As I was unlocking my bike in central town, a handicapped person brushed by aiming for the bus stop. It’s often hard to describe a handicap but in the concerned case, my buddies and I have a term that fits : all crooked. It doesn’t specify whether the crookedness is mainly physical in origin or mostly of neuro-mental source, just that the person has major difficulties in controlling their body and its movements.
The all crooked guy in question reached the general zone of the bus stop but apparently couldn’t decide or find his line of choice. In his defense, it is one of those multi-routes stop where different buses sometimes fight for preeminence with a delicious ballet of me first moves. Very reasonably, he started asking out loud for help : – “Bus number 7, please?”
At this point, the story gets interesting because a dapper gentleman turned around and hesitantly but firmly grabbed his elbow. Very British in appearance, classy vintage Ray-Ban shades, with a cane of good make, deep colored wood and silver knob, he soothed his new care : – “Don’t worry, it’s coming!” And indeed the 7 was pulling in at that very moment. The gentleman pulled his all crooked towards the front door as it opened and exchanged a few words with the driver – “You’re number 7, right? This poor man needs help, he’s handicapped!”
Courteously, which is sadly not a given with transit authority personnel where I reside, the driver said that yes, his line was 7 and that no problem, he’d take care of the person whom he got up to help board the vehicle.
As I swung a leg up over my trusted steed, the gentleman turned back to wait for his own bus and something that I hadn’t noticed until then struck me. By the tip of his cane was a discreet dual band of white and red which explained why he did not return my appreciative smile as he was blind!!!
So, what’s your take on handicap? Quite relative, wouldn’t you say?
Good evening all, Tay.
Definitive Lapse of Reason 