Playing God

Sometimes you see these leg amputees who run marathons and 50-yard dashes. And the prosthetic legs they run on don’t look anything like human legs. They look like they were put together with an erector set. (Does anyone remember what those are?)

This is a good thing. It used to be that people who made false legs seemed to go way out of their way to make them look like real human legs. They were trying to play God. But they weren’t very good at it. There was a kid with two false legs who attended the segregated elementary school for cripples that I attended. His legs sort of looked like real human legs in the sense that they were shaped like human legs, basically, and there were joints at the ankle and knee. They were pretty much the same skin tone as his real skin, though I think he just got lucky there. I bet in those days false legs came in two standard-issue skin tones — one Caucasian and one African. (I guess Asian amputee kids were just screwed.) This kid’s skin tone happened to be pretty damn close to standard-issue African.

But still, there was no chance of any sober person seeing that kid's prosthetics lying on the floor and saying, “Oh my God, look at those severed human legs!” There was only so much that could be done to make fake legs look real. I suppose technology is better today, but fake legs still aren’t fooling anybody. It’s like a comb-over.

And I’m glad to see that makers of fake limbs stopped trying to play God, or at least it some cases. It’s good that being aesthetically pleasing isn’t always their top design priority. It really gets in the way. The purpose of getting a fake leg isn’t to try to convince everybody that you still have two actual flesh and bone legs. If I had a leg cut off, I wouldn’t bother to get a fake one because that would be stupid. I don’t even use the legs I have. A fake leg would be purely decoration. My current legs are purely decoration but getting rid of them is too much trouble. But anyway, the purpose of having a prosthetic leg is to get around, right? If those badass amputee runners tried to run on bulky-ass legs designed primarily to render the user more cosmetically assimilated, they would never win a race even if all the other runners were in potato sacks.

So it’s good that these cripples say fuck it to doing what they do the normal way and do it the cripple way. When cripples do that things go a lot smoother.


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Cripple Collateral

But you know I see these commercials for car title loans and I wonder why nobody does the same thing for wheelchairs. Car title loans are designed to soak people who are so broke that their only asset is their raggedy–ass car. Well I’ve known many cripples who are so broke that their only asset is their ragged-ass wheelchair. The same goes for prosthetic limbs, commodes, ventilators and all the other pricey shit cripples need. Our equipment is often our only remotely valuable possession because someone else paid for it, like the government or an insurance company or some smarmy charity.

But those things are some mighty valuable collateral. Anybody who doesn’t realize that hasn’t hung around with cripples very much. If their wheelchair is on the line, a cripple will do whatever it takes to pay back the loan plus the 50,000 percent interest. They’ll rob a bank if they have to. There’s no sadder sight than a cripple in the throes of wheelchair separation anxiety. I know how it is. It hits me hard whenever I fly and they take my wheelchair away and throw it in the cargo hole of the plane. Boarding and deboarding passersby probably think I’m a junkie going through withdrawal. I’m fretting and sweating hard until that glorious moment when I arrive at my destination and I’m safely reunited with my chair.

For many cripples, putting up their wheelchair as collateral will only buy them a few months before it’s time to pay up the loan and they have to cough up the chair. But the loan sharks won’t have any trouble unloading the chairs they seize. There are plenty of cripples out there who’d be more than happy to purchase a discount “pre-owned” wheelchair under the table. The sharks could also chop up the wheelchairs and sell the parts to desperate cripples with broken chairs.

That’s why I ‘m also surprised that I never see wheelchairs or prosthetics or stuff like that in the windows of pawn shops. I bet there are lots of people every day who would see that and say to themselves, “Hmm, I wonder how much they want for that?” But are there any shops where you can remove your false leg, pawn it and hop out? I doubt it.

These sharks are missing out on a big market of pre-owned pricey cripple shit.



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On Hold With Social Security: A Smart Ass Cripple Investigation

Recently I read something that blew my mind. According to the National Committee to Preserve Social Security and Medicare, in 2017, when someone called the Social Security Administration’s toll-free 800 number, they waited 18 minutes on average for a human customer service representative to answer. That was up from the three minutes waiting on average in 2010. They also said that 13 percent of callers received a busy signal in 2017, up from five percent in 2010.

I wondered if the National Committee to Preserve Social Security and Medicare was referring to the 800 toll-free number of the Social Security Administration on the planet earth. The last time I called that number was about four years ago and I recollect waiting on hold for about 45 minutes before I hung up. And it’s hard to conceive that there was ever a time when the average wait was three minutes.

Someone needed to check this out. This was the perfect job for the Smart Ass Cripple Undercover Investigative Unit (which is me) and all of its resources (which is my phone).

