Almost every day, somebody feels compelled to comment on the speed of my wheelchair.
Usually, it is intended as a light-hearted icebreaker, the disability equivalent of commenting on the weather. Passersby offer up what they clearly believe is a sparkling, unique piece of comedic gold:
- “Yikes, that chair is fast!”
- “Want to race?”
- “Careful, there’s a speed limit around here!”
- “Look out, the cops are around the corner.”
These ‘dad jokes’ are entirely novel to the teller, but I have heard it all before … too many times. I am forced to practice my best polite, performance-art chuckle, pretending I haven’t been warned about the local constabulary by five different strangers since breakfast.
Beneath the banter, though, there is always an implicit hint that I am travelling too fast. This peak anxiety tends to manifest in older men, who occasionally skip the pleasantries altogether and simply yell, “Slow down, you’ll kill someone!”
It is a strange piece of psychology. When a person walks quickly, it is interpreted as purpose, health, and efficiency. But put that exact same speed on wheels, and suddenly it is a public safety hazard. The issue isn’t actually my velocity; it’s just that people struggle to cope with difference. We are conditioned to expect passivity from a wheelchair, so a bit of pace disrupts the social script.
I haven’t killed anyone yet. But the next time a stranger tells me to slow down, I might just test their reflexes. If you’re going to get a speeding ticket, you might as well earn it.