Who DOES That?

Well known to most of you is the fact that, oftentimes, I have to use a wheelchair.

Now, I don't like my wheelchair, nor my cane on better days, because . . .well. . .I just want to be me and not some "lady in a chair". I hate being stared at and I hate the pity looks. But?  I don't have to use it all the time, and for that I am very blessed and thankful.

This story involves my chair.  A few weeks ago Steven and I took the girls to Richmond, VA to see our local AAA baseball team, the "Flying Squirrels". Great name, right?  Knowing the car ride was long and there would be a lot of walking involved we took the chair.

At the game. I always "cheat" and pull my mask down a bit for pics' ::wink::

We purchased handicapped accessible seats and took the elevator.  [It was kind of a sketch elevator, I must say, but since no one plunged to their deaths - we're cool. heehee] When we arrived at our seats we discovered they weren't accessible for my chair.  Couldn't exactly figure out what the stadium considered "Handicapped Accessible" but whatev'.

Okay.  No problem.  I can walk, it's painful, but I can and I am glad I can.  So, I did.  I had to leave my wheelchair on the concourse with a promise from the usher that it would be well guarded.

As long as it wasn't stolen I thought "Okay." Said "Thanks." and we went to our seats.

Unfortunately, I no longer have the best balance and this older stadium is quite steep in the stairs and the seating.  We did make it to our seats with me holding onto Steven.  Beautiful night, wonderful view - I love me some baseball Tadpoles.  Heck, the whole family loves baseball.  We tend to get excited when rooting for our team.

Let me rephrase that. Mom tends to get excited, too excited when rooting for our team.

In the second inning I stood up to cheer [bad idea] lost my balance, due to me and the steepness of the rise, and began to take a full header into the second row.  Steven shot his arm out, across my chest and grabbed my left arm to keep me upright. It did, but I hurt myself doing it.  Not bad, but enough to warrant going to the ladies' room to check it out.

Emily agreed to go with me and helped me up the stairs and out to the concourse to find my chair.

We walked out onto the concourse and what should we find?

A man, SITTING IN MY WHEELCHAIR, eating nachos.

Who in the hell does that?

Phyllis the security lady saw me coming with Em and turned to go and bring me my chair.  Imagine her surprise when she turned around and saw him sitting in it.

When she told him to vacate it he had the nerve to ask "Why?"  Um, dude? Asshole It is MY chair and doesn't belong to you.  The security lady just said "Get out. Now."

He stood up, nary an apology upon seeing me and walked off.

Grrrrrrrr.  Are people nuts? Isn't sitting in someone else's wheelchair akin to sitting in, I don't know, their car?

I understand there isn't a lot of seating in the concession area and gee, wouldn't it be nice to enjoy stale chips with day glo cheese in the comfort of a padded seat with wheels?

But the simple fact remains, It.Does.Not.Belong.To.You.

I should've brought my cane too.  I might've been able to smack the stupid out of him.

And with that thought. . .I am off to Confession. Have a great day Tadpoles.

Life is a gift and I am so very lucky to have you guys in it!

See ya' on the flipside. Love, Janine

And Jules?  If you're counting? Yes this is the second time in as many weeks that I have wounded myself at a ballgame.  Steven has decided "No baseball FOR YOU." [me.] heehee