I decided to call the 800 number three times and see how long it takes to connect with another human. My first call was on a Thursday afternoon. The robo voice that answered asked me to clearly state my reason for calling. Oh shit! I wasn’t expecting that! What should I say? I couldn’t say, “I’m calling to see how long you fuckers will keep me on hold. “ That would blow my cover.

So I said, “Speak to an agent.”

Then the robo voice asked me to state my Social Security number. I wasn’t expecting that either! I sure didn’t want to give my real Social Security number. Should I make up a fake number?

So I said, “Speak to an agent.”

Finally, I was officially on hold. After a few minutes, the robo voice apologized for the delay and reminded me that Social Security pays monthly benefits to 50 million people so sometimes there are “busy periods.”

I heard this apology three times while waiting on hold. After 25 minutes I gave up and hung up.

The second time I called was a Monday morning. I was on hold for 23 minutes when someone answered. I wasn’t expecting that. What should I say? Maybe I should say, “Sorry, wrong number."

I panicked and hung up.

The third time I called was a Tuesday evening. I was determined to wait on hold for however long it took until somebody answered. I began to regret that vow when my hold reached the 45 minute mark. But I persevered and a human answered after 51 minutes.

Ooops I forgot to mention that the Smart Ass Cripple Undercover Investigative Unit has one other resource. We have an adding machine circa 1965. And I used it to calculate that all told, I was on hold for 99 minutes, which made my average wait time 33 minutes.

So the Smart Ass Cripple Undercover Investigative Unit proved that the National Committee to Preserve Social Security and Medicare is full of shit. But at least I never got a busy signal.



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Living Each Day to the Fullest

I wish all those cripples that always live each day to the fullest would just go away. The give me a headache. They always have.

I hear that said about cripples a lot. “He’s out there always living each day to the fullest!” There are a lot of documentaries and television news stories about cripples like that. I also hear it often said about dead cripples. “In spite of it all, he always lived each day to the fullest.”

These cripples irritate me because they make it hard for me to relax. Like for instance, the other day I was attempting to sit on my dead ass and enjoy watching a baseball game. I finished eating dinner and the ballgame was in the seventh inning so I put my wheelchair in the recline position and my pit crew guy put a pillow under my head.

But I couldn’t enjoy it for long because I thought about those cripples who always live each day to the fullest and I felt guilty, which often happens in moments of slothful bliss like that. Here I am sitting on my dead ass when I’m supposed to be out there always living each day to the fullest. I’m being a bad cripple. Just look at me! What a sorry, slovenly sight I am! No one would shoot a documentary or television news story about this.

And then I get all flustered and intimidated because I know I should be out there always living each day to the fullest but I really don’t know what that means. What should I be doing instead of sitting on my dead ass watching a baseball game? Skiing? Volunteering in a soup kitchen? Singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl? Wrestling an alligator?

But then I take comfort when I remember that when it comes to measuring how well a given cripple is always living each day to the fullest, some people have a pretty low bar. Some people have such low expectations of cripples that even if I just go downstairs to the 7-Eleven and get some ice cream they’ll think I’m living this day to the fullest.

So maybe I’ll do that next time. I’ll go down to the 7-Eleven and buy some ice cream. And I’ll say to everyone I see, “There, I just lived this day to the fullest. Now leave me the hell alone.”



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How to Decide Which Disease to Care About

Cancer is rough, even on those of us who don’t have it yet. It’s daunting because there are so many different kinds of cancer out there. Suppose we want to help by taking part in a walk to cure a certain type of cancer. There’s a cure walk and a colored ribbon for just about every type of cancer.

Which one do we choose? They’re all so worthy and we don’t want to the play favorites.

So how we decide? Flip a coin? Put on a blindfold and throw a dart? Spin the cancer wheel?

There’s also an awareness campaign for just about every type of cancer. But I don’t think those campaigns are all that effective in helping one decide which type of cancer to hate the most. I mean, all cancers suck, right? It almost seems unfair to pick a winner. And nobody can possibly do all the walks to cure every type of cancer. You’ll wear out a pair of shoes every week.

Here’s how I think the most effective disease awareness campaigns work. They happen organically. When I see a bunch of people walking to cure, let’s say, pancreas cancer, I think it’s a good bet that the reason they chose that walk over all the other cancer walks is that they or someone they love has pancreas cancer, as opposed to breast, bladder, etc.

That’s the key to effectively spreading the kind of awareness that brings about action. You can squawk all you want about the health danger posed by, let’s say, anvils falling from the sky. People might feel sorry for you that an anvil nearly landed on your head, but they probably won’t do much about it until an anvil falls from the sky and nearly lands on their head (or the head of someone they love). When that happens, anvils falling from the sky will suddenly shoot up to the top of the list of their public health concerns.

