our next move, so I will say we both thought of it/agreed to do it. Jon said something along the lines of “Yeah we are on here trying to find some boobs because this little guy has never seen them, but we’re only finding old men on here.” I made a sad face.
Try to understand how hard we were both resisting laughter at this point. The girl replied that I was so cute and that all the old men also repulsed her. In the heat of this comedic moment, Jon asked her if she felt like showing his mentally challenged cousin her boobs. I didn’t know what to do so I just kept my mentally challenged face on and tried my absolute hardest not to laugh; I just wanted to see her reaction to his question, and then I would stop and reveal that I was messing with her and hopefully she would find it funny.
As if this whole situation was completely normal and happened to this girl all the time, she stood up, took the laptop into her bathroom, AND TOOK HER SHIRT OFF. Hello boobs.
Jon fell off the chair he was sitting on. I started noncoherently apologizing repeatedly in between laughs of disbelief as I closed the Internet browser as fast as my T-Rex arms would let me.
I had just pretended to be mentally challenged to make a girl show me her boobs. I don’t know if it gets worse than that in terms of abusing a disability.
We sat there stunned for a lengthy amount of time. Then we decided we were the worst people on earth and promised never to tell anyone ever.
chapter 21
an ode to darla
My insurance company covers a new wheelchair every six years. I’m guessing they didn’t just pull that number out of thin air—although it wouldn’t surprise me—but I’m sure there was some research that found a wheelchair’s life expectancy to be about six years. Imagine if that was your job: find out how much damage this wheelchair can take before it falls to pieces. I want that job. But I digress … (God, I love that phrase.)
Midway through high school, I became eligible for a new chair. For a few weeks, my parents, as well as my physical therapist, argued with me about getting a new one. Believe it or not, I really didn’t like changing wheelchairs. I pretty much hated it. But when I told people this, it took them some time to understand where was coming from. I said the word new but they heard the word better . However, new was not always better when it came to the seating arrangement that was such a crucial aspect of my everyday life.
One of the reasons that I was so against changing wheelchairs was that the able-bodied people who assist in the wheelchair selection and customization process have trouble understanding the intricacies of how I sit. For instance, a big point of contention was the fact that I lean so far to the right and put almost all my body weight on my right rib cage. It was a completely acceptable problem for the therapists and wheelchair representatives to be concerned about. However, and this is a big however, I physically can’t hold my head up or move my arms if my body is adjusted even several inches to the left. When I explained this to them, they essentially ignored me and played the we’re-specialists-so-we-know-better-than-you card. It was extremely frustrating, as they lifted me from one chair to the next, while I knew just by looking at each chair that it wasn’t going to work.
They said things like, “Well maybe if we reclined the chair, your body would naturally rest on the backrest rather than your side. Or maybe we should look into a head strap that will hold your head in place since you can’t hold it up when you’re in the proper position.”
I responded, “But I would literally have to be almost fully reclined all the time, and I can’t drive that way, so that wouldn’t work. Also, I definitely do not want a head strap.” Then came their line that filled me with so much anger that my eyes teared up, “Well, Shane, we might just have to compromise on this one.”
It felt like they were
Try to understand how hard we were both resisting laughter at this point. The girl replied that I was so cute and that all the old men also repulsed her. In the heat of this comedic moment, Jon asked her if she felt like showing his mentally challenged cousin her boobs. I didn’t know what to do so I just kept my mentally challenged face on and tried my absolute hardest not to laugh; I just wanted to see her reaction to his question, and then I would stop and reveal that I was messing with her and hopefully she would find it funny.
As if this whole situation was completely normal and happened to this girl all the time, she stood up, took the laptop into her bathroom, AND TOOK HER SHIRT OFF. Hello boobs.
Jon fell off the chair he was sitting on. I started noncoherently apologizing repeatedly in between laughs of disbelief as I closed the Internet browser as fast as my T-Rex arms would let me.
I had just pretended to be mentally challenged to make a girl show me her boobs. I don’t know if it gets worse than that in terms of abusing a disability.
We sat there stunned for a lengthy amount of time. Then we decided we were the worst people on earth and promised never to tell anyone ever.
chapter 21
an ode to darla
My insurance company covers a new wheelchair every six years. I’m guessing they didn’t just pull that number out of thin air—although it wouldn’t surprise me—but I’m sure there was some research that found a wheelchair’s life expectancy to be about six years. Imagine if that was your job: find out how much damage this wheelchair can take before it falls to pieces. I want that job. But I digress … (God, I love that phrase.)
Midway through high school, I became eligible for a new chair. For a few weeks, my parents, as well as my physical therapist, argued with me about getting a new one. Believe it or not, I really didn’t like changing wheelchairs. I pretty much hated it. But when I told people this, it took them some time to understand where was coming from. I said the word new but they heard the word better . However, new was not always better when it came to the seating arrangement that was such a crucial aspect of my everyday life.
One of the reasons that I was so against changing wheelchairs was that the able-bodied people who assist in the wheelchair selection and customization process have trouble understanding the intricacies of how I sit. For instance, a big point of contention was the fact that I lean so far to the right and put almost all my body weight on my right rib cage. It was a completely acceptable problem for the therapists and wheelchair representatives to be concerned about. However, and this is a big however, I physically can’t hold my head up or move my arms if my body is adjusted even several inches to the left. When I explained this to them, they essentially ignored me and played the we’re-specialists-so-we-know-better-than-you card. It was extremely frustrating, as they lifted me from one chair to the next, while I knew just by looking at each chair that it wasn’t going to work.
They said things like, “Well maybe if we reclined the chair, your body would naturally rest on the backrest rather than your side. Or maybe we should look into a head strap that will hold your head in place since you can’t hold it up when you’re in the proper position.”
I responded, “But I would literally have to be almost fully reclined all the time, and I can’t drive that way, so that wouldn’t work. Also, I definitely do not want a head strap.” Then came their line that filled me with so much anger that my eyes teared up, “Well, Shane, we might just have to compromise on this one.”
It felt like they were
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