Category: GImps

In a fucking nasty mood tonight. I tried to get a roll of paper towels out of a cabinet and got an avalanche of crap that some helpful[sic] arsehole piled on top of the rolls.

You have to think of me as the one armed man. I have two and they work somewhat well. But effectively I only have one because the other is always holding on to something to keep me from falling.

I don’t have a free hand to lift crap off of what I need to get. If I need to use both hands I have to lean against a wall or something. Or in the case of lifting the trash bag out of the can, use my head against the refrigerator for support.

I’ve told people to think of me as a one armed man and not do those things. But, they keep insisting on piling shit on top of  other shit.

Well, anything in my kitchen on top of what I need to get to will be flung as far as my weak muscles can throw them. Usually in the direction of the dining room. And I’m not fucking picking that shit up.

I’m feeling somewhat better today. I ate for the 1st time in 3 days last night, a little fruit.

I’ll feel even better once I’ve fired my primary quack. That’s right quack, not quack?. He proved he didn’t deserve the courtesy of the ‘?’. He’s the 4th one to lose the ‘?’, but the others lost theirs in promotion from Quack? to Dr.

It’s fairly easy to earn promotion, all you have to do is be an at least semi-competent physician or at least be man enough to admit you don’t know. My 1st neurologist earned his promotion for not wimping out and calling my problem idiopathic. Idiopathic is just Latin for I dunno. He admitted in English he didn’t know and referred me to another who did diagnose the problem.

I attempted to discuss these rare bilious attacks I’ve been having. Even though I had told him I was not taking Ibuprofen, he insisted that ibuprofen was causing the problem, take tylenol. When he first came in, he made it obvious he hadn’t reviewed my medical history. When he asked if my entire colon had been removed, I should have bailed then.

I hate it when people don’t listen to what I’m saying, particularly when I’m paying for the privilege. If you want to tell me I’m full of crap when I’m done, that’s fine. But listen to me first!

Women bitch about men not listening. There may be something to that. I’m going to try a female primary quack? this time.

Fifty-Fifty

Dr. Kimball’s quest was for the one-armed man.

What friends fail to realize is I’m a one armed man.  Oh, I have two arms and they work fairly well. But I am almost always using one hand to hold on to something to keep from falling.

It may seem efficient to stack shit on top of other shit. But when the one armed man is trying to get what’s on the bottom it is a major pain.

And like today when I tried to extract a paper towel roll and a fucking bag of baggies falls out, I might trash it or may just fling the offending item somewhere out of my way.

That’s why there are baggies all over my dining room. They can fucking stay there.

▶ Monty Python – Climbing the North Face of the Uxbridge Road – YouTube.

This is much how I feel getting around my apartment. I’m a mountaineer, finding every possible handhold to assault route to the toilet.

Like a mountaineer, I use a three point (or more) system. I make sure I’m solid with three appendages before moving a fourth.

It’s just a security blanket thing most of the time but there are times when a leg does something other than I intended and every hold helps.

I annoy other people walking in halls. I walk on the left, against then normal traffic flow. Sorry, but I like having that wall on my left, you can go around. Get over it.

Another technique I copied from mountaineers is climbing a vertical rock chute. I use it after falls to climb up a corner, or doorway to my feet again. But rarely now. I follow the 3+ points rule always. I even sometimes do the hallway without a cane. Such a daredevil.

It’s no secret that ‘crats get lazy, just sucking away at your pay cheque. Sometimes you just need to stir them up and make them run around to keep them from sticking to their chairs.

You don’t want a jab a stick in the hornets nest stirring up. You might get stung. No, what you want ants running around a disturbed nest effect. The perfect thing is to ask for something the law requires them to have and provide to you upon request. Then watch the fun as they try to attempt to comply.

I use the ADA to stir up ‘crats. ADA Title II 35.107 says: Any public entity with more than 50 employees from school up to state level (Feds don’t do ADA of course) is required to have ADA Compliance officer(s). And to provide to any interested party (you don’t have to be a gimp for this one) the: name(s); office address(es); telephone(s) of their ADA Compliance officer(s).

You can call but you’ll miss the excitement when they put you on hold and they run around crazy. If you like talking to people, it’s guaranteed you’ll get shuffled from ‘crat to ‘crat.

But the best is to walk or gimp in with a smile and ask, “May I speak to the ADA Compliance officer for …?”

When the receptionist doesn’t know what you’re talking about, point out they are required by law to have one and provide you their name. Take a seat and watch the fun begin. They may have had one in 1990 but you can bet that’s been forgotten. They may have to create one on the spot for you. If you see the ADA Compliance guy emerge from a hurried conference, he just got drafted.

See all kinds of fun with a simple, polite, and legal request. I had fun with my alder-critters when getting the ‘No Disabled’ sign removed. I got a lot of “uh, uh, … I’ll get back to you.”