Lunch

She had two toned hair. Black and purple. Her back was to me when I sat down so I didn't see much of her face but I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that she might have been in her early twenties. She had a walker parked next to her and she sat across from a woman with blond and very busy hair right across from her. I was upset.

We had pulled in to get something to eat. The disabled parking bays were all full so Joe pulled up at the front on the building, where the ramp was, to let me out. A fellow was standing, smoking. He was of the 'way old enough to know better' age. By that I mean there is a certain age that once you hit, much is expected, manners, comportment, a certain degree of grace even of the rough hewn type. I could see immediately that he was curious to watch me get out of the car and into the chair.

I hate being watched, I'm not Flipper, my life isn't Marineland. When Joe was close enough to hear I whispered for him to stand in the vision path of curious and intrusive eyes. He did quickly, having done this many times before. I could see the fellow's movement behind Joe and saw a cigarette get tossed to the ground and then he stomped up the ramp. Clearly insulted.

Arriving at the table I have to work to settle down a bit. I refuse to spend my life angry so I work at calm. It comes easily, the path paved with regular use. We look at the menu and Joe gets up to go order. Suddenly the man appears again. I can see he's a bit drunk. He's standing at my table with a slight weave, attach wool to him and the wall and in twenty minutes you'd have a shawl. He speaks 'I just wanted to watch you get out of the car. He (here he vaguely points in the direction of Toronto) blocked my view on purpose ...' Before I could say anything, the two toned woman turned to him and spoke, 'Oh piss of Cy, you can be such a daft bastard, leave him alone ...' Cy, probably named because it's a synonym for 'sigh', started to protest. She said, 'We've had this conversation before, disabled people aren't here for your amusement, I mean it, piss off.'

He looked a bit afraid of her and he scampered away. She looked at me and said, 'He says he means no harm, but people like him don't understand what harm they do. Mores the pity.'

Indeed.

Got to love it when someone who knows how to slay dragons, takes up the fight for you.

Sometimes 'piss off you daft bastard' really is the onlyest perfect thing to say.