Handicapped

It is tough having a handicapped brain. See, my 8th grade Math teacher pretty much told my father that I am retard. No joke, this is a true story. In the parents-teachers meeting, he told my father that I suffer from slow learning disability and it takes me longer than all of my classmates to "get" something. Though, do you know what was so missed up about it? I was there listening to my teacher telling my dad that I am an idiot.

Over the years, these words of ultimate, pure, genuine constructive feedback resonated in my head. Kind of like one of these psycho movie scenes where someone is high on cocaine and scared of his talking shadow. Or may be like a bee that keeps flying around my head hitting the interior walls of my skull. The poor bee gets tired and goes into hibernation, but she comes back stronger and faster. She, the bee, has been living in my head for so long that I could predict when she's coming out of hibernation, which is mostly when it takes me a little bit longer than expected to reply to some common comment as "you look tired today," or a subtle hint "You know the Omni's has free shirt pressing if you stay there," or my favourite "I like your shirt." See, it is not because I am mentally handicapped that I can't reply to such simple comments. It is because I look for the witty, clever, stunning alternative to those over-used, abused, lame, boring, "I was up late last night," "Thank you, I prefer to iron my own shirts," or "Thank you for approving my shirt." It is true it takes me a little bit longer than normal, but only if people wait on me and not give me the "uuhh .. okk ...awkward" look, I would be stunning people with my cleverness and humor left and right. Unfortunately though, the "uuuhh .. ookk ... awkward" look wakes up the bee inside. "You are slooww .. You are tooo slowww ... You are retarded ..."

Recently, I hit a rock bottom low in idiocracy. So low, so dark, the bee gave up and surrendered her life. Last week, a light-bulb flashed over my head for I found something. It was such an enlightening thought that it made my day. In fact, I spent the rest of the day happily and was energetic for a great work-out that night. "Happy man you are today," my co-workers noted after lunch. I would repeat a friend's favourite line, "life is beautiful." I, off-course, lied. The reason for my happy enlightenment was a gross disgusting bogey.

After lunch, I stopped by Dunkin Donuts for re-caffination. The lady at the speaker rattled a barely understandable, "I will be right with you." "All I need is a medium iced coffee," I thought, "but I am not in a hurry to go back to work." So, I did what any man does to entertain himself while waiting. I took my index and stuck it up my nose. Pick away. I was making some good progress up my nose when the lady came back, "How can I help you?" she said. "Can I have a medium iced coffee with skim milk and no sugar, please?" I replied. Flick, flick. back to my nose ... and here it was. Drive thru offers me the opportunity to pick my nose while talking to someone without disgusting anyone! VIOLA! EUREKA!


And here it is, my newly found wisdom setting in front me proving me handicapped.


In my 8th grade, my father listened to the teacher and easily laughed him off when we walked away. "Don't listen to him son. You are smarter than everyone," father said. I found what the teacher said outrageous. My vengeance plan included ruining every class he teaches, and ace every single test in his class. Being the nerd I am both goals were not so hard. I disrupted every class he taught by asking useless detailed questions about every single thing he said. My class-mates loved it, because he could never cover enough material to assign the regular homework.

Eventually, I aced his class. He on the other hand was fired a year later when he bruised a classmate disciplining him.

Currently, I practice my new hobby, picking while conversing, every day enroute to work.