Yes, I Know the Proper Term is "Mentally Challenged," But You Weren't The One Being Hit
As I am wont to do on lovely afternoons after I am released from the CJC, I walked to Rittenhouse Square to do some reading. Currently, I am switching off between two amazing books, Atonement and Freakonomics. The day was temperate: warm enough to convince you that Summer was on the way and cool and breezy enough to remind you that Spring’s last vestiges are in all their resplendent glory. I found a bench that was ideal for people watching and was still catching sunlight at this late hour. I removed my sport coat and folded it over the back of the bench, rolled up my sleeves and loosened my white and powder blue necktie. I crossed my legs at the knee, leaned my head back and inhaled the fragrant, floral air on this perfect June day. It was heaven. That is, until I was physically attacked by a retarded person.
You see, before I knew what was happening, I was being battered about the chest and arms by a stranger. I couldn’t tell at the time, but he was about 6 feet tall with graying hair and a massive underbite. He was screaming something I couldn’t understand at first, but it became clearer that he was exclaiming that he didn’t like the look of me. This may be a common sentiment among the populus, but I have never had anyone take out their frustration with my appearance with physical violence. What I did know was that I couldn’t fight back because you can’t fight back with a retarded person. I also noticed at this point that everyone around me was giving me dirty looks, like I had done something to incur the wrath of this seemingly innocent mentally disabled person. With all his weight braced against my slight frame and for some reason desperate to throttle me, he flailed his arms against me until he had a better idea. See, he was carrying a polaroid camera. I know he was carrying that because he was lifting it over his head to hit me with it before his parents restrained him. I assumed that the people who restrained him were his parents. He continued to scream that he didn’t like me very much. Everyone stared at me in shame.
His parents were profusely apologetic to the point that it was causing even more of a scene than the actual attack. They made him apologize to me, as well. They even joked about hoping that I wasn’t a lawyer. I just giggled awkwardly and didn’t let them know that I had about 30 criminal and civil grievances listed in my head. It was like live-action bar exam fact pattern. I was remarkably calm throughout the whole ordeal. And I am glad I possessed the emotional wherewithal not to fight back and beat the shit out of him (not that I could have, really, this dude was deisel). As great as it would be to be the subject of the headline “Philadelphia Lawyer Beats Retarded Man in Park,” it’s probably better if I gain notoriety in a manner that doesn’t involve protests from ARC mounted on my apartment building stoop.
Anyway, the family walked away and I was left to ponder that my very existence bothered someone so much that he felt compelled to pummel me in a public place. Sure, he was mentally disabled, but still. Why do I attract crazy people like I do? As a cohort of mine told me via email: your essence must really be distilled and studied at length one day. I will take that as a compliment. But if you, the reader, ever get the feeling you want to pull back and slap me silly, let’s talk about it first. I am a part-time lover, full-time hater, but never, ever a fighter.
With the recent revelation of Deep Throat’s true identity, it’s only understandable that I have been asked several times to discuss this blog’s official policy on anonymous sources. Often I accept advice, story details and encouragement from sources who wish to remain anonymous. Surely, if anyone wants me to tell a story on here that involves confidential information, I will as long as I can maintain the reliance that the reader has on me to be honest and full of integrity. To preserve that fragile trust, I give you the True Enough For You Blog official policy on truth and anonymous sources:
1) I will not print information from an anonymous source unless I read it in an official email. Or if you tell me when either of us is really drunk.
2) I promise to ensure the accuracy of any information you give me unless I find it really, really funny written another way.
3) Sometimes a source will remain anonymous because I forget your name after you leave in the morning. No offense.
4) Confidential sources must have direct knowledge of the information they are giving me — or they must be the authorized representatives of an authority, well known to me, who has such knowledge. Or they could have heard it from their boyfriend’s cousin’s best friend from college’s friend who works for 12 Street Gym, or someone they met at a bar last night. Or they could have dreamed it. Whatever, really.
5) Sources abusing their anonymity to engage in personal attack will be congratulated and encouraged to be my best friend.
