Every year at this time, right around the anniversary of the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act, you hear people carping about how after all these years the unemployment rate among cripples is still ridiculously high.
Just the other day I saw something in the newspaper about how crippled unemployment was 14.8 percent last year compared to 9.4 percent for everybody else. “Cripples have a hard time getting jobs?” I says to myself. “I could’ve told you that. I thought this was a NEWSpaper!” Hell, the crippled unemployment rate would probably be 99.999999999999999999999 percent if they didn’t count fucking store greeters.
Corporate America doesn’t have the balls to hire cripples. We’re too messy and complicated. Corporate America is too tight ass.
I’ll prove it. Ask yourself this: How many cripples in America could get a job being Mickey Mouse?
Answer: A big fat fucking zero!
Think about it. It’s probably a sweet gig bouncing around Disneyland and making public appearances all over the world dressed up as Mickey Mouse. I’m sure it’s great pay, health and dental insurance, a 401(k), the works. And being Mickey Mouse is probably a babe magnet too. What do you do for a living? Wouldn’t you rather be Mickey Mouse? Wouldn’t you have more money and sex?
But do you think Disney is going to hire a cripple to be Mickey Mouse? Ha! Mickey Mouse in a wheelchair or tapping around with a white cane? Are you insane? It wouldn’t matter whether a cripple could do the job or not. How hard can it be to be Mickey Mouse? All you have to do is wave and hug and pose for photos. Anybody can do that.
But if Mickey Mouse is crippled, children will ask questions like, “Mommy, what happened to Mickey Mouse? Why does he have a seeing-eye dog?” And Mommy will have to answer, “Well, Susie, Mickey Mouse has a genetic disorder known as retinitis pigmentosa, which means…” And then you’ve ruined their whole fucking vacation!
So there’s no way in hell Disney will take that kind of leap. They’ll say children come to Disneyland to have fun, not to be plunged into an existential crisis. But that’s just a bullshit excuse because every kid is going to have an existential crisis sooner or later. What better creature is there to break it to them softly than Mickey Mouse?
Hold on! I think I’ve just found a calling. Oh yeah, I’m going to do something useful to advance the cause of my fellow cripples by applying for a job being Mickey Mouse. I’m sure I’ll get an interview. I can wave and hug and pose for photos like a house on fire. I sure as hell am nurturing and I’m also a role model for children throughout the world. But when I show up for the interview in my motorized wheelchair, the Disney director of human resources will shit a gold brick (discreetly of course, so as not to provide evidence for a potential discrimination lawsuit).
When I’m turned down I’ll sue: Smart Ass Cripple versus Disneyland. It may go all the way to the Supreme Court.
But whether I win or lose I won’t give up until I shatter that glass ceiling. I will not rest until I’m Mickey Mouse.