I was having a fantastic day yesterday until I boarded the bus and heard this:
"Let's move so we don't have to sit next to the retard."
I thought about crying because it was so obviously and gleefully mean, but I didn't. There was no point in it. Had I cried, the other passengers would've assumed that it was just the crippled girl having hysterics, and it would've lent credence to the oft-voiced opinion that "handicappeds" should relegate themselves to specialized public transit that costs twice as much as regular bus service and requires extensive planning in advance, but keeps us out of public view so small-minded assholes don't have to risk contracting cripple cooties. I've no doubt that the bus driver would've believed me had I told him why I was melting down; I've ridden with him for years, and he's a lovely man, but there wasn't much he could've done. The rights of able passengers to travel supersede the feelings of disabled passengers to feel secure, and there's no law against being a jerk.
Actually, the rights of the able supersede the rights of the disabled, full stop. When I was a sophomore in high school, the school district came up with the brilliant idea to have the emotionally disturbed students bussed with the physically disabled students. Yes, because putting physically fragile and defenseless students with the violent and mentally unstable ones won't cause problems, no sir.
The ED students were furious about having to ride with the "tards", as they put it, and so manifested their anger by tormenting us with a constant stream of insults and veiled threats. After six months of this, I was at my breaking point, and so, when they declared that they were going to throw us out the back of the bus while it was in motion, I told a school supervisor.
Mr. Spence was a wonderful man, and recognizing the danger these kids posed to us, convinced the transportation department to suspend them from the bus until a solution could be found. We deserved, he said, not to be terrorized on a daily basis because the ED kids didn't like being "lumped in" with "the tards".
The transportation department didn't agree. Less than a week later, they returned the ED students to the bus. Why? Because they had a "right to an education", and that right trumped the disabled students' right to feel safe. We were told to suck it up and cope and stop being so infantile. Mr. Spence was livid, of course, but his hands were tied. So, from then on out, he saw me safely onto the bus every afternoon and was waiting for it every morning. They never did hurl us from the bus, but I never felt safe, either, and I hope the sons of bitches at the transportation department choke on their parsimonious fingers.
So, anyway, back to yesterday. I never did cry because I didn't want to put the bus driver in an untenable position(y halo thar, limper guilt). I pretended not to hear them as they made "retard" jokes for the entire ride and snickered at my obliviousness. I also spent most of the ride wishing that I could point out that it hadn't been my choice to sit next to a cretinous pair of assholes, but that thought never left my mouth. When you are powerless, you know when to keep your mouth shut.
As soon as I got home, I loudly vented about what fucking retards those two were, and yes, I did use that word. It has its applications, as Denis Leary can attest. Then I wrote my review of CSI:NY and salved my anger by watching Rammstein's Volkerball
and having absolutely lewd fantasies about Till and Richard. The opening lines to "Ohne Dich"'s chorus never fail to twitterpate me. I know how girly that sounds, and I know it can be interpreted as a song about drug addiction. Ask me if I care. How can you not be entranced by:Ohne dich
kann ich nicht sein
The sheer poetic rhythm of it...( Harper's Island, Week 2--SPOILERS )
So, that was yesterday. Now I'm going to make today.