Monopoly Spack Attack

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

1. Playing Games

A quiet Sunday round a friend’s house. Playing Monopoly. Pretending to be civilised adults.

A nice change from that usual ‘What the hell did I do last night was there a fight?’ Sunday feeling — that combination of shame and guilt… No hangover tonight though. Staying out of trouble. I was doing quite well in Monopoly. Had a lot of properties, collecting rent and then it all fucked up and I lost everything and went to jail. Hope this isn’t a premonition. This game is way too realistic for my liking.

The game is at a state of no return for me and it’s already after 11 PM so I say farewell to my two friends. As I leave they are still mocking me. I put on my earphones to drown out the taunts and speed off in my wheelchair.

2. Access Denied

After a pleasant trip driving full-pelt through quiet streets, blasting NOFX in my earphones (which raises my spirits and helps me process my failure as it always does), headlights beaming, singing loudly to ‘Idiots are Taking Over’, probably looking like I’m arguing with myself, I approach the entrance to my building and come to an abrupt stop as is my characteristic driving style.

There’s a tall, shifty-looking guy holding the door open. He’s wearing a weird combination of beanie, hoodie, shorts and socks with flip-flops, even though it’s December. A tell-tale sign of a monged-out student. He looks startled. I guess people don’t expect a spastic roaming around after dark. At least I don’t. I figure he’s waiting for someone, or a takeaway or a drop-off. I make eye contact and nod. I try going into the building but he stands in my way.

I take out my earphones as Fat Mike sings: ‘’It’s not the right time to be sober… Now the idiots have taken over…”

“Dude you can’t come in here,” he says smirking.

“It’s okay dude I live here,” I say, unfazed as you’re kind of supposed to make sure someone lives in the building before letting them in. I can tell he can’t understand me and he has a bewildered, slightly amused look. I’d never seen him before but my block has so many students moving in and out it’s normal not to recognise someone.

Then he says, “Dude this is private, you need to go.” He waves to move me along. He seems fucked in his gestures so I try to be patient and explain again that I live here. Even show my keys as they have a distinctive fob for the doors but it still doesn’t get through to him. Like talking to a wall. Whatever. I’m still preoccupied with my Monopoly bankruptcy and how it echoes my life.

This certainly isn’t my first rodeo dealing with fucked-up ables who aren’t quite sure what I am or if I’m a figment of their imagination. I’m pretty sure I’d be confused if I saw me randomly, you know, if I wasn’t me. So this isn’t out of my normal remit of day-to-day spastic life. But at this point I can’t be fucked to deal with this fuckery any longer so I just drive in, as my wheelchair is basically an unstoppable six-wheeled tank.

A sober person would just get out the way so as not to get run over. I’m unaware of exactly what happens but the CCTV footage shows him trying to push me back in my wheelchair as I try to enter. Then it looks like I shout at him, which makes him get out the way. He’s being shifty and erratic as I come in, so I maintain eye contact, staring him down — a technique I use to show people I’m not scared, because what kind of maniac must you be if you’re in a wheelchair and staring other people down. And vice versa. The video then shows me driving in through the lobby to the lifts, probably not giving it a second thought. ‘Bad able!’ Students will be students. Dickheads will be dickheads. Until the end of time.

3. High Stakes

I drive through the lobby towards the lift to get to my floor, contemplating my Monopoly failures once more.

I feel a sudden jerk pull behind me. A burst of adrenaline shoots up my back to my head as I look round to find the guy trying to pull my wheelchair backwards, lifting my front wheels off the ground. DO NOT TOUCH MY CHAIR! The CCTV shows me instantly pushing myself up and back, turning my body around in my wheelchair to face him and push him off whilst shouting. He lets go of the back of the chair, slamming my front wheels on the ground, activating my fight response as I can’t run and the little prick looks about 18, 19, and no fucking way am I going to take that shit from a student when I have ten years on him.

I swing my wheelchair around but he’s back at the entrance now, letting another guy in. I follow to confront him.

“The FUCK are you doing?!”

He stops talking to the guy and snaps his head round to look at me while immediately taking a step backwards as I approach. He’s definitely not expecting this. I now realise how off his face he is — he’s posturing one second, scared the next. Probably never had a spastic square up to him before. He picked the wrong spastic. With his mate there I shout at him: “I told you I live here what the fuck are you doing?!” His mate looks confused and confirms that I live here although I don’t recognise him. The first guy explains that he didn’t think I lived there and he couldn’t understand me. Still no justification to push me or pull my wheelchair. I can’t be bothered with this anymore so I leave them to it, especially if this guy lives here — I don’t want this to become a feud. Just want to be in my flat consoling myself about going to jail and losing Monopoly.