That’s how it is with political issues too. If the legislature takes swift and resolute action to protect us all from the threat of anvils falling from the sky and landing on our heads, you’ll know anvils must have started falling from the sky in the suburbs. No one cares enough to act as long as anvils are only falling from the sky in the city slums or Appalachia. Just like gun violence and opioids

That’s just how thing are. We’re all busy people. It’s hard to prioritize.



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A Pit Crew of State-Issued Toyota Robots

The headline struck fear into my heart. It said that at the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo, a fleet of robots made by Toyota that are designed to assist cripples will be deployed to assist cripples attending the games.

It was the same surge of dread I felt when I was in college in the 1970s. I was invited to an event demonstrating a robot designed to assist cripples. It would be only a matter of time, I fretted, before the state would use this as an excuse to cut off the funds that paid the wages of the members of my pit crew, which is what I call the people I hire to lift me in and out of bed, put on my pants, etc. If issuing me a robot to do all that for me instead would save the state a few bucks, they’d do it in a heartbeat.

Even if a robot could do all the routine stuff my pit crew guys could do, a robot can’t improvise. It can only do what it’s programmed to do. What if something unexpected happens, like I unwittingly roll through dog shit and get it all over my tires? It's happened before. A human will grab a bucket and scrub my tires. But a robot will just stand there sputtering.

But when I saw the robot I felt greatly relieved. It looked like that silver, square-headed maid on the Jetsons. It was as nimble as a rhinoceros. I knew it would be a looooong time before this thing would be ready to replace my pit crew.

But Toyota’s been working on these robots since 2012. They call them human support robots. So maybe by the 2020 Olympics these things will be versatile enough to replace my pit crew guys.

I dug around and found a video of a Toyota robot in action assisting a quad and again and I felt greatly relieved. About all these things can do for cripples is bring us stuff like water bottles, pick things up from the floor and open doors and blinds. That’s about all they ever will be able to do. Big fucking deal.

They’re not anywhere near ready to replace humans. At best, maybe they’re ready to replace service dogs. The jobs of emotional support dogs appear to still be safe. But maybe not. I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard for Toyota to program human support robots to say comforting things like, “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You really are a good person.”

I still can't relax. Maybe no single human support robot can do all the things my pit crew does. But maybe soon a whole fleet of them will be able to. Each will be programmed to perform a specific task. I already have one such robot in my home. It’s a big disc and it diligently buzzes around cleaning my floors. So maybe one Toyota robot will put on my pants and another will lift me out of bed, etc. And I’ll have another highly-specialized robot stored deep in my closet. It will only come out and spring into action when I roll through dog shit.


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The Shittiest Paying Shitty-Paying Job

I know there are a lot of shitty-paying jobs in the world, but the shittiest-paying job of all is being crippled.

Sometimes being crippled is a job that takes up so much time and energy, the government has to pay you to do it. (You think private enterprise in gonna do it? Ha! What’s in it for them?) That’s what Social Security Supplemental Security Income is for. SSI is what the government pays some cripples who are officially deemed too crippled to work a regular job.

The federal minimum hourly wage for a regular job is $7.25. That’s $1,160 a month for a 40-hour work week.

The maximum a cripple getting SSI can receive in a month is $771. Now let’s break this down in the context of a hypothetical cripple we’ll call Cripple X. Let’s say cripple X is crippled only for 40 hours a week, like between 9 and 5 Monday through Friday. (Of course no such actual cripple exists but just play along with me for a minute, okay? I’m trying to make both a point and a joke.) Cripple X collects SSI at the $771 max, which means Cripple X’s hourly compensation is $4.82 for a 40-hour week. Now naturally, Cripple X isn’t probably just crippled during regular office hours. Cripple X is most likely crippled on weekends too and after hours. It’s probably more like 24/7, so since there are 720 hours in a 30-day month, Cripple X really gets paid about $1.08 an hour. And there sure as hell isn’t any time and a half for overtime.

To be fair, the government did give Cripple X a cost of living increase of 2.8 percent this year. Last year, Cripple X got paid only $1.01 an hour for being crippled.

I hear scoffing. “Gimme a break! Being crippled isn’t a job!” Oh no? Well it sure feels like one a lot of the time. Somebody drags your ass out of bed and positions you just right in your chair and fastens all the belts and straps so that you’ll stay upright and balanced. They make sure all your tubes and hoses through which you may breathe or ingest or excrete food and liquids are properly attached. Then you’re ready to embark upon a potentially harrowing adventure, like going to the drug store, unless it’s winter. In that case you’ll first have to take about 30 more minutes to bundle up. And once you’re out, let’s just pray that the city snow plow hasn’t dumped a mountain of snow in front of the curb ramp. And if you make it to the drug store, let’s pray again that there’s not some asshole parked in your parking space.

That sounds like a pretty good day’s work to me. And even today, there a still some libertarian idiots who think the government shouldn’t pay cripples anything for doing all that hard work. All they would give us would be a lousy t-shirt


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