By: Hailey Miller, Staff Writer
As someone who was born disabled, nothing makes me cackle more than the ridiculous remarks of arrogance that grace my everyday life. Happy Disability Pride Month — whether you celebrate it or not. I, frankly, never give it much thought. I do, however, love a good statement that keeps human decency more off-kilter than my Humpty Dumpty balance. Considering all the bullshit that spews out of your mouth, some of you aren’t disabled, and it shows.
“Have you tried eating organic to cure yourself?”
Someone clearly didn’t pass organic chemistry. As a vegetarian of nearly 20 years, I’ve eaten organic almost every day. If you think eating a single organic vegetable is gonna do the trick, please! Who’s the laughing celery stalk now? I’ve been eating more vegetables than you’ve ever consumed and haven’t seen any progress yet. Will report back when I’m cured . . . which won’t be ‘til I’m dead.
“Are your crutches permanently attached to your arms?”
Of course they are! I oh-so-conveniently have them surgically attached by the cuffs and sleep with them like they’re the lover I don’t have. Who needs a sex doll when you can spoon with not one but two sticks?!
“How do you shower?”
I turn on the water, grab my bar of soap that cleanses all the bullshit away, shampoo that makes my hair as shiny as my scintillating clapbacks, and conditioner to make the condescending comments slide right off my spastic muscles. I have a little shower singalong-dance party to “None of Your Fucking Business” written by yours truly. Available on all streaming platforms, alongside “No Scrubs” and “Shower Beer” — which I will desperately need to get through this cringe-worthy inquiry. If you must know, I sit on a chair and contemplate all the ridiculous remarks while penning my wittiest responses in a shower stall that’s slipperier than a Slip ‘N’ Slide.
“Are your legs broken?”
I’m so glad you asked! I was just about to put weight on them. Don’t you see the invisible casts? There’s this new technology called invisi-cast, which makes them nearly impossible to see. You have to get so up-close-and-personal to see them that you’d notice my legs were never broken in the first place. Talk about a medical advancement!
“Is it contagious?”
Achoo! Oh, yes, highly contagious! You better keep your distance and watch your step. You don’t want to get what I have. Just kidding, you can’t catch it if you weren’t born with it. Pff, amateurs. Alas, it’s as incurable as your arrogance. If you stumble, you’ll tumble right into disability land where you’ll be diagnosed with a hefty dose of “Don’t mess with this disabled chick.” Get out of my way, or I’ll trip you up with my spell-binding sticks!
“I’ll pray for you.”
Okay, you do you. That’s really not my thing, but whatever floats your boat. Sprinkling some holy water on me isn’t gonna do the trick to cure me, but you believe whatever you believe, and I’ll be over here, living my best disabled life. Contrary to popular belief, a disabled chick such as myself doesn’t actually want to be cured. Hot girl summer called, and my spasticity answered — soaking up the sun and not giving a fuck!
“Can she have a drink?” asks the wait staff, to someone else at my table, when I’m at a restaurant and simply want to order a drink like a sophisticated bitch.
I really just want to sip my Pinot in peace, but instead, I’m being served an extra side of shock and an interrogation of my ID that’s scrutinized more than a criminal record check. How dare a disabled chick have a valid government photo ID when she doesn’t drive, yet still want to order a nice beverage free from bullshit? Actually, at this point, just bring me the bottle. I’m feeling extra pissed tonight and my disability income doesn’t cover tips for shitty service.
