Why Am I In a Wheelchair? None of Your Business
The following excerpt is taken from an actual conversation I had with a random stranger who sat down next to me and my wife at a local Seattle bar.
The sad thing is, this shit happens to me all the time on the bus, waiting for the crosswalk to change, you name it. People feel that have some inalienable right to my medical history in order to have their morbid curiosity satisfied.
Most of the time, I don’t outright refuse to answer questions. For me, it’s less about being polite and more about not coming off as one of those
angry cripples who
thicker skin, or to
be stronger than that. Apparently, if you get mad at someone for asking wildly inappropriate questions about why you’re in a wheelchair, you’re just mad about being in a wheelchair.
Let me be blunt here, random stranger on the bus or at the bar you asking me about my personal medical history, or acting like my appearing in public is some goddamn miracle worthy of a stupid grin or you stopping and telling me how
inspiring I am is some ableist fucking bullshit and needs to stop. Every time you come up to me and start asking personal questions or treating me like I’m special for having the audacity to do the same things you do every goddamn day just reminds me how uncomfortable my very existence makes you. You literally have no idea how to handle the fact that I’m in your space so you awkwardly blurt out
Does your penis work okay?! in an attempt to make conversation.
And for the record, I have as much right to be angry about your invasion of my privacy as anyone else without being told that I need to
have thicker skin or that I’m
stronger than that. Fuck you. I’m strong enough to stand my ground and tell you where to step off and I think that’s plenty strong enough.