Disabled? Go Screw Yourself!

The artist Vincent Van Gough, he lost it when he picked up a kitchen knife and sliced off his ear in ‘frus’ because a painting he was working on, was not going to plan. In Burma some chap protesting about the rise in taxes didn’t protest about it by writing a letter to his MP as I would have done, but he bought some petrol, sat down in the middle of a roundabout and set himself ablaze. And in Guatemala or was it Ecuador? - some peasant fearful that after a snake bite the end was nigh, sought to amputate the bitten leg not by going to the hospital as any sane person would have done, but by running to the nearest railway line. Unfortunately for him, by the time the train came by, he’d fallen asleep with both legs on the track. He’s now disabled and confined to a wheel chair.

Fat people have issues, as do the obese, the squinted eyes, the disabled, the blind, the saggy bobbed women, the skinny, the deaf, the short, the knobbed knees, the fat bottomed... But hey, that’s life I say. Nobody is perfect because there will always be something about ourselves that we don’t like. If it helps, for all we know, God probably hates his beard and is seriously considering shaving it off.

Today, we can’t say ‘fatso, fatty, four-eyes or dwarf-ee’ for example, because they are not politically correct words. And with a world that is consumed by being politically correct, in some situations, it is difficult to know what to say or what to do. I have to add a disclaimer here. I don’t have any issues with fat, small, obese people or any of the categories I mentioned earlier except with some of the disabled, especially the disabled who have wholeheartedly embraced the language of being politically correct for their own selfish advantage.

It was Friday night and Silk Royale was rocking. Everybody was having a blast including the disabled young man on crutches. And because he was on crutches, whenever he went to the bar, people gave him space because, ‘it was the right thing to do.’ On one occasion, while I was at the bar, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Looking round, it was Disabled Young Man on Crutches. He didn’t say anything but looked down at his crutches then back at me. Seeing he had nothing to say I ignored him and went back to the lovely task of ordering a drink. He tapped me again and this time I read his body language. It read: “You fool, can’t you see I am disabled? Can’t you get it into your head that the disabled get served first? Have you no shame?” Okay I was embarrassed and did have shame. People were also looking at me while shaking their heads in dismay. So I gave him space and he got served ahead of me. Mind you, when I gave him space, there was no ‘thank you’ forthcoming. I let him be.

As the night wore on and my bladder needed emptying, I was off to the washrooms and as I pushed the outer swing door open, I looked back to see who was behind me. It was Disabled Young Man on Crutches. In the ‘love thy neighbour’ spirit and being politically correct, I held the door open to let him through. Did he say ‘thank you’? Bleak. What came instead was this.

Disabled Young Man on Crutches: “Just because I am on crutches you think I am pathetic and can’t hold the door open?”

TB: “I was only trying to be helpful. I am sure you can do it on your own.”

Disabled Young Man on Crutches: “It’s people like you who don’t think. You have a shallow mind and you look down on the disabled as being helpless and can’t do what able bodied people can do. You get my gist?”

TB: “Eh, what the f**k!”

With that, I let go of the swing door and with all the force behind it, the door swung back. I didn’t see what happened because I was on the other side of the door. Into the washrooms I went, had my pee and when I returned to push the swing door open, it only inched a little way. Something was blocking it. So I pulled it towards me and there was Disabled Young Man NO LONGER on Crutches sprawled out on the floor with four young girls poised over him.

Asking what had happened, I am told that some idiot let go of the swing door which hit him in the face and knocked him over. “Who would do such a thing to a disabled person?” two of the girls shrieked. To the shrieks I responded: “Somebody who is not politically correct.” Going by the look they gave me, it was obvious that the words ‘politically correct’ were alien to them and that I might as well just have been speaking hardcore Lugbara.

Stepping over Disabled Young Man No Longer on Crutches who was still sprawled on the beer stained floor, I told him: “Now let me see you pick yourself up off the floor without being helped. Earlier on, it was okay for you to abuse your disability status to push past me to get through to the front of the beer queue to get served. When I hold the door open for you, its insults that you hurl at me because you think I am sneering at you.”

Shrieking out in horror (again!) and coupled with disbelief at what I had said, Four Young Girls attracted the attention of Politically Incorrect Bouncer who, simply scraped Disabled Young Man No Longer on Crutches off the floor, tussled him past me as I hid my face and to the front door to be thrown out while assuring him that getting drunk and falling on the floor is not a cool thing to be doing.