The Funny Side of Disability

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view), my life is about as ordinary as most "normal" peoples' lives. Aside from having a few more doors held open for me - which is most appreciated, by the way - I'm glad to report that people in general treat me like a regular citizen of the world.

However, I can think of a few anecdotes to regale you with - experiences that went beyond the usual handshake and pat on the back I get from strangers. There was that guy by the Duomo in Florence, for instance, who genuflected when he saw me. Then there was the young drunk man I met in Bournemouth over ten years ago (drunk or high people react very amusingly around me - perhaps they think I'm a figment of their hallucinations) who performed a cross between a high-five and a hand shake on me, without saying anything at all.

It's enough to make you feel famous.

For me, the world is teeming with half-strangers. I'm sure you know what it's like to run into one of your old teachers and have them remember (as only teachers seem to do) exactly what your name is and the names of your brothers and sisters whom he or she also taught. If you happen to have no legs, though, the effect is doubled. Everyone seems to remember you. Even the old guy down the road whom your mother chatted to while you sat in your pram. Random people wave at me all the time with expressions of genuine recognition on their faces. I wave back, of course, out of politeness, feeling bad that I don't remember them.

More recently, I was in central London waiting for my brothers and mum to come out of a Mcdonalds when I became aware of a female traffic warden coming towards me. At first, I thought she was just going to walk past, but then she stopped right in front of me and said: "Good morning. If I offered you something, would you accept it?" I asked what it was and she said, "Some money - ten pounds..." "No, no thank you, I'm not homeless - my family are just in Mcdonalds there".

When I'm out and notice someone giving me a sympathetic look, I have this habit of looking at my reasonably pricey wristwatch so they don't think me homeless, so I did that on this occasion.

"If I don't give it to you," she continued, "I'll have to give it to someone else." "No, but thanks very much."

To which she pulled out a white envelope, placed it in my hand and walked off without saying another word. I watched her disappear down a side road, still not quite believing what had happened. I mean, a generous traffic warden - what are the chances of that? Where had this angel been when I received a parking ticket for being in a disabled space but with my blue badge facing the wrong way? I really could have used her then.

Sure enough, in the envelope was a crumpled ten pound note. I told my family about it and we had a good laugh over our calorie-packed breakfast. Traffic warden jokes never get old.

I still have that tenner. Maybe I'll frame it some day. Would she have given it to someone else? Probably. She seemed a lovely lady and I'd have much preferred a friendly chat to charity - one human being to another. Charity seems to be the default response to disabled people, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, many of 'us' need help in life, and I'm certainly no exception to that rule. I just wasn't on this occasion.

That's got to be my weirdest experience of being in a wheelchair. If you're out there, traffic warden lady, thanks so much for the cash, but next time please just come up and say hello. There are plenty of homeless people in London to give your money to.