THE DAY I DISCOVERED I CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING
In first-year, I lived in halls in town and the university campus was a mile away. I primarily picked living in halls rather than on campus because of the shorter distance from where I was getting fucked-up to my bed. This seemed like a logical location to live, apart from when you have that oh-so-loved 9 o’clock seminar with your form tutor in a group of fifteen. So, you know, he’s going to notice when the only spastic with a blue Mohawk isn’t there. On mornings like that, instead of my Personal Assistant cooking breakfast in my flat which cut into precious sleep/recovery time, I ate the cooked full-English breakfast at the uni before my lecture. Plus, to eat at home you need a certain level of preparation, e.g. buying food! When you’re a student, male and disabled that’s not gonna happen. No point lying to yourself if you know that you are a lazy bastard.
That morning it must have taken a bit longer to wake from my, let’s say, self-induced coma. I had that dreaded moment when you’re running to the bus stop and you know the bus driver can see you from the rearview mirror but he indicates and slowly takes off into the sunrise, leaving you thinking, “BUS WANKER!!”. Great, this is going to cut into my eating time. It was probably the same bus driver that remembered me from the week before when I caused the entire bus to get out because the driver couldn’t figure out how to fold the ramp back in. So embarrassing when everyone is passing you to get off the bus because you are that disabled guy who fucked up the bus.
My P.A. suggests if I give him my wallet he can drive to uni and buy my breakfast so it will be waiting for me when I get there. Great plan, i think. My wheelchair is fast enough to get to uni in 20 minutes. I still have time to get to uni, eat, get to my seminar and pretend that I’m just disabled instead of hanging out my arse.
It starts raining as my PA takes my wallet. We both make a run for it in opposite directions, my PA to his car, me the long track to uni. Unphased by the rain, I enjoy any opportunity to drive my chair fast so I can sing along to, normally, something obscene on my headphones.
Much better than sitting backwards on a bus trying not to make eye contact with anyone as the whole bus is looking in your direction. And somehow you’re the ‘creepy’ one.
After walking 20 meters in my wheelchair listening to NWA, I glance round behind me for some reason, most likely to see if my PA got to his car okay. I see what appears to be my carer in the process of getting arrested by two police officers. Then the police car next to them rapidly drives towards me, sirens on, and screeches to a halt next to me. While spasming I quickly switch off the anti-police track blasting out of my headphones, just before a police officer jumps out and approaches me.
In my head, I’m freaking the fuck out. I’ve never spoken to the police before. What do they want?! Ah shit! My brain immediately starts scanning through the ‘What did I do that they can get me on?’ database, thinking: Can they get me on that? No, no they can’t get me they got no evidence… unless they search my flat, oh shit I’m fucked! Surely they can’t without a warrant! …Can I smell something on me!?
The police officer stands in front of me. With a slow, clear voice slightly louder than speaking volume says: “Are. You. Ok?”
I freeze. I’m thinking I must still look off my face from the night before, although I thought I was well behaved… not as bad as the other night; at least I’m up early! My brain has stopped, scared, confused and on autopilot. All I can do is repeat what I hear.
Me: YES. I’M. OK. ARE YOU OK?
Thinking, ah shit, now I sound fucked! The speech impediment isn’t helping.
Keep cool, you might get away with this.
The police officer doesn’t seem fazed by my apparent fuckedness, as this is the answer she seems to be expecting. She continues to question me.
Police officer: DO. YOU. KNOW. WHERE.YOU. ARE?
Jesus Christ, how fucked does she think I am? It is 8 AM in the morning. It isn’t New Year’s day or the morning after my birthday! And why have they got my PA?
Brain repeats: “YES. I. KNOW. WHERE. I. AM. DO. YOU. KNOW. WHERE. YOU. ARE?
The police officer seems taken aback by this. I don’t seem to be doing well with the interrogation. I just wanted a cooked breakfast… Why didn’t I get up earlier…
Police officer: WHERE. ARE. YOU. GOING?
Like a dog staring in the mirror. Pronouncing each word even more, stuck in some weird feedback loop.
I’M. GOING. TO. UNI! WHERE. ARE. YOU GOING?
The fuck does she think I’m going to say? I’m off to a crack den? I know I’m skinny but I have cerebral palsy. This is our natural look! Ah crap, I’m to get done for being on crack. Oh, shit, that’s why they got my PA, they must think I’m dealing! Disabled school didn’t prepare me for this. Six months into able-land and I’m going to be locked up! They are going to presume I’m too high to talk. They aren’t going to believe that it’s a speech impediment. Bet they hear that all the time. Just stay cool.
After I say that I’m going to uni the police officer seems to snap out of the interrogation mode and asks in a normal voice, “Do you know that man?” She points at my PA.
Hesitantly I say, “Yeah… that’s my PA.”
“Oh, I see,” she mumbles. She radios the other officer. “False alarm”, or something. Turns back to me, again in a normal voice, “You can go. Have a good day.” She gets back into the police car, picks up the other officer and drives off. My PA and I exchange bemused looks and shrug before running off in opposite directions again as it’s still pissing it down.
Finally making it to uni soaking wet, I find my PA in the cafeteria with my breakfast waiting for me. Such a delicious sight! The first thing I say to him is, “Dude what the fuck was that about?”
My PA: They thought I was robbing you!
Me: Huh?
My PA: Yeah they thought I stole your wallet and ran off.
In my head, I thought: This is much more plausible then that crack-dealing thinking…
Me: But I started walking in the other direction. Surely I would’ve chased after you, or at least shouted or something? Not walked calmly in the opposite direction.
My PA: They were ready to arrest me! If you said that you didn’t know me, I would have been done for!
Me: I’ll remember that for next time, haha…
This is a great example of how my life just sounds totally unbelievable. My lecturer asked why I was late?
Me: Er, I got stopped by the police…
My lecturer gave me that familiar, ‘But you’re disabled’ look.
Conclusion: Although I’m immensely appreciative of the police looking out for me, I have to wonder… As the officer was talking to me like I was a defective Furby, it leads me to believe she thought I was mentally retarded (the technical term, i.e. stunted in development)… So, how the fuck did she think I got there? Who leaves a retard in the rain? How common is this? Is this something that needs to be addressed. Does it need to be looked into? It seems the retarded are crafty mother fuckers, escaping into the general public once again.
Can they really be that retarded?
