Friendhorse-Femmehorse
"Femme Problems" I said as they tried to unweave my long hair strands out of my winter coat zipper.
[Pic: Close-up of me on left with dark rectangular glasses and a sarcastic smile, Megs is on the right in a ball cap and dark t shirt. Megs is also flashing a cheesy smile. We are on the plane on the way to Whitehorse.]
We were laughing as we stood face-to-face, probably physically closer to each other than we ever have been, save for our friend hugs. We had recently arrived at Antoinette’s restaurant in downtown Whitehorse, and had been greeted by David, Shelley and other members of the Walrus staff and traveling crew.
They had recognized me when I entered the restaurant, and we had briefly chatted before David pointed us to the coat racks just to the right of the entrance. I was feeling shy, also thrown off that these important people recognized me.
Near the coat rack, I peeled off the folded up huge scarf I had used as a leg blanket, and hesitated to stand up.
Standing up and out of my chair is something that, in the privacy of my own home or regular haunts, I do automatically in order to take my coat off. But, in public or around people I don’t know too well, there is this weird moment of pause when I'm about to shift methods of mobilizing (chair to feet, feet to chair). I think it is because I assume that people around me would have a hard time registering the shift. I mean, I saw on an internet meme that a large portion of wheelchair users also walk on foot.
I've seen those memes where someone is getting out of their wheelchair to pick something up at the high shelf on a grocery store, and underneath it's written: "miracle", sarcastically.
The memes tell me it’s perfectly fine to get in and out of my chair as much and whenever I want.
So do all the empowering articles on Medium and The Body is Not an Apology and all those ‘dear reader’ style sites. Those feminists say it’s ok - I say it’s ok - but still, I hesitated near the coat rack.
I was in Whitehorse to speak about accessibility, and assumed I was in part known as a wheelchair user- I didn't want to be perceived as a crip fraud or whatever. This makes me think of my friend, Danielle Peers’ awesome film, Gimp Boot Camp. (https://vimeo.com/58160733)
But, as is usual with these mini existential crises, practicality threw a twig in the spokes of my spinning thoughts. Thank goodness!
I couldn’t keep my jacket on in the heated restaurant and the Walrus people made me feel welcome from the get-go. So, standing up and beginning to unzip my winter coat, I noticed that in my hurry to leave the hotel room to head to Antoinette's, I had zipped my hair profoundly into my winter coat zipper. This is when I asked Megan to help me liberate my hair strands.
The hair was really stuck. It was about five zipper teeth teeth in, and it seemed like the more Megan and I pulled the more lodged it it became. First we laughed, a bit beside ourselves, trying to stifle it. Then we laughed openly. Megs’ cheeks got pinker and I stayed doing this sighing thing that I do when I'm trying to hold laughter in. Turns out awkward humour becomes so much more funny when you’re trying to be on your best behaviour.
I thought, half jokingly, as Megan chipped away at the strands, at least the Walrus people seeing them help me with this task would show that I had, in fact, needed this friend attendant to accompany me.
I didn't say this joke out loud.
I mean, in many settings when I request assistance, it is within the constraints of austerity