to let her know she just ended up telling me, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not equipped to deal with this type of situation,” she looked at the cars and followed it up by saying, “Do you want me to get my supervisor?”

To which I said, “By then I’ll be gone, but yes it would be nice.” At that point the driver of the van acted like they were going to move and the employee said, “Look, they’re moving.” But they didn’t, they just wanted the employee to give up, which…lets be honest, she would have anyways.

As I’m leaving I flip off the driver of the van. Did it solve anything? Not really, she knew I was upset, but she didn’t fucking move. I just hope that someone who actually needed that spot didn’t show up and not have access to it.

Normally I wouldn’t have flipped her off, it would have pissed me off, but I would have known that anything I do wasn’t going to solve anything. And even if I called the cops they wouldn’t have shown up for another hour or more. And they would be gone by then.

But I was already upset about something that I thought I forgot about. You may know that my mind is random and I think about weird shit. My fiance learned not to ask what I’m thinking about. We’ll be laying in bed having pillow talk and a moment of silence will go by, when she asks, “What are you thinking about,” I’m liable to say something like, “How I’m going to lay out my next settlement on Fallout 4.”

So why this came into my mind I don’t know.

Before me and my fiance started dating I had a short conversation with this girl and I can’t remember much other than how it ended. I wanted to talk to her but didn’t know what to say. I most likely kept asking questions to find a common ground. Then she asked, “Are you slow?”

She told me that she was not trying to be mean, but how the fuck do you expect me to take that. At the time I don’t think I told her that I was disabled yet.

The next part of our conversation was something like this:

“Okay, so this is what’s up.”

“I’m disabled.”

“And I talk slower than most.”

“But I’m not a retard.”

To which she goes onto tell me that she wasn’t calling me a retard. How the fuck do you expect me to take that.

I was the disabled kid in school that was made fun of on a daily basis and was called a retard on many occasions, sometimes by adults that didn’t know any better.

So that has put me in a bad mood, Why? I don’t know, it happened a long time ago. But it made me feel like I was 13 years old all over again.

And that my friends is why I flipped some lady off in a parking lot who was parked in a disabled parking space. Being lazy is not a disability!!!