The CCTV shows them laughing as I drive away.

4. What Goes Up…

Whatever. Everything seems resolved so I head back to the lifts and reverse into the one on the left. Pressing the button for my floor, I accidentally press another floor as well with my spacky hand. I sigh, staring at the button. Goddammit. As the door is closing I see the two bellends peering in, tilting their heads along with the moving door like two cartoon characters. I press the open door button and ask, “Do you WANT to get in then?” as if asking two scared, idiot children who I had just told off for misbehaving; in my head, the incident is over, and so to show good faith I let them in.

They enter clumsily: sniggering, giggling, laughing in a way that could have only been when you are fucked. They bang into the wall and the sound echoes in the lift. The door closes and the lift ascends. The tall, shifty guy asks where I’m from and I say Brighton. I ask him where he’s from. He says the US. I can tell, I either say or think. Although I can’t actually tell where he’s from. He’s obviously not from around here. Not that it matters as he can’t understand me anyway. The lift stops and the door opens on the floor that I accidentally pressed when I spasmed. I’m slightly distracted, looking at my phone, replying on the Monopoly group chat where I’m still being mocked:

Friend: You always run away when the going gets tough. HaHa.

Me: Piss off you know it’s a school night lol.

The door shuts again. The tall guy is on my front left side, the other guy is towards the back next to the buttons. To make space for them I’m squeezed into the slight recess bit on the wall opposite the buttons.

5. Spack Attack

The lift stops on my floor. The doors open and I turn on my chair to exit. The wheelchair motors make a clicking sound indicating they are engaged. Suddenly the tall guy jumps in front of me, shouts to the other guy, “Don’t let him out! Don’t let him out!” He manages to get his hands on each of my armrests, standing with his legs apart in his flip flops, up in my face, leaning forward trying to get a grip on the ground, trying to stop me and my wheelchair getting out of the lift. I’m in perplexed disbelief. He’s already tried and failed to pull the wheelchair from behind, now he’s trying to push it from the front.

I shout for the third time, ‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!!” at the sheer stupidity and the obvious bad high he must be having. I’m not sure what the other guy is doing at this point. Adrenaline kicks in again, fight mode activated.

I try to push and kick him off to no avail. I still can’t see what the other guy is doing. He could be trying to pull me back into the lift. And then what? I’m not going back in the lift with these two fucktards! Backed in a corner, literally, without a flight option. I glance at my controller. The lights are still on. Top speed still engaged.

As a last resort, with a split second thought of ‘You fucked with the wrong spastic my friend!’ I instinctively slam the controller forward. Using my wheelchair as a battering ram; my nose impacts into his shoulder taking the flip-flop wearing fucker off his feet and leaving his stupid flip-flops behind.

I hit the edge of the lift door on the way out and crash at an angle into the wall opposite the lift. The chair cuts out. I’m a bit dazed by the impact from his shoulder. It takes me a couple seconds to look round and realise I can’t move my chair and the cable is pulled out from my controller. Stuck facing the wall, realising that I’m immobile and not in a good position to defend myself I quickly jump out my wheelchair to get onto the floor. My years of cripple fighting at school taught me that the floor is my favoured realm of combat. Plus I’ve recently done boxing training at the gym and Sebastian has shown me some moves so I know how to take a punch from an able — and throw one.

Furthermore, playing the circle game with ables has taught me their limp dick pussy-punches are nowhere near as bad as a full-force spasm power hit from another spastic. Where I come from we call this ‘retard strength’. And trust me, you can’t beat retard strength.

With adrenaline surging through my body and channelling my Monopoly frustration, I see those two idiots trying to go down in the lift, repeatedly pressing the ground floor button without realising the door is jammed from me ramming it, so it won’t shut. I see my phone in front of the lift; I know I need to get to it. I jump-crawl out in front of the lift to get my phone, get up on my knees, arms outstretched and shout at them, one more time, in my clearest, loudest speech with the power of rage temporarily curing my speech impediment: ‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!’ Now I’m sure they can understand me. They are cowering in the back of the lift, holding each other, sobbing. Surely so fucked on something they think I’m a demon who just raised up from hell: probably looking the part with my shaved, tattooed head, multi-coloured mohawk and multiple face piercings. It seems they had no idea the disabled can operate outside of a wheelchair. On the floor in cripple fight mode, I’m bewildered at the lack of balls they now have. I had expected to be mid-battle by now: instead, I’m confused and a bit disappointed, thinking ‘Come on hit me! Before I lose my nerve’, eyes flicking between both of them, unsure of where to direct my adrenaline.

