I realized something this afternoon while trying to light a cigarette…I don’t like stairs. I’m just not a fan of them. And I feel completely confident saying that they don’t like me either. On a side note, stairs really aren’t a good place to try to light a cigarette. Best case scenario, you don’t fall down the stairs but you die of lung cancer anyway.

I don’t know what it is about them. Perhaps it’s the elevation change that plays tricks with my mind, or the confusing way the lines go from horizontal to vertical and back again. And as of late I’ve found going up is really just as challenging as going down. On a regular basis the muscle memory in my leg forgets the required amount of lift needed is 8 inches and supplies me with only six instead. It’s happened to you to.

Aside from the embarrassment factor and the physical trauma, the worst part is just knowing that those blasted stairs bested you again. Sitting there with that smug look upon their face, you can feel their laughter with every aching muscle in your newly bruised body, snickering through their sharp corners. They are just goading me to hurry again and “see what happens.” I hate those fucking stairs.

I don’t like escalators either. As if the stationary kind aren’t difficult enough, now you’ve got me doing brain surgery on the deck of a moving ship…no thanks. I’m a ramp man myself. If you fall going up a ramp, you’ve gotten what you deserve. And going down a ramp is simply a good time, especially if you’re in a wheelchair.

So I encourage you to join me in my anti-stair/pro-ramp revolution the ASPRR, and support the happiness of the wheelchair-bound everywhere!

1 comment:

w.j. DeBalt said...
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