DEAR SANTA: ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS THE IMPOSSIBLE

Dear Santa:

Greetings, my friend in red. Hope this missive finds you and yours in fine form. With all this talk of global warming, I worry that Donner and Blitzen are applying Coppertone while Dasher and Dancer compete to craft the perfect cannonball in the deep end. (If you’re a regular viewer of “Fox and Friends,” then please accept my apology. I don’t intend to offend.)

It’s true I haven’t written since last year and it seems I reach out only when I want something, but I imagine that’s simply business as usual in your line of work. So, let me get straight to the point: I’m only asking for one thing this year, but it’s a doozy. (Yes, Kris, you’re probably thinking “Why can’t she be content with another Chia Pet?” But until they come up with the Chia Cthulhu, please no more ceramic weed farms.)

I’ve decided to go for broke this year. My first thought was to ask for a shopping spree at a Pucci boutique. A new wardrobe of gorgeous abstract prints and fine fabrics would be just the ticket for a vacation at a Venetian villa. (You could throw that in, too, right?) But that seemed a little too pedestrian.

Then I considered asking you for a week at the Four Seasons Bora Bora, an all-expenses paid, once-in-a lifetime trip with my significant other and 10 of my dearest friends. Each of us could have our own villa over the turquoise waters. How divine! Then I imagined running into Justin Bieber au natural and I felt as queasy as the time I competed in that corn dog eating contest. Ick.

Then I thought: wouldn’t it be heavenly to rent out the Hollywood Bowl and have Kate Bush perform all her tracks from “Hounds of Love” and “The Dreaming”? The audience would consist of just me, my husband and our two kitties sitting in La-Z-Boy recliners on the stage right next to Her Royal Kateness. Oh, and Weird Al Yankovik could be the opening act!

But then I thought, no, I’m going to swing for the fences this Christmas. I’m going to ask for something so spectacular, so marvelous, so blow-the-doors-off incredible that my friends will be simply chartreuse with envy.

That’s right, Santa: I want a ride with Uber.

But wait, please, before you crumple up my letter and use it to wipe the reindeer doo-doo off your boots; please just hear me out! If Uber – or Lyft or any smart phone-booked ride service – can provide rides to the non-disabled, they can do it for wheelchair users, right?

It’s an eleventy-bajillion dollar business, so surely they can have drivers in every major market with wheelchair-lift vans, can’t they? These titans of industry can be convinced that disenfranchising an entire segment of society is not just illegal but morally wrong?

Please, Santa, tell me I’ll someday be able to book a ride on Uber with the same ease and speed as anyone else!

Ok, I’ll settle for a ride in your sleigh. Sure beats seeing the Biebs nekkid.      

DEAR SANTA: A WHEELCHAIR SPEEDOMETER WOULD BE NICE

Dear Santa:

 

It’s been a few years since I last wrote to you. Like, 45. Probably makes you wonder why I’m sending you this letter now.

 

First off, let me assure you I’m not writing to ask you for any gifts for myself. I mean, there are some neat-o gizmos that any gimp, myself included, would love. For example, I wouldn’t mind having a speedometer. Why, you ask? So the next time a stranger (that is, the 4,739^th stranger) looks at my chair and asks me “how fast can that thing go?” instead of yelling “bite me,” I can actually holler out a number.

 

I also wouldn’t mind receiving a pair of shoes. And I’m not talking about a pair of SAS orthopedic, turd brown lace-up Oxfords, like us crips and Denny’s waitresses are so fond of. No siree. I’m talking about a pair of Christian Louboutin Highness Tattoo Dragon platform pumps with a seven inch heel. (If you’re not familiar with Mr. Louboutin’s creations, think back to the type of shoes that only strippers used to wear. For a cool $1,595, now lady executives, lawyers and doctors can wear ‘em, too.)

 

And I wanna be clear: there’s no way on God’s green Earth I could ever stand in those shoes, let alone take a few steps. What I’d like to do is scuff up the soles real good so they look like they’ve been walked in a whole lot. I’d put them on, get in my wheelchair and go out in public. I’d be sure to sit in the chair so the bottoms of the shoes can easily be seen. Then, I’d take photos of the reactions on people’s faces. I would even create an Instagram account for them.

 

But enough about my flights of fancy. The real point of this letter is to ask for Christmas gifts for other very deserving people: people who have taken positions on issues affecting us crips. The gifts would show gratitude for their valiant efforts for disability rights.

 

• First, Santa, please bring gifts for the politicians. In particular, I’m talking about the ones who say that the Americans with Disabilities Act hurts business owners. How does the ADA hurt them, you ask? Apparently, requiring a ramped entrance or lowered counters is likely to bankrupt restaurants, stores, theaters, etc. So, even though the ADA is a federal civil rights law, the politicos want to enable businesses to opt-out of it. Otherwise, the entire U.S. economy will collapse just like it did right after the Civil Rights laws of the 1960s were passed. (It did, right?) And we can’t have that. So, Santa please give these politicians the gift of not getting re-elected so they can make an honest living flipping burgers at businesses that discriminate against gimps.
• The next group of folks that deserve gifts are the architects, builders and town planners that oppose visitability. Visitability is the movement to change the way homes are constructed so that new homes will have things like a zero-step entrance, interior doors wide enough for wheelchairs, and a half bath on the main floor. Visitability objectors claim these things quash creative design and even worse, give the false impression that non-gimps might someday cross over into gimpdom! For those who are against visitability, please, Santa, give them the gift of six months in a long-leg cast and the inability to use crutches. This will require them to climb stairs on their hands and knees just to get the crapper. Think of the toughness of personal character this will build in those who oppose building accessible homes!
• And last but not least, Santa, please bring something special for people who lie about their pets. You know, the inventive folks who dress up their Shih Tzus and Rottweilers in nylon vests and claim they’re service dogs just so they can take them into the Gap and Olive Garden. Such resourcefulness deserves recognition, even if it creates ill feelings toward and distrust of disabled folks with genuine service dogs. For these folks, please give them the gift of a dog bite that gets infected so they end up with a pronounced limp. That way, even if they happen to misplace the dog vest and service dog ID card they purchased from a phony company on the Internet, they won’t need ‘em. The limp will speak loud and clear.   

 Well, Santa, I guess I’ve asked for my annual quota of gifts, so I’ll sign off. I’ll have to ask you for gifts for condo and home owners’ associations that bully disabled people next year.

 

Love,

Heidi