The Ambassador

 

 When you’re a cripple, you often end up getting help from people who are paid shit for helping you. It's inevitable because helping cripples is a job that pays shit.

 So then you panic because you fear that the person helping you are going to get fed up and walk out on you right in the middle of doing whatever it is they’re helping you do. So you feel this suffocating obligation to make it up to them by being an ambassador who represents cripples as fine and fascinating people, even though it’s not your fault that they’re being paid shit.

 Like for instance, take those people who assist cripples at airports. They push you around in those clunky airport wheelchairs and /or assist you boarding the plane. I’ve read that those folks are paid something like $4 an hour. And the asshole private contractors who pay them shit like that figure the cripples they help will make up the difference by tipping them.

So when I’m being helped by one of them, I feel a strong obligation to be on my toes and ready to talk about sports or Descartes (at least enough to fake it) or whatever realm the conversation may enter. I look for an opening to tell a joke and to impart some wisdom. It’s probably because I want them to say at the end of the day, “I may hate my job because the pay is shit but I love working with those wheelchair people. They’re so witty and wise.”

The tipping part is stressful, too, because I feel really conflicted about it. I resent that I’m expected to tip because I feel like if I do so I’m enabling the private contractors to continue being assholes. Why should I have to pick up their slack? Why can’t they just not pay people shit in the first place?  But if I don’t tip, the only one I’m hurting is the poor schlub who’s helping me. The private contractors have us both by the balls. The less witty and wise I am, the more I feel obligated to give a bigger tip. I’m sure the schlubs would be more inclined to give me a pass for not being witty and wise if I tipped big.

Another example of people who are paid shit for helping cripples are the people who come to our homes and help us do the stuff everybody has to do every day like get out of bed, get dressed, take a dump, etc. I have a crew of such people I’ve hired to help me in my home. I call them my pit crew.

The people who do this kind of work are usually paid around minimum wage and they get no benefits or sick pay or vacation days or anything like that. So when I’m working with my pit crew members I try my best to be witty and wise so they won't be so quick to get fed up and quit because they’re being paid shit.

It’ll be a great day when things have changed so much that I can just let myself be a grumpy old asshole now and then, like every human does. And at the end of the day the people who help me will say, “Those wheelchair people sure are grumpy old assholes. But I sure get paid a lot for helping them.”

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Ask Smart Ass Cripple, if You Dare

  Dear Smart Ass Cripple,

In one of your recent entries, you used the term “idiot fascists.” I am writing to express my vociferous objection to your use of that term.

I am President of the Fascist Anti-Defamation League and Defense Fund and on behalf of this proud organization I demand an apology. 

Our organization was formed because, all too often, fascists are a convenient scapegoat and butt of jokes. People like you paint fascists with a broad brush that makes us all look like evil people. Just because fascists believe in a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader that defends corporate interests above all and ruthlessly suppresses opposition, that doesn’t make us evil. There are fascists in all walks of life. The odds are great that some of your neighbors and coworkers are fascists.  Someday your daughter may marry a fascist.

At long last, fascist are emerging from the shadows of shame! We will not be driven back!

Apologize or die!

Sincerely,

Adolf Whiteman

 Dear Adolf,

I’m sorry that I used the term “idiot fascists.” I did not mean to be redundant.

 

Dear Smart Ass Cripple,

What would you do if you were President of the United States?

 Yours truly,

A Political Nerd

Dear Nerd,

If I was President of the United States, I would be very aggressive. On my very first day in office, I would introduce legislation outlawing one-name celebrities. I’d call it the Anti-Pretentiousness Act. Every one-name celebrity would have to choose a last name. If they refused to comply, the government would assign them a last name, such as Sting Wolinsky or Cher Cunningham. I may consider grandfathering dead one-name celebrities, like Prince, and letting them keep a single name forever.

I’d also crack down hard on lazy songwriters by making it illegal to write any more songs that rhyme “love” with “stars above.” I’d call this the Anti-Cliché Act.

And I’d also crack down on lazy city planners. It would be verboten to name the main street in any city or town Main Street. You could name any other street Main Street as long as it isn’t the main street.  And no fair taking the easy way out by naming the main street First Street. It would also be verboten to name a street First Street unless it’s not the first street.

Under my administration, life in the United States would be a lot less annoying.

 

Dear Mr. Smart Ass,

When you die, do you want to be buried or cremated? It seems to me that both options suck. You either quickly burn or slowly rot. Death sucks.

Your fan,

A Morose Teen

 Dear Morose Teen,

I agree with you that both options suck. That’s why I’m looking into taxidermy. I mean, they do it for birds and moose and weasels, so why not me? They can shoot me full of whatever preservatives taxidermists use, rivet me down into my wheelchair and I’ll be good to go. By being stuffed and mounted like this, I may achieve a certain level of immortality. Like for instance, sometimes when workers are protesting against a boss because they think he’s an asshole, they put a giant, inflatable rat out in front of his place of business to show the world what an asshole he is. But instead of a rat, they could place me out front all taxidermied up. That ought to scare away the customers and bring the boss to his knees.

Who says just because you’re dead you can’t be useful anymore? 

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An Adorable Plush Crippled Kid

  

A television commercial came on. Sad music played over footage of elephants (mothers and babies) ambling through the wild. The earnest narrator said elephants are in big trouble. She said their very existence is threatened. But, she said, I can help save them if I sign up to make a monthly donation to this charity whose mission it is to save the elephants. And if I sign up to make a monthly donation, the charity will send me an “adorable plush elephant” as a token of appreciation. It was a cute little stuffed animal intended to make me feel warm and fuzzy about donating to save the elephants.

And then another television commercial came on. Sad music played over footage of polar bears (mothers and babies) ambling through the wild. The earnest narrator said polar bears are in big trouble. She said their very existence is threatened. But, she said, I can help save them if I sign up to make a monthly donation to this charity whose mission it is to save the polar bears. And if I sign up to make a monthly donation, the charity will send me an “adorable plush polar bear” as a token of appreciation. It was a cute little stuffed animal intended to make me feel warm and fuzzy about donating to save the polar bears.

I could see where this could easily turn into an addictive and expensive hobby for me. I’d sign up to make monthly donation after monthly donation and receive cute little stuffed animal after cute little stuffed animal to add to my adorable plush menagerie. Save the whales? Save the porcupines?  Somebody stop me before I donate again!

And then another television commercial came on. This one didn’t have sad music. It featured a couple of smiling crippled kids. It seemed their very existence was threatened, too, but they were much more cheery about it because they knew they could count on people like me to save them by signing up to make a monthly donation to a children’s hospital whose mission is to save the crippled kids. And the crippled kids said that if I signed up I’d receive an “adorable” gift as a token of appropriation.

I was psyched to call the number on the screen and make my pledge right away because I couldn’t wait to receive my adorable, plush, stuffed crippled kid. It would be the crown jewel of my impressive collection of species I helped save.

But it turned out that the adorable gift the crippled kids were offering was just a blanket. Can you believe that? A goddam blanket!

Those crippled kids have to do way better than that if they expect to be saved. 

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