Tuesday, April 3, 2012


Seen on the Purple Line to Linden at about 8:25 a.m. 

I love how everybody tells themselves that we live in a more understanding, politically correct world. Then they don’t have to feel bad when they glare at me as though I’m nothing but an unfortunate obstacle to their otherwise smooth morning commute. Do they think I want to block the doors with my wheelchair? Believe me, I’d rather rest my ass on the germ-infested, worn-down seats like the rest of them. I’d rather not arrange my route according to the location of accessible stations. I’d rather not take the slow, smelly elevators with the homeless people. I’d rather not sling my backpack over the back of my chair, leaving its tempting zippers within easy reach of the pickpockets. But I don’t really have a choice.

I don’t even get the extra perks that usually come from a CTA commute. I can’t squeeze my way onto a rush hour train if it’s too crowded. My medical bills cost just about as much as car insurance would. There’s never a missed connection for the “Sexy Guy in a Wheelchair.” Seriously, they don’t know how lucky they have it. Now if they would just fucking move so I could get off the train. 

Hey, please keep my aunt in your happy thoughts/prayers/however else you transmit good energy to someone. She had a bad stroke, and things aren't looking great. Thanks.

On a lighter note, I joined a book club, and the first meeting is tonight! So I'm excited about that. We only read short story collections. And I love short stories, so I'm pretty psyched. 

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