I’m just about to go back to work after a three week sojourn due to having had a knee operation to repair torn cartilage in my left knee. It’s been a problem that I’ve been putting up with for about two and a half years and finally I’ve had it fixed. I have to admit though, it’s been an enjoyable time off despite my movement being hindered by having to use crutches for a couple of weeks after the op. But while I was consigned to hobbling around I discovered that using crutches had an interesting and rather pleasant side effect.
Now it’s no secret that I’m not a fan of people in general, I am a bit of a misanthrope to say the least. Whenever I go out and walk down the road I think I either become invisible or activate some kind of twat attracting energy field. God knows how this is possible, I’m hardly a blend-into-the-background kind of bloke, but somehow when I go out people either don’t see me or think I’m some kind of gaseous being they can walk straight through. Not with the crutches though, oh no, with those strapped to my arms things change.
I discovered this revelation when I went out of the house for the first time after the operation. Against the advice of my long suffering girlfriend I donned my crutches and we went out into the outside world. I had to get out of the house, I’d been cooped up in my flat for four days and was starting to go a little stir crazy so even a trip to the supermarket was a welcome distraction.
I hobbled round the corner onto St James’ Street here in Brighton, which is generally a cauldron of tourists, students, crazy locals and a random assortment of junkies and alcoholics. I readied myself for the usual barracking when I discovered the crutches had bestowed on me a new power. Rather than drawing dickheads to me like flies to a steaming turd, people actually acknowledged me, even moved out of my way apologising as they did. It was incredible. I tottered along the road and was stunned at the sudden politeness where before I would have been rudely bumped into and ignored.
Then I saw two of my most feared adversaries behind me, a pair of pushchair wielding mothers, the kind who either use your ankles for target practice or barge you out of the way into oncoming traffic. As usual, the women were pushing their offspring two abreast, loudly discussing which of their spawn was more intelligent than the other, totally disregarding the fact that other people wanted to use the pavement as well to do selfish things like avoid getting run over by buses for example. I looked at Charlotte and flashed her a grin that said, ‘let’s see what happens here then, because I’m not moving.’ Poor Charlotte, not only was she fretting about me being out of the house in the first place, she now had to deal with me invoking a stand-off between myself and a couple of baby buggies. See why I refer to her as long suffering?
I slowed down, made myself as wide as I could with my crutches and braced myself for impact. But where normally I would be unceremoniously shoved out of the way, this time the effect of the crutches was indisputable. As they drew closer, for once they appeared to notice me and you know what? They crossed the road. They crossed the bloody road to allow me to go about my business unhindered. It transpired that crutches could thrust consideration on even the hardiest of pushchair wielders. Incredible.
That was the watershed, I decided that I’d have some fun with my temporary disability and get in people’s way as much as I could to see how they’d react. If they did so in the wrong way I’d be in a position of righteous indignation and could expose the offenders’ for the impolite, selfish bastards they were. I think by this point Charlotte had given up and decided to let me wage my stupid little personal war.
A few minor skirmishes later and we were at the supermarket, another venue where I’m generally pushed around and ignored. Nonetheless the same thing happened, people went from being their usual ill-mannered selves to being astoundingly courteous, aware of my struggle and making ay for me.
But then in the dairy section I confronted my true nemesis; another man on crutches. Damn. Okay, I thought, let’s see how far I can push this thing.
There was a Mexican stand-off as we faced each other in the aisle, wondering which of the two of us would yield and give way and eventually my opponent must have realised I was in much worse shape than he was and he capitulated. Fabulous, a clean sheet. The crowd roars.
A week later however, things were back to normal. My crutches were no longer needed and I went down the supermarket once more, bereft of my magical supports. Although I was still limping pretty badly it seemed that without the power of the crutches I had again donned my invisible suit and had become a target for arseholes to annoy. My short lived reign of crutch terror was over. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
I still have the crutches though, the hospital didn’t ask for them back and I forgot to return them, and you know what? I’m thinking of busting them out in a few weeks time ready for the Christmas rush, just to see what happens. If nothing else it’ll satisfy my inner wanker.
