Blind Behind The WheelBy Akshay Patil
Dear Mr. I Just Recently Started Reading Your Column,
Why is there braille on DRIVE UP ATMs?? I didn’t know that blind people drove.
Well, you know, what if you’re going the wrong direction in the drive through and the person in passenger seat just happens to be blind? You know, it could be useful then. Or maybe blind people walk through the drive-through ATM... they could even carry a little horn with them so if the car in front of them was taking too long, they could still honk at it.
That’d be kind of cool - I’d totally do that if I were blind and not scared of being run over. Which I am... that is, I’m scared of being run over. I’m from LA, so I know how feisty people get when you take too long at the window and get in the way of their driving urge to pick up a Big Mac and a honkin’ huge cup of coffee. They don’t care if you’re blind, bald, or paraplegic -- you’re in their way and that’s not excusable to a Southern Californian behind the wheel of a SUV fueled with hi-octane road rage.
That’s the nice thing about Boston, pedestrians rule the city. Sure we pop in and out of the ground in random parts of the city, but if we want to get somewhere by foot, them auto-strians respect it. In LA, if you don’t got four wheels, you don’t got right of way. It’s almost as obnoxious as sitting next to the driver of some unwarrantably over-sized vehicle bragging about how the other car doesn’t stand a chance.
But enough of that.
Why don’t we have elbow caps? Don’t you think it’d be a nice touch to our bodies if there was something there to protect the “funny-bone” nerve. I hate hitting that nerve, and it seems like poor design to leave such a gaping exposure when it’s clear that nature has already created a solution in what seems to be an analogous part, the knee. Perhaps a more heartfelt way of putting this is, thank god for kneecaps -- I bet the knee’s “funny-bone” nerve is bigger and more debilitating when hit.
Can you imagine five times the pain of normal funny-bone paralysis??? I would writhe, tightly curled on the ground, and die. Right before I did, I’d get my “last smoke,” my “last meal” kind of deal, which in my case would be to get a last lay from whomever was near by, to try and distract me from the misery of my definitely-[naughty word]-not-funny-5-times-bigger-funny-bone-nerve.
It’s been a long time since I’ve hit my funny bone, but I do believe I’ve managed to hit my knee-equivalent-funny-bone once in my life. Don’t ask me how I pulled it off, but as I remember, I passed out for a couple of minutes. Of course, I have absolutely no tolerance for pain. You could probably drag all sorts of confidential information out of me if you threatened me with a spoon. Ok, so maybe more than a spoon... it’d probably take at least an aggressively-wielded spork to get national security information out of me. Uhm, not that I know any... Canada Rocks.
Are children of identical twins genetically siblings?
No. Unless the twins hook up with the same person which, despite being a popular male fantasy, seems rather unlikely. Or maybe I just wouldn’t know.
And now, here’s Jaime Wyscozki from Bemidji, Minnesota with the footer... Jaime? Hello? Hello? You were going to do the... well, yes, I know it’s weird, but could you please read it? No? Well, can you at least read the bit about penguin feet and e-mailing firstname.lastname@example.org? What do you mean it’s obscene? He’s just feeding the... fine, no, you don’t have to read it. Sorry ladies and gents, we appear to be experiencing wardrobe malfunctions.