Pain, Pleasure, and the Common Cold

Go Roll Off a Cliff

This evening at the restaurant, I was viciously reamed by a woman in a wheelchair. She was upset because of the condition of the wheelchair ramp in the back hallway, which is normally just a service area. The ramp was up to par as far as handicapped access codes, but she was hot under the collar because there were a “few dirty dishes and some trays” lingering at the end of the hallway, apparently compromising the aesthetic quality of her roll. She kept telling me how inappropriate that was for a nice restaurant, expecting me to apologize repeatedly and probably give her something free.

But there were no freebies to give.

So I apologized, walked away, and wished I had said:
“The thing is, Wheelchair Lady, life is not always pretty (as I’m sure you well know). If being in proximity of a few dirty plates is the worst thing to happen to you all day, then your life is a whole helluvalot better than mine, legs or no. Do what you need to do to be at peace with your disability, but don’t take it out on your waitress!”

In the words of Gene Wood, at a San Francisco Mac Donald’s circa 1996, “Fuckin’ Cripple!”