Pre-Rehab #1: Cutie With a Crutch

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Sincerely Ty on hiatus for the summer? Not ideally, but apparently I’m a nervous breakdown waiting to happen.  How is that you say? Let me count the ways. During my 2 month long (and counting) departure from my usual routine, I encountered quite a few obstacles. Most of them I successfully defeated; however, there are still a few simmering as we speak. Read further for details:

Cutie With a Crutch: “What the HELL is wrong with my foot!?!?!?” That was me eight weeks ago. Somehow all the nastiness from hogging the treadmill (read “Back to Being Black” to get full details) caught up with me. Just as so, my year long stint of marathon and 5k training gave me a life-long sentence of speed walking via plantar fasciitis. Damned you foot! Before actually being diagnosed with the phalangic disfunction, I was subjected to tootin’ that thang up on crutches. Yes, a cutie with a crutch.

Due to my new friend (the crutch, aka Peanut), I was limited to a few activities.  Because Jesus loves me, this I know, he spared my right foot and only diseased my left, therefore I could still drive my ass back and forth to work. So where else could I go? Mall? Nope. Night on the town? Why bother? Walmart? Nope, no grocery shopping for me! After fighting it for a week or so, my supply of necessities began to dwindle.

ME: Can’t go to Wal-mart, so what are my options?

  1. Write a list and give it to dad. This would only work if I didn’t mind getting everything off brand. No go on that.
  2. Write a list and give it to mom. No worries, only if I need everything in bulk. “Girl, I got you the whole case. It was on sale!” Sorry Mom. I love a bargain, but there is no reason anyone should ever have a case of deodorant.
  3. Write a list and give it to my brother. You know what, this will never really be an option for me.
  4. Write a list and give it to one of my best girlfriends. They would definitely get everything on the list, but then I’d have to hear, “Girl, you gone go broke spending $18 on hair conditioner.” Not in the mood.

So the best option was to head over to Walmart on my own. Before leaving my bed of rest, I informed my father that I was going to the store. Usually I’d ask if he needed anything, but not today. I planned on making this trip short and sweet. He had the nerve to give ME a list. WHAT!?!?! Dad, I’m crippled. I can’t be hopping from isle to isle. So he gives me the list and I’m thinking, “This must be something he really needs.” Lo and behold, as I unfold the paper, it’s lunch meat. Lunch meat!?!?!? Why do you need the damn lunch meat now? And why me? Being that he would most likely be contributing funds to future doctor bills, I held my tongue and bid his ass adieu.

As soon as I hopped out of my car, I was greeted by another crippled person. Her ailment—-broken foot.

CRIPPLE LADY: M’am, do you need my scooter. 

Okay, I hadn’t even thought about the scooter. I can’t be scooting along in WalMart; that’s not even my style. Not wanting to let her down, I accepted her offer.

CRIPPLE LADY: You might have to get it recharged. The battery was trying to die on me.

GREAT! Thanks for pawning this raggedy ass cart off on me, lady. Now I have a dead cart that may or may not DIE on me during my shopping. I hop on the scooter anyway and zoom in regardless of how I look.

Wanting to get his special, unwanted request out of the way, I headed to the deli section to get my father’s most important lunch meat. EEEEEEHHHHHHH! EEEEEHHHHH! (Sound of scooter). I make it to the meat counter and literally have to stretch my neck just to see the attendant’s face. She’s looking down at me over the counter, and of course wants to know the full details of my injury-HOW, WHEN, WHAT?? Damn lady! Can I just get the meat and be on my way. I wouldn’t mind her being concerned if she was giving me the meat for free, or if she was massaging my aching foot, but all she was doing was slicing, weighing, and packing the meat that I wasn’t even gonna eat.

ME:Thanks.    LUNCHMEAT LADY: No problem   SCOOTER: (Silence).

The scooter doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t budge. Stuck at the meat counter, I attempt to beckon the lady back for assistance. Not being able to see me over the counter, nor hear me over the rumbling tone of Walmart, I am forced to hop off the scooter, crutch in-tow, and plop myself onto the counter to ring the bell.

ME:M’am, can you have someone bring another cart? This one’s dead.

The lady oblidged me and about a minute or so later, another cart arrived. Of course the person to bring my cart was some young employee who had a job like cart round-up—basically something that alloted tons of free time. The young man arrives and you guessed it, tries to mack. Before he even got a chance to asks for the digits, I zoomed past the cupcakes, through the fresh bread, and onto the next aisle.

Scooting along, I successfully make it through the aisles getting my things. That is, until I remembered the deodorant. If you’ve ever been in Walmart, you know that the food and the body products are nowhere near eachother, therefore I had a lot of scooting to do. The journey towards the deodorant was not so bad, but getting trapped behind a family of Mexicans almost killed me. Before I go any further, I mean no harm, but I must vent. Why does everybody have to come to the store? Can’t somebody stay home with grandma and the kids, and your sister’s kids. I couldn’t zoom past them because they were crowding the path. The real torture was speed—–extra slow. These people were walking like they had all the time in the world to spend cruising at Walmart. I’m on a fu*&^%$ mission! Get your asses out the way!

Finally, I made it past the entire family, and thought, “You know what, I’ve already been here almost an hour, might as well get a few more things.” So while picking up my crap, I was encountered by another fellow scooter user. This lady was probably the oldest person in Walmart. Unfortunately, her scooter had died on her too. She probably got the one that I had early.

LADY: M’am, are you heading out?  ME: Yeah, in about 5 minutes. LADY: Well, can you have somebody come and get me? My scooter’s not working.

WHY ME?!?!?! Was I the only person who’d come down this aisle in the last few minutes? Who drove her here? I know she couldn’t still be driving! Luckily, I had made a committment that hell is not my final resting place, so I felt obligated to help her. Now I had to get my stuff, find somebody to rescue her, and all while on a scooter.

Overall, I completed my mission….kinda. I’m not 100% sure that the cashier checking me out sent someone to save the old lady. I felt bad about it for a bit, but then I thought, “Who wouldn’t notice an old white lady hanging around the greeting card section all day?”

Please stay tuned for more premonitions of how and why I ended up in rehab. Not there yet, but I can feel it coming on.

Sincerely,

ty!

P.S. Thanks to all the parents shopping at Walmart who refuse to contain their children. One day, some cripple like me will accidentally run over their bad asses just to prove a point–kids and dogs should always be kept on a leash.

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2 thoughts on “Pre-Rehab #1: Cutie With a Crutch

  1. ken says:

    Ooooh! Poor baby! I didn’t know that you’ve been confined to a crutch. Hope you get better.Although I must say very, very funny column. Wow! I definitely have to catch up with the blogs. It’s late right now but keep it up. And please let’s not have a break, breakdown, (sound of bone thug’s n harmony and mariah). I take that back release it! And make that m@ther f%$Ker good to!!!

  2. Trina says:

    Okay……I don’t know how in the world you missed telling me this story! The thought of you on that scooter “tooting your thang up” has me dying! And the fact that it died killed me even more hahaha. I’m pretty sure you let out a few “are you fu#$%% kidding me??”. Don’t worry about rehab……I’ll be in the room next to you. J/K We’ll be okay!

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