Worthless Goddamn Cripple

I’m annoyed but mildly amused when slow-witted asshats assume I’m retarded and speak freely in my presence. They delude themselves into believing that I can’t fathom their piddly conversations.

While I was stuck in the warehouse I scheduled a dentist appointment for myself. The staff could only be bothered with the needs of near-death patients and then only to head off criticism from the chronically bitchy head nurse. The nurse on my floor heavily sighed at the inconvenience of doing her job, then scheduled a ride to my dentist with a Medivan. Medivans are designed similarly to the vans intended to augment handicap accessible public transit but are dispatched exclusively for transportation to and from medical appointments. Use of medivans for any other purpose is officially prohibited. more »

Before the American medical system unceremoniously dumped me into the warehouse aka convalescent home, I endured close to three months in a rehabilitation hospital. Instead of giving me appropriate care, the staff dealt with me like I was a retarded animal. I expected shabby treatment from the naïve CNAs who considered themselves “health care professionals” as if making beds and emptying bedpans are specialized skills. But the reasonably well-educated therapists that should have known better also patronized me to an obscene extent. This occurred at the tail end of the twentieth century in a modern medical facility located in a major American city. In retrospect I’m surprised they didn’t recommend that I be bled by leeches. more »

Another cherished warehouse memory features Tim getting blind drunk and shitting on the linoleum floor in front of our shared closet.

Tim had been sloshed and passed out after mewling about the unfairness of life. After he had woken from forty-five minutes of fitful slumber I heard him stir, immediately unlock the drawer in his nightstand and fumble for a bottle—undoubtedly a pint of cheap vodka. Then I heard him unscrew the cap and guzzle a healthy measure. more »

I assure you that I think everyone should cut slack for people plagued by involuntary physical, mental, or emotional handicaps. But self-pitying dysfunctional assholes that choose not to help themselves aren’t worthy of my or anyone else’s respect regardless of whether or not they’re handicapped. During my involuntary stint at the warehouse I noticed that many residents did not suffer from an overwhelming condition that required round-the-clock medical attention. more »

Once I ventured to a Best Buy to purchase batteries for my Walkman (actually an Aiwa personal stereo). Regardless of what the powers-that-be want you to believe, a considerable number of wheelchair-accessible beveled curbs in the city of Chicago are, it’s been my admittedly limited experience, good for two things: shit and nothing. This prohibits the use of most public transportation. There are three private transportation companies contracted by the city; each commands a fleet of vans equipped to accommodate wheelchairs. I always schedule rides with the company that operates twenty-four hours. They are relatively punctual, and when I travel with them I usually get to ride in the front like a human being, not in the back strapped down like cargo. Because I’m more often than not the only passenger, I don’t have to deal with unsophisticated disheveled young men who nonchalantly, and at regular intervals, break the foulest wind imaginable. more »