They are freaking out for so long I decide to unlock my phone, press record, hold the phone up in a good position (which for a spastic is a technical nightmare) and record them coming out the lift, gathering their flipflops with me shouting, ‘Get out!’ from the angle of the floor as they scurry into the stairwell.

Alone now I send the video to Sebastian as I know he is the best source of backup and would either find this amusing or come immediately with weapons and his giant white wolf-dog Atilla. He would most likely do both.

6. Welcome to My Level

Now I’m waiting, on guard, calculating what to do next. Still on the floor, unable to plug the controller cable back in so I’m stuck. I don’t know how much time I have before they come back or someone comes and helps. The closest flat is a few metres away — crawling distance. Two Chinese girls, who are always friendly to me, live there… I could knock, ask for help but this might not give them the best impression of me: a spastic crawling around on the floor. Knowing my luck they would freak out and kick me in the face. Which would be fair as it’s midnight. Imagine if they woke from a nightmare to find some strange creature crawling around on the floor, mistaking my cries for help for the groans of a monster.

I could try to get to my flat. Get the keys off my wheelchair, somehow unlinking them from the keyring with my spastic hand, most likely tangling myself in the keyring in the process and disabling myself further… Then ‘walk’ or crawl to my flat, out my wheelchair, semi-bipedal, converted to my human form like a knock-off cripple-tron transformer. Equally as lame and creepy as knocking on the girls’ door.

With my brain overclocked and my spacky senses tingling, what seems like hours pass as I continue debating what to do. The other lift door pings open, snapping me back into the room. My neighbour comes out and to her surprise finds me on the floor sitting next to my wheelchair, probably looking demented. She asks what happened. “This isn’t what it looks like!” I instinctively shout without thinking. As if it’s any other Sunday. She looks as confused by the statement as I am.

I try to quickly explain what happened, aware the guys are still lurking in the stairwell. They keep peeking from the fire door into the hallway, watching her expression change from concern to horror. They come out and try to defend themselves and try to convince her that I attacked them and they don’t know why. The tall guy says something about me following them. She and her partner are both university lecturers and have experience dealing with misbehaving students so she isn’t intimidated and tells them to stay away. The two students retreat back into the stairwell. She calls her partner. He comes and the two of them help me back into my wheelchair. They are shocked to find the cable unplugged. They plug it back in and accompany me back to my flat, leaving the two guys still hiding and peeking from the stairwell.

7. …Must Comedown

We get into my flat and they help me onto the sofa. They point out that I have a bloody nose and take pictures. Slightly shaking as I’m coming down from the adrenaline, I try to explain to them what just happened, which is difficult as it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

Soon afterwards my door swings open and Sebastian storms in leading two policemen like he’s bringing in the cavalry, ready for another cripple fight. He could be mistaken for a detective: wearing a dishevelled suit as usual. He only wears suits after he and his daughters burnt all his other clothing a few years ago when he turned thirty, for reasons that remain unclear.

Maybe he didn’t find the video as amusing as I was expecting. Now I have an audience of five and all but one seem to think I’m shaken up. Sebastian pours a glass of water with a straw for me before I try to explain what happened with him translating, slightly confused by the whole thing. And it seems like I was just attacked but I’m still thinking it was just students being fucked.

8. Behind The Scene

The two policemen go to talk to the two students and then my two neighbours leave. “Let us know if you need anything,” they say on the way out. Sebastian assures them in a soft, comforting, well-spoken voice that I’ll be okay.

The second the door shuts behind them Sebastian lets out a roar of laughter that he’d obviously been suppressing. “Dickhead!” he bellows, almost in tears. “What the shit dude?! It’s Sunday night. Who the fuck gets attacked in their own building on a Sunday? I was having a nice quiet evening killing zombies on the PC, getting back into it for the new update, and I got a video from you that looked like you were playing the same game but in real life!’ He laughs again.

I suspected he might say something like this. I shrug. “C’mon man. I was behaving this time. I had a nice civilised game of Monopoly like an adult and just came home. How is this my fault?”

