Back when Longtime Buddy Trevor and I were doing our first trip around the U.S. (1985), we stopped in a little store somewhere in New Hampshire — don’t remember which town, and probably a convenience store.
The cashier was a young guy in his late teens or early 20s, and he was a giant — I mean, well over 6’5″ and 300lbs.
Trevor (who has no problem with asking total strangers personal questions): “Wow, you’re a big dude. Did you ever play football at school?”
Kid: [headshake]
Trevor: “Why not?”
Kid: [in a high, childlike squeak]: “I got weak neethe.”
We collapsed with laughter when we got outside, because the high voice and lisp coming from this man-mountain was just too incongruous.
I thought of this story the other day at the Sooper-Seekrit Mailbox Place. You see, whereas it used to be quite close to my Plano apartment, now it’s a long drive over from Allen, and a long drive causes me all sorts of problems.
Many years ago, I was having problems with my knees. In retrospect, this condition was probably being caused by my being grossly overweight. Anyway, I complained to the doctor about it, who agreed with my diagnosis — the first time he ever used the immortal words: “If you don’t lose some weight, you’re going to die, you fat bastard.” Anyway, he sent me to get X-rays done, just to see what was going on in there.
The X-ray doc looked at the pics, and asked: “Are you in the flooring business? No? That’s interesting, because I normally see knees like this in older men who’ve been installing carpeting for years.”
As a result, my doctor gave me the letter to show the licensing folks that I qualified for cripple (okay, disabled) plates on my car, which I’ve had ever since.
When New Wife came over for the first time, she called me out as a fraud because I appeared in perfect health, belying my “cripple” status.
Well, maybe not.
You see, while my knees are a lot better now that I have lost some weight and am no longer a “Fat Bastard”, they still give me trouble if I’m immobile for longer than a few minutes.
So when I pull up and park in my Disabled parking spot, she always worries that people are going to think, “What’s wrong with him? He looks perfectly healthy!”
…until I get out of the car with my weak neethe, and hobble around like a bona fide cripple for those first few dozen steps (then they loosen up, and I can walk more or less normally). Which is what happens when I make the 30-minute drive to the Sooper-Seekrit Mail place and park outside. Those first steps… bloody hell.
By the way, my left knee is particularly troublesome because I tore it up while hunting in the Highlands of Scotland with Mr. Free Market back in 2017, and while it did get better, it occasionally locks up worse than the other one.
So I can’t play football either.
In 1975 I broke my left knee (and a bunch of other stuff) in a parachute fall in the army in germany and it eventually healed for the most part and didn’t give me any trouble for 30+ years.
Then about 10 years ago I found out that if I kneal way down, like putting my ass on my heals, then try to stand up, that knee pops and comes completely out of joint. What a hideous thing to see. My knee looks like one of them twisted tubular balloon animals.
I have to manually use my hands to twist it back into place and the pain is unbearable. Unbearable to the point of being light headed and sick to my stomach. I try to be careful and avoid bending way down like that. I have a regular license plate.
My 8th-grade history teacher was 6’2″ and looked like a linebacker, but had a high-pitched, squeaky voice like that. Funniest thing I ever heard that first day, but damn, he was one of the best teachers I ever had. I could see why other kids would give a sound thumping to any other students who mocked his voice.
My sympathy on the knees. Never had any problem with mine, but my right hip has me limping on bad days, and sleepless, as well.
I have great rachmones for all you “weak-kneed” people.
In my mid-thirties I used to do the prisiadki (usually dressed in a tuxedo) whenever the band played a circle dance (at weddings, bar mitzvahs, et al) for however long they wished to continue playing
That was 50 years ago: today I need a walker to get around the house.
I’m very happy to use the “legless spaces” any time; I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most of them are usually miles away from the main entrance.
I hurt one knee back in my 20’s working cattle, had a 500 lb heifer roll over on me and damn if that didn’t cripple my ass for life. But same basic story, if I sit too long, the first 10 or 12 steps after getting up look like a cross between a drunk and a cripple in that I can’t hardly get my left leg to do a damn thing. It’ll finally loosen up so I can kinda walk normal after a while. Stairs and ladders are hell though, anytime.