As always, Gender Workshop is brought to you by your friendly neighbourhood Crip Dyke.
For the past two months I’ve been staying in a hospital – you know, one of the places where people are relentlessly educated and re-educated on ending the stigmatization of health conditions. Even better, I been staying in a Canadian hospital, where the perfect joy of a Utopian health system goes entirely uninterrupted.
…but that, actually, is why I’m needing a bit of interpretive help. As I was writing an e-mail to PZ, two masculine-looking folk, wearing uniforms that would make them part of this institution but not part of the medical staff, passed by having a loud conversation. Their passage was perfectly timed for me to hear:
And that’s why anytime I see someone in a wheelchair, I call them a ** ** lump.
Their laughter was so loud and so long that I continued to hear it after the automatic exterior door closed behind them.
I rarely use wheelchairs, though I do use them. So I was wondering if there’s anyone else around here that doesn’t use wheelchair-transportation that would like to explain to me what these knuckleheads were doing.