Susan once told me her dream lover man would be a
Marxist-Leninist wheelchair repairman.
That’s how a Marxist-Leninist quadriplegic views romance. I
don’t know if Susan is still a Marxist-Leninist so I don’t know if that particular
dream lover trait matters anymore. I
also don’t know if the “man” part is a deal-breaker anymore for her either. But
Susan is still a quad so the wheelchair repair criterion is probably more
desirable than ever.
If I was cruising the matchmaking sites, I know that’s what
I’d be looking for: Single white male seeks…. What would be the acronym abbreviation for wheelchair
repairwoman? WRW?
SWM seeks WRW. She’s the only
woman who can soothe me in my time of deepest sorrow and pain, which is when my
wheelchair breaks. When your wheelchair suddenly refuses to move, you are
plunged into a state of despair. You long to return to that joyous time in the
past when you could get about at will, like five minutes ago.
A WRW understands all that. She
can make my spirit whole again, with just an alluring turn of her wrench. That
really turns me on! You can’t get any sexier than that.
A WRW also fully understands
the five stages of grief every cripple goes through when their wheelchair is
busted. Stage one: Pissed off! Goddammit!
I can’t move! And I won’t be able to move again for months! The repair shop isn’t open til
tomorrow! And they won’t send a truck to pick up my chair until a week from Tuesday!
And it’ll be the Tuesday after that before they let me know what’s wrong with it!
Goddammit!!! After working through that stage, the cripple proceeds to the
next stage. Stage two: Pissed off! And then I’ll have to call Medicaid and beg
them to pay to fix my chair! And they won’t return my call until a week from the
following Tuesday! And then they’ll send me a form 96Z Repair Preauthorization
Affidavit! And the form will get lost in the mail! GODDAMMIT!!! And then
comes the next stage. Stage three: Oh quit whining! Oh quit whining! At least you broke down in your living room! You
could’ve broken down in the street, in the middle of a blizzard no less! And
what about the cripples in Guatemala, huh? They don’t even have wheelchairs!
They live in mud huts! The Guatemalan capitol building is a mud hut with a
rotunda! But that stage is quite fleeting and is quickly replaced by the next
stage. Stage four: Pissed off! Fuck Guatemala! I’m stuck in my living room!
And finally comes the last and most devastating stage. Stage
five: Paralyzing sticker shock! Say
whaaat? With my spend down and copayments I’ve gotta pay $6,725.38 to get my
chair fixed? And all I need is a fuse? What am I supposed to do, sell my
fucking kidneys? God I’m so depressed!
At a time like this, my sweet
WRW knows just what to do. She has that magic touch. She restores my mobility. She
restores my manhood.