He laughs, shaking his head and wiping a tear from his eye, pulling a foot-long yellow oven lighter from his suit jacket pocket and lighting a cigar from his personal cigar-humidifier, which he keeps in my flat for some bizarre reason. Apparently for celebrations like this one. “Of all the spastics in the world they could have fucked with, they fucked with you. They were probably scared shitless. Those poor students. They’ve probably never seen a disabled before, let alone whatever the fuck you are… Not even I can get out of your headlocks! And I worked in challenging behaviour. You can’t be knocked out, your neck is too thick!

“And why didn’t you break his legs?” he adds, as if this is the go-to thing to do, whilst pouring himself a whiskey in a pint glass.

My preplanned response — because I knew he would ask, is: “I didn’t want to actually disable the guy, he looked retarded enough as it was. As you say ‘those poor students’. He didn’t know what I was… Anyway, you always say, ‘You’re legally allowed to use as much force as necessary’. So I did. As much as necessary… And to be crippled by a cripple… that’s pretty dark dude… Didn’t want that kind of karma on me…”

Sebastian laughs, coughing out some smoke. “Fair. This is why I work for you. Never a dull moment. You’re lucky that update for the game comes out at midnight tomorrow otherwise I probably wouldn’t have come.” He takes a sip of his drink, now with ice cubes, to wash down the smoke.

“Cheers mate.” I laugh. He might be joking but I know this is a strong possibility.

With a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other Sebastian examines my slightly bloody nose. “Well, not the bloodiest I’ve seen but bloody all the same. Not bad Jimmy Timmy, not bad.”

I nod to acknowledge the approval.

How was Monopoly by the way?” he asks.

“I lost everything.”

“Ha, of course you did.”

I nod, this time in shame.

“Where’s Atilla?” I ask. “I assumed you’d bring him.”

“You know how hard it is to get a cab with Atilla. Everyone’s scared of him for some reason. He’s just a cute little puppy really.”

A cute puppy that could eat you, I think to myself. He’s allegedly a German Shepherd but at over twice the size and white, he’s more like a dire wolf.

“I guess it would have been funny though,” he continues. “We could’ve paid the guy a visit. He would’ve shat himself.”

My phone pings. The Monopoly chat:

Friend: Chicken! HaHa

Friend 2: Loser lol

9. Go To Jail

The police return to take my statement. Turns out the student just moved in two weeks ago, into the flat where the two Chinese girls lived. Maybe because I accidentally pressed the other button he assumed that was my floor and when I didn’t get out until ‘his’ floor he thought I was following him. I guess that’s what he meant. Not that I know how a high, paranoid person thinks… It was lucky I didn’t knock on the door as it would have looked like I was trying to get into his flat, which would have only confirmed, in his stoned mind, that I was indeed following him.

The guy said I started it. None of us can believe he would say something that stupid, especially considering there’s CCTV footage. Plus I was basically giving him a ‘get out of jail free card’ because I wasn’t really bothered about pressing charges or anything. Maybe he still hasn’t realised I actually live here, and he really did believe I was following him.

Sebastian puts out his cigar as the policemen are telling me they found a load of drugs in the students’ flat, which explains why they were acting erratically. I suddenly become very aware of my own recently topped up stash in my weed box sitting in plain view on the coffee table. “Oh really,” I say, trying not to look at it, or at the officers' body cams. “Students will be students.”

As I’m giving my statement the first officer says, “Sorry, I can’t help asking, has your surname always been Spack?”.

“Now that would have been unfortunate,” Sebastian blurts. We all share a smirk, which seems to relax everyone a bit more. They start treating me less like a victim. After all, what kind of a psychopath calls himself Spack?

After taking the statement, as the policemen write out some notes, Sebastian asks the officer who asked about my name what else he does as a policeman. He says he does some riot policing, mainly for football etc. at the weekend. It keeps him on his toes, he says, and can actually be quite fun. We all nod. Everyone enjoys a bit of a scrap.

Then they leave to make the arrest.

10. Know/Understand Your Enemy

The next day a detective comes to interview me. She’s Polish and isn’t gonna put up with shit from the students just because they’re foreign. “We’ll get that monster for what he did to you,” she assures me, which I imagine is what they say before every lynching. She’s certain it’s a hate crime as apparently I was ‘targeted’ because the CCTV shows them laughing and he let everyone in except for me. But I doubt the guy gave any second thought to the disabled before he encountered me. Maybe he really hadn’t seen me before — I hadn’t seen him. I have a feeling he hasn’t come across many disabled people, at least not living in the same building as him. He told the police he thought I was homeless. He probably comes from one of the many places in the world where disabled people are homeless.

