Oh dear reader!
I ran into some trouble last night.
Well.
That’s not entirely true.
I rode into some trouble.
You see, I went to Bloblaws to get a bag of sour candy.
(I do so loves me a bag of sour candies in the evening)
But when I went, I forgot to bring my bike lock.
No matter, I thought to myself. I’ll just do what I did at Costco and bring it along with me. They have those carts. No one will care.
But ya know what?
Someone did care.
Or perhaps they pretended to care.
As I ambled along through the produce, I caught the glare of a well put together lady. She looked at me, then my bike, then the sticker that says “Who Farted’ on the downtube.
She shook her head and spoke to me: You can’t bring that in here.
As someone who now checks all of the boxes on the census form, I pretended to be deaf and just ignored her.
This lady with her Burr Berry bag was an insistant bitch. She got in front of me and said: I don’t know if you heard me, but you can’t bring that thing in here.
I know what you’re thinking dear reader: How did you hear her if you were pretending to be deaf?
Two words my friends: Lip reading.
I read the bitches lips.
Luckily I even know the sign for ‘I’m deaf’. I shrugged and signed at her.
That still wasn’t enough for her. She grabbed onto my handle bars and began to pull my bike.
I mean,
What gives eh?
Right?
She touched my shit.
At this point?
Well, I figure that I had every right to punch her in the mouth as she was assaulting my bike.
If it were a dude, I totally would have dropped him. But this was a lady. A bitchy lady with a Burr Burry bag.
And I was taught that you don’t hit girls
So instead?
I fell onto the ground taking my bike and her with me. As we hit the floor I started making those deaf person kinda speaking sounds that kinda sound like a moan but aren’t really a moan nor speach.
I know.
I know.
It isn’t right to laugh at that deaf person sound.
So at this point in time dear reader, I’m going to tell you not to.
I HAD TO make that sound.
Having self identified as a deaf person, what choice did I have at this point?
As for our fall?
It was spectacular.
As we tumbled to the floor my bike caught the edge of the ladies shopping cart sending milk, juice and eggs flying in all directions.
We caused a bit of a kerfuffle and attracted the attention of the manager on duty.
What seems to be the problem here?
The manager was about four feet in circumference. She had the shape of a physio ball made for NBA players to use as a chair. You know, some big mother fucking seven footer could sit on her, bounce a bit and work on his abs as he chatted up shorties on his gaming desktop.
Burr Berry Lady responded: A grocery store is no place for a bicycle.
I had to reply. Excuse me, but I don’t think that’s for you to decide.
I thought you signed that you were deaf, growled the Burr Berry Bear.
I changed my mind. I was self identifying as a person with hearing difficulties. Now, I’m neuro diverse. And this bike? It’s not a bike. It’s a service animal. It’s for my anxiety.
(what I didn’t say was that I’d feel really anxious leaving my bike unlocked outside)
The manager just stared at me a minute and then said: Service animal? This is a bike? You mean to tell me its a service animal?
I stared at her blankly for a little longer than she stared at me. Why? Well, I was attempting to get a little bit of drool to slide from the edge of my mouth and onto my chin.
Well, they may look like a bike but they self identify as a dog. Please don’t mis-species them.
The manager half exploded: It’s a bike, looks like a Schwinn!
By now, I was on fire. It was time to go full flake. With the neuro-diverse box checked, I continued: Oh, please don’t dead name them! They go by the name Khalisi.
It’s a fucking bike! The manager was losing their cool.
They are listening and they are not happy about how you are talking about them. Would you like me to call the human rights commission? I have them on speed dial?
Burr Berry lady, fearing that my crazy was contagious began to shuffle away.
Ms. Rolly Polly the manager? She relented and let me get my candies.
I know what you’re thinking dear reader, did this really happen this way?
Perhaps.
I identify with this story.
And?
As any box checker will tell you
Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
And?
If you’re someone who loves the candy of experience,
There’s a sucker born every minute.
