Zipped Lip

Some of the things I haven’t said on my travels this year:

To the woman working for housekeeping at a hotel:
Stepping back into the room, to give me space, when I’m pushing by the cart in the hallways isn’t helping.

To the guy who looked terrified at the gate when I pulled up:

I don’t want to sit by you either buddy.

To the woman working at the doughnut shop in the airport:

Yeah, really, a fat guy just ordered a tea. It’s what I want not a miraculous act of restraint.

To the airport wheelchair assistance person:

Really, I know what I can and can’t do, if I say I can push myself, I can. I know my body better than you do.

To the hotel valet parking guy:

I don’t care that I pissed you off when I asked you to leave while I got out of the car. If you want a show, buy a freaking ticket.

To the woman who asked my about my diagnosis:

It’s rude and none of your business. No I don’t care if you really want to know.

To the man whose teenager made a pig face at me that you didn’t correct:

Great parenting shows itself, you’ve raised a mean child, you may not get it now, but you will.

To the mom balancing two kids in either arm:

It doesn’t lessen you for me to let you go first, I’m in a chair, you could drop precious cargo.

To the clerk who kept trying to get me to wave back as I rolled by:

We don’t know each other, okay? You aren’t Jerry Lewis and I’m not your kid.

To the people who just walked on and went about their day whilst in the presence of disability:

Bless you. Bless you. Bless you.

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