Makes me wonder what I would need to do to be accused of a hate crime. Ram into a foreign student with my wheelchair? I can clearly get away with that.

A hate crime should be a few weeks planning, minimum entry to qualify; preferably a year to build up your résumé and references. You can’t take a day off. It’s really a full-time thing. Personally, I feel like it takes loads of effort to do hate. I know I can’t do hate for that long. I get bored and restless.

So the sheer determination and dedication of those people whose crimes deserve the title ‘hate crime’ is undermined when you give it to a young student from another country who doesn’t know the culture. No need to demonise him when he hasn’t earned it. That being said, maybe he’s the leader of a secret ‘Cull the Cripples Cult’ (the CCC)… But what the fuck do I know? I’m just a stupid spastic…

I suggest that I could talk to him, maybe educate him about disability or just not to get so fucked up. Care in the community or some shit, karma points for me. He could be my PA for getting shopping or skinning up. Punishment fitting the crime. But the detective doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Not the way to handle it.

Anyway, the detective admires my lack of ‘victimization’, commending me for standing up to the students in the CCTV footage. She says that most people probably wouldn’t do that. They’d be intimidated. Even more so if they’re in a wheelchair. I figure I’m already in a wheelchair. The worst someone could do is put me in a new wheelchair. And I love ‘New Wheelchair Day’! But I can put you in your first wheelchair. A shitty NHS chair usually… So First Wheelchair Day probably isn’t great. Especially if a spastic in a wheelchair put you there. Happy to pass the torch though.

Really, I just see the incident as a misunderstanding. I know how different I am and how people may interpret — or misinterpret me. Mix that with a student, off his face, from another country, who’s never seen a free-range spastic running around on his own at midnight and there’s definitely going to be confusion.

“Worse things happen to better people,” I tell the detective. This is certainly not the worst thing that has happened to me, which is why I know how to look after myself now.

Facebook post: So after returning home from a pleasant evening playing monopoly with friends (unfortunately I got bankrupt) without going into too much detail, I got in a little scrap. A guy tried to stop me from getting into my building, and then onto my floor so I had to use force. He unplugged my controller (just not cricket). I think he was more scared of me. Also pretty sure he was tripping and might not have thought I was real. I ended up with a slightly bloody nose. He got arrested. I was having such a quiet Sunday… Don’t fuck with the spastic people, they are real.

11. Aftermath

After the detective leaves, I head out for an afternoon coffee and as I shut my front door I look down the hall to see a group of students outside the tall guy’s flat, obviously looking for him. “Balls,” I mumble. The second guy from last night comes over to talk to me. I switch on my phone camera and put it upside-down on my lap so he can’t see I’m filming.

He tries to apologise and asks if I know where his friend is. I gulp. “Ah… He got arrested.” He apologises again, probably thinking that maybe I won’t press charges. I feel a bit sorry for him but it’s out of my hands anyway. I’m not pressing charges the police are. But it’s impossible to communicate this to him with the speech impediment, all the while keeping my eye on the mob of his friends gathering around the corner. Outnumbered, my cripple fight skills won’t work on this many…

12. Justice?

A few evenings later, after getting another late caffeine fix, I open the door to my building, drive in and see the tall guy perching on a window ledge. Face to face with my enemy once more. He’s half the size he was as he’s slouching over, with the ‘What the hell did I do last night? Was there a fight?’ look on his face, reading a letter which is obviously from the courts. The detective emailed me a copy. It stated that he can’t come back into the country after he finishes his studies and leaves. He turns and looks over. As he’s on my level we make eye contact. Bollocks. In the wrong place at the wrong time once again.

He starts to apologize, still clutching his letter, on the verge of tears with all the ramifications crashing down on him at that moment: the shame of having a criminal record for the ‘beating’ of a disabled whilst high; in a sense, disabling himself by not being allowed to travel to this, and potentially other countries again. God only knows what his family thinks of him — considering they most certainly funded his studies. Likely expecting great things from him. Loser.

