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 worry 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.
