the grim beeper

some people go a little farther and understand them in terms of daily life functions, like adaptive clothing, or pre-cut food. still, these things are only seen as needing access tools because they’re baseline human functions. eating. walking. wearing clothes.

my vibrator is an access tool. because of my conditions, i can’t hold my hand where it needs to be long enough to masturbate. masturbating isn’t a necessary human function. i will not die if i don’t do it. i won’t lose my job if i don’t do it.

but the thing about a vibrator, is that it makes an aspect of life that i want to enjoy possible. disabled access is not only about the barebones basic necessities to literally be alive. if someone wants to have orgasms, a vibrator is an important tool to a pleasurable life. food delivery makes eating delicious food possible. sensory friendly live performances makes enjoying theatre and music possible. shower seats mean people can sit and enjoy a long shower that otherwise would have exhausted them. service dogs let people go out with their friends when they wouldn’t have otherwise. my cane doesn’t just help me walk, it helps me keep balance while i’m dancing at the club.

There is a sort of punitive mindset when it comes to disability – you cannot ask for accommodations if you don’t really need them, it has to be for something essential, something you can’t live without, can’t do your job without. I think this – in the end – comes from the very ableist idea that people aren’t disabled unless they have somehow failed to not be disabled. The Puritain mindset which says that disability is a punishment for failing to be good – somehow – and that it is a punishment for sin – somehow – informs this particularly noxious bit of garbage.

If you want help, you have to suffer for it, because you wouldn’t be in this situation at all if you didn’t deserve it somehow – and that goes double if the help that you need is disability payments or Medicaid/Medicare or something else that’s an ‘entitlement’. If disabled people aren’t in sackcloth and ashes, they can’t really need help.

And like, fuck that, actually, and fuck the idea that only ‘good’ disabled people deserve accommodations? Even if my disability was the result of having driven my car recklessly and crashed it into a tree, I don’t deserve to never know joy again. Even if my diabetes were because I had eaten nothing but spoonfuls of confectioner’s sugar for three years, I don’t deserve to suffer.

“He leant tensely against the corridor wall and frowned like a man trying to unbend a corkscrew by telekinesis.”

“Stones, then rocks, then boulders which pranced past him like clumsy puppies, only much, much bigger, much, much harder and heavier, and almost infinitely more likely to kill you if they fell on you.”

“He gazed keenly into the distance and looked as if he would quite like the wind to blow his hair back dramatically at that point, but the wind was busy fooling around with some leaves a little way off.”

“It looked only partly like a spaceship with guidance fins, rocket engines and escape hatches and so on, and a great deal like a small upended Italian bistro.”

They were free.

They were fucking free.

They were maybe ¢60 of acrylic yarn each at the most, and the whole ziploc bag of them took 2 hours max.

Three people gave me sad eyes until I took their money.

Someone who was clearly the mom friend of their group made me take a $5 and gave a 10 minute pep talk.

At least four more people insisted on getting change to pay for the, once again, free bracelets.

In spite of all these shenanigans, the absolute best was this one person who I can only describe as, “queer surfer dude who looks like a boyfriend who looks like a girlfriend.” I can remember nothing of the outfit, only the impeccable vibes. I did the same thing I did with everyone else, explaining the bracelets were free, and they nodded along as they took the last 6 strand rainbow bracelet. As soon as they had it on their wrist, they pointed at something over my shoulder and, like a fool, I looked.

Next thing I know, they’re running off cackling, yelling, “YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME!” and I’m holding a fucking $20. I had to stop at least two people from chasing them, cause they thought the person stole something, and then they tried to give me money cause they thought it was funny seeing me flail over people being Too Nice.