Witnessing his downfall doesn’t fill me with any satisfaction, more pity and dread. I know in a way this doesn’t solve anything, there’s no resolution or lesson learned. He probably doesn’t even understand what he’s done wrong as it’s so far removed from what he’s used to. I feel sorry for him. I told them he was high, just a stupid student, we’ve all been there. Unfortunately, he chose not to use the Get out of Jail Free card, as he refused to take any responsibility so he wasn’t given any leniency. He wasn’t from the US. Turns out he did come from one of the many places in the world where disabled people are homeless and not allowed in the building. So I guess he made the wrong judgement but at least his heart was in the right place…

I try to calm him down but he still can’t understand me. The caffeine isn’t helping as it’s making my gestures more jerky and sporadic, which seems to be freaking him out even more. So I drive away toward the lifts, breaking eye contact, leaving him having the worst comedown of his life, probably thinking that I now hate him but I just really need to pee because of all the coffees.

The court finds him guilty and orders him to pay me a fine of £300 for ‘assault by beating’. And a restraining order. I suppose, in a way, I won the Monopoly game of life, but I don’t feel like it. To celebrate that they didn’t stone him, I spend the money on getting stoned, in his honour. It seems like the right thing to do.

Facebook post: Hey. Forgot to update people on my scuffle a couple weeks ago. The dude got a suspended sentence and there’s a restraining order on him not speak to me. Very lols! Very proud that i got my first one. I’m looking forward to seeing the CCTV footage… This could easily be perceived as a hate crime, and I think it’s actually on the record as one, and I could make a big thing out of being targeted because I’m disabled, but it was basically just a kid who was coked up acting like an idiot. This kind of thing very rarely happens anyway. I don’t think he has a deep hatred of disabled people, i think he probably hadn’t come across many before. His defence was “I thought he was a drunk homeless person trying to break into the building”. Can we really penalise someone for being that retarded?! I wasn’t scared because I’m aware of my capabilities as I always test my limitations, so if I find myself in a dangerous situation I can work out what to do. So while it was happening I knew exactly what i could do to defend myself if necessary. Basically I take the necessary steps so that I never feel vulnerable or like a victim. I believe everyone should take responsibility for their own care and safety if they want to be as independent as they are able to be. In other words, don’t be a victim by default. Anyway I’m getting some cash from this debacle!! So you know… swings and roundabouts…

13. Outside The Cathedral (The Flip)

About a week later, after stopping someone that I don’t recognize from entering my building, I make my way to my favourite coffee shop again. It’s getting dark so I’m trying to decide whether to have a late coffee or an early drink, as it is the festive season. The way from my flat is slightly on the back roads. Before I get to the main road where the coffee shop is, my wheelchair suddenly cuts out as I’m coming down the hill in a wide semi-pedestrianised area in front of a large church. This always looks bad: a disabled in a wheelchair, alone, speeding past you and suddenly jerking to a stop in the middle of the street.

I quickly realise the cable has fallen out of my controller because the clip on the plug broke during the cripple fight. ‘That stupid prick!’ I think. Now this is where the fun really begins. I allow myself to take a moment’s silence. Asking the ables for help can be tricky, especially when it’s after dark and cold.

Under daylight when their actions are visible to others the ables are a herd of well-meaning, annoying “helpers’’ offering relentless aid when you don’t need any. They appear out of nowhere when you don’t want them to, feeding off your perceived vulnerability so they grow more able-full by sucking out whatever ability you have left. But you have to indulge them. To shoo them away is ungrateful… However, in the darkness they turn into scared, unhelpful creatures who will run away at any sudden (spasmodic) movement, never to be seen again, vanishing back from whence they came.

I’m also aware that the metal through my skin and the ink under it does not put the ables at ease. Plus this is the usual spot where another disabled, seemingly homeless guy with a crutch (no tattoos, piercings, mohawk or wheelchair though) stands and asks for change. But he never seems to get any. Unfortunately, he’s not here now so people probably think I’m him. What are the chances of two disabled guys being in the same place at different times? Of course, there’s only one disabled guy for each town, doing all the disabling. People might be used to zoning out with him, as I am. Plus people are generally scared — if not of disabled people, then of helping the disabled and fucking it up and getting in trouble.

With these factors in mind I proceed to ask for help, utilising my complete ‘advanced disabling skill-set’: a combination of trying to enunciate, “Hello, can you help me?” with my Scooby-Doo/Cookie Monster speech impediment; trying to make eye contact so people know I’m talking to them instead of talking to myself, and trying to draw attention to myself by waving but not looking too mental or like I’m having a fit — which seems to be the ables default assessment of my wave. All of this of course is more likely to scare off the ables than encourage them to help me. Once again, I’m doomed.

Ten to twenty minutes pass. I’m losing patience. None of my ‘Hellos’ are working, so they are followed by an ‘Ok fuck you very much’ as it’s clear the people can see me but aren’t engaging. The swearing probably isn’t helping but I don’t care at this point.

I’m also pissed off because there’s a crowd of people 20ft behind me who have just come out of the massive church, presumably for Christmas mass, and NO ONE IS ACKNOWLEDGING THE CRIPPLE IN THE WHEELCHAIR! I swear I’m not making this shit up.

I’m now more muttering to myself than trying to communicate. Muttering about people. Soaking in the irony of the situation while still intermittently asking for help, and then still swearing while thinking, what can I do apart from phone someone from the coffee shop? But they’re usually rammed at this time. I don’t wanna be ‘that disabled guy’: “Hello can you stop working and drop everything because I’m disabled”. Fucking lame. Or I could phone Sebastian but I don’t wanna waste an IOU, especially twice in a couple weeks when this time I’m just stuck. And then I’d have two favours/debts hanging over me. I always make sure he owes me one more favour than I owe him. Self-preservation.

“Hello, excuse me can you… FUCK YOU!!”

“Hello Mr, Are you ok?” I look around to see who asked. To my surprise, I have to look down to my right to see a little boy who has answered my cry for help. Totally changing my tone to speak to the kid, being super aware that I’ve been swearing loudly, I suddenly must speak softly and friendly. For a spastic with a speech impediment, suddenly changing your voice is like changing from 5th to 1st gear in a car when it sticks and doesn’t work properly — I imagine that’s what it’s like anyway.

“Hi mate. No, I’m actually stuck,” I reply.

“Do you need help?”

“Yes, I do. Can you get someone for me?”

“Ok, I’ll get my big brother. Wait here.”

“Thank you”, I say, thinking, ‘Wait here? Is he taking the piss? I’m stuck.’

The kid looks about 6. I’m honestly surprised he understands me, let alone came up to me to ask if I was OK. Hopefully his brother can plug the cable back into the controller.

The kid comes back with his big brother who looks only a couple years older. Suddenly I get a shot of anxiety thinking this could be another misunderstanding as it has all the elements of a crappy monster film in the making. Me, the monster shouting and swearing outside the cathedral at night, talking to two kids as a mob of religious people gather behind me. This could lead to a lynching. All they need are pitchforks and torches, ready to stone me, and their Christmas will be complete! It can’t be a good sign when you can definitely relate to the monster…

“Hi buddy, how’s it going?” I ask the ‘big’ brother. My tone is getting nervous.

“Hi. My brother said you are stuck.”

“Yes. My cable came out and I can’t put it back in.”

“I can try,” he says.

This is rather heartwarming: kids who have no judgement are trying to help a disabled guy in a wheelchair. But it’s fleeting as their mum comes over looking concerned. Understandably so. Flashing thoughts of being interviewed by the same police officers again but this time I’m the monster. I was about to explain when the first kid said, “Mummy Mummy, the man is stuck. His cable came out!”

The mother quickly changes her demeanour as she realises I was calling for help, which implies she could hear me all along. And I can tell that she can tell I knew this by my eyes and the exchange of looks… the familiar expression on her face when she realises I haven’t just escaped from retard school… It takes her two seconds to plug the cable back in. I thank her, looking her dead in the eyes. Then I turn to the kids and thank them more. Say I hope Santa gives them extra special gifts this year. Tell the mum she should be proud of her clever kids, but I don’t think she understands me. Probably a good thing not to encourage your kids to help too many random disabled people anyway.

14. The Monopoly Game of Life

A few weeks later I bump into the building manager in the foyer. She says the tall guy was very disrespectful to her and the cleaners, demanding things from them, treating them like they were his servants, smoking weed in the lobby and just being a general dick. The cleaner comes in as we’re talking and says she’s glad they’re gone. It seems like he needed to be taken down a peg or two, probably was only a matter of time before somebody did. I’m happy I could oblige.

I suppose the £300 was a reward after all.

Afterword

In conclusion, the lesson is, you should read my stories because funny weird shit happens to me… or maybe before you light the torches, don’t cry victim because one day you might be seen as the wolf… or don’t fuck with spastics…or know how to look after yourself or some shit… Pick something… I don’t fucking know? I’m probably more confused than you are.