So anyway, tell me something good. And know that you can trust me!
Yesterday was the amazing National Spelling Bee. Those little bitches can spell! Some kid from California won. This is the word he spelled correctly to win the whole thing:
Appoggiatura- An embellishing note, usually one step above or below the note it precedes and indicated by a small note or special sign.
All I have to say to that is ,”Duh.”
You see, before I knew what was happening, I was being battered about the chest and arms by a stranger. I couldn’t tell at the time, but he was about 6 feet tall with graying hair and a massive underbite. He was screaming something I couldn’t understand at first, but it became clearer that he was exclaiming that he didn’t like the look of me. This may be a common sentiment among the populus, but I have never had anyone take out their frustration with my appearance with physical violence. What I did know was that I couldn’t fight back because you can’t fight back with a retarded person. I also noticed at this point that everyone around me was giving me dirty looks, like I had done something to incur the wrath of this seemingly innocent mentally disabled person. With all his weight braced against my slight frame and for some reason desperate to throttle me, he flailed his arms against me until he had a better idea. See, he was carrying a polaroid camera. I know he was carrying that because he was lifting it over his head to hit me with it before his parents restrained him. I assumed that the people who restrained him were his parents. He continued to scream that he didn’t like me very much. Everyone stared at me in shame.
His parents were profusely apologetic to the point that it was causing even more of a scene than the actual attack. They made him apologize to me, as well. They even joked about hoping that I wasn’t a lawyer. I just giggled awkwardly and didn’t let them know that I had about 30 criminal and civil grievances listed in my head. It was like live-action bar exam fact pattern. I was remarkably calm throughout the whole ordeal. And I am glad I possessed the emotional wherewithal not to fight back and beat the shit out of him (not that I could have, really, this dude was deisel). As great as it would be to be the subject of the headline “Philadelphia Lawyer Beats Retarded Man in Park,” it’s probably better if I gain notoriety in a manner that doesn’t involve protests from ARC mounted on my apartment building stoop.
Anyway, the family walked away and I was left to ponder that my very existence bothered someone so much that he felt compelled to pummel me in a public place. Sure, he was mentally disabled, but still. Why do I attract crazy people like I do? As a cohort of mine told me via email: your essence must really be distilled and studied at length one day. I will take that as a compliment. But if you, the reader, ever get the feeling you want to pull back and slap me silly, let’s talk about it first. I am a part-time lover, full-time hater, but never, ever a fighter.
With the recent revelation of Deep Throat’s true identity, it’s only understandable that I have been asked several times to discuss this blog’s official policy on anonymous sources. Often I accept advice, story details and encouragement from sources who wish to remain anonymous. Surely, if anyone wants me to tell a story on here that involves confidential information, I will as long as I can maintain the reliance that the reader has on me to be honest and full of integrity. To preserve that fragile trust, I give you the True Enough For You Blog official policy on truth and anonymous sources:
1) I will not print information from an anonymous source unless I read it in an official email. Or if you tell me when either of us is really drunk.
2) I promise to ensure the accuracy of any information you give me unless I find it really, really funny written another way.
3) Sometimes a source will remain anonymous because I forget your name after you leave in the morning. No offense.
4) Confidential sources must have direct knowledge of the information they are giving me — or they must be the authorized representatives of an authority, well known to me, who has such knowledge. Or they could have heard it from their boyfriend’s cousin’s best friend from college’s friend who works for 12 Street Gym, or someone they met at a bar last night. Or they could have dreamed it. Whatever, really.
5) Sources abusing their anonymity to engage in personal attack will be congratulated and encouraged to be my best friend.
So anyway, tell me something good. And know that you can trust me!
Yesterday was the amazing National Spelling Bee. Those little bitches can spell! Some kid from California won. This is the word he spelled correctly to win the whole thing:
Appoggiatura- An embellishing note, usually one step above or below the note it precedes and indicated by a small note or special sign.
All I have to say to that is ,”Duh.”
posted by ZRW @ 11:47 AM
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