Recently, two moments of my life concerned saying something "awful." They've stuck around in my head for a while. It's partly that moment of word-dorkiness; the w and f look funny next to each other. It's partly that, well, awful, is a word that I've always taken a secret pleasure in; I've enjoyed the slightly contradictory meanings -- awe-inspiring (semi, mostly approving) and awful, terrible (yikes). I know that I am not the only person in the world who knows about and appreciates these things (really!), but somehow the awe of "awful" has always been a personal, secret delight ('cept all y'all now know about it).
The tension between the two meanings has often seemed to offer a way of changing life and circumstance. There's a promise there: If you can somehow get through the awful, you will be able to look back with awe at this moment of horror. The terrible must ultimately pass; the nondescript, too, must yield. And change, somehow, I've been telling myself, can only be for the better. I think, though, that this week, the awful reared its head less as a force for good than as an agent of destruction. I think, this week, I learned that change doesn't have to come only after you've blown up the baby, the bathtub, and the elephant (or something like that). This week, I learned that there is value in seeking a more moderated way.
I took two parking spots, because the disabled one was legitimately taken. It was raining (hard), but I didn't think that what I did would be an issue.
A man swerves round the corner and attempts to park, (despite my open door) in the spot that is almost empty. He fails, of course; he sees that he won't fit, beeps his horn, and then drives off. I admit full responsibility for this one; I was feeling pissy. So, I roll down my window and yell, "You got a problem?" to him as he passes. I'm not sure quite what I expected in response, but I was surprised by the intensity of his comeback.
He was late for his appointment (I know because I was the appointment before him and I ran over); he was clearly frustrated; he reached for insults he thought worked best. Without knowing that I was disabled, he accused me of having an intellectual disability and of all kinds of inability and incompetence. In a stream of invective, he threw at me every negative association with disability and human worth. At first, I tried to explain (pissily, yes, but explain, nonetheless). The torrent was too great, however; I yielded to my own inclinations. I f-worded him, I said something about him getting off his lazy ass, and ... ; he walked off before I could finish. I was furious, but I wasn't about to chase him into the PT's office and keep yelling at him or vice versa.
Just in front of me, partially obscured by the massive door of her SUV, the voice of an observer said, "that was awful." She closed her door and drove off. I couldn't tell what she meant: me? had I been awful? the man? (he'd certainly been awful) the whole thing? The awful things that I said didn't change anything. They didn't get him to come back and hear my explanation; they didn't earn me the support of the bystander; they left me feeling poisoned and frustrated. I wasn't even able to let off my steam of righteous indignation. And next week when I go for PT, the bystander will presumably be at her appointment, the nasty man coming afterwards, and I will also be there. All three of us will get to restage without reenacting the nasty little scene.
Some things, maybe literally, are too nasty to say. If I hadn't sworn at him -- no, I am not sorry -- the position would be a little different. I wouldn't now be worried that the bystander might find me foul-mouthed and undeserving (yeah, yeah). Nor would I be concerned about rolling out of the office and into this guy; will his incoherent rage have dissipated? I escalated and handled the situation poorly. I wish I hadn't; I will try to do something better next time (without being a crippled saint--choke). I said something awful and the situation remained awful.
The second time I encountered awful-saying this week was in a very different circumstance. The idea was (I think; I could have it wrong) that some times, you have to say the awful thing, point out the elephant in the room, smash the myth, transgress the boundary, say the awful thing. I latched on to it immediately. Yes, this is what it meant for "awful" to work its awesome power. We sometimes must speak truth to the establishment and to ourselves. Then, I set to thinking. What kinds of awful things set us free? What kinds of awful things are simply should not be said.
If you've read me for a while, you will probably know that I believe in language -- its power to hurt, to gut, and to free (I've created a new label with some of my language related posts here). I believe in what people often call "political correctness," and I firmly believe in not saying stuff. I don't think political correctness is political; I think it is "correct: because it is morally just, fair, and right not to say certain stuff. It's not pandering, so much as a way of demonstrating respect. You don't need to rail down centuries of injustice and hatred just to make a point. You don't need oppression to say what you have to say. You DO need language to build a society and a culture that treats all people fairly. *We* need language to build relationships, connective threads, and bridges. Language makes us who we are. Too often, it is the only way we exist in and for each other.
So, yes, given how language works and how we use it, I believe that there are things too awful to say. And I am not sure about "saying the awful thing" as a strategy for breaking stasis. How we move when we are bound is a life and a dance question. How we speak when we are stuck or stabbed with injustice is an equally important problem. How we know what to say and when or if we should speak are things I suppose we learn, slowly, as we rub against each other.
In some American dialects, I can't hear the difference between "offal" and "awful." (I suppose there are some British speakers whose distinction is equally as hard to discern, but I'm a native British speaker, so I mostly get that). I recognize that these occasional homophones, offal, awful and awe-ful are different and that what I am about to say would have most linguists shaking their fingers, but I'm wondering about that "butchered inner parts" part of offal.
I'm thinking, in other words, about effect rather than intent. If the effect of your words is to slaughter the innards of some other being, perhaps you, I, we shouldn't be uttering those words. Perhaps, the truth and my intent as I see them matter less than how they are received -- perhaps even to the extent that the nature of the awful is less about perceived social boundaries, expectations, and norms than about the web we weave with our words.
Worlds don't change because you make people quake in their boots, free yourself of social inhibitions, or even because you position yourself as an arbiter of life around you. Worlds change because words shape the invisible ties that link us.
In the first instance, I would make sure you stay in the building, at the PT, until the dude arrives. Have the PT explain to him that no disabled parking was available and a wheelchair user needed two spaces to get in and out. While you said things in reaction, his hairtrigger, road rage response puts you and others at risk of violence; this may be a start to him understanding he is not the center of the universe. His PT needs to know he is this way for you and the sake of others before he harms someone else (an elderly person/wheelchair user in NY was just beaten severely over a very similar parking issue). You need to feel safe both emotionally and physically--and so do others. Plus the SUV driver not knowing your circumstances would probably mention this to the office staff anyway--and they're not going to be able to put to and two together, nor is the guy if he sees you with a wheelchair even--why you're using two spaces. For your safety, *please* tell the PT/office in advance. I worry about you.
ReplyDeleteYes, I agree with you if I'm reading the second part right that one shouldn't just wield words like a knife to no end/to lash out; truth used as a sword or candle, though--too often we are forced to remain quiet or censor ourselves (or people hint that I should anyway--they'd rather remain in ignorance than rethink their beliefs).
I also doubt they would keep him as a client if he acts this way for liability reasons--the ball's in your court if you want to ask for that. And that would be a really be a good way to have him stop and think before he harms another person--he will realize that there are consequences when he blows up like this and that the same could happen to him again. You can also call the police if someone verbally abuses you like that--I have stopped people's actions like that by immediately threatening to call the police or security if they don't stop their abuse, depending on where I'm at--that may be helpful in the future. Do not worry about your own reaction--I doubt that woman meant you.
ReplyDeleteThe "special" car park at Brent Cross Shopping Centre in London is one of the most competitive environments I've ever been in. The determination to get a bay is something that needs to be seen to be believed.
ReplyDeleteOnce I was letting an old woman reverse out of her parking bay before, you know, parking in it. An old man had no such patience and zoomed into the bay before her car was fully out of it, despite the fact that he could clearly see that a) I'd been waiting longer than him and b) that I was letting her out of the bay before trying to cram my car into it.
A couple of minutes later I'd got a bay and got out of the car. He was still sitting in his and the window was open, so I decided to go and give him a piece of my mind. Because I approached from the back I don't know if he had a blue badge on display or not. But even if he did a badge isn't valid unless you get out of the car.
So I wheeled up to him, called him a cunt, and carried on in to the shopping centre.
It felt so gooooooood.
Wow, I hate when stuff like that sticks in my head. Must be done, put a period on it and maybe Frida's advice will prevent sucj things in future. We disabled people get allll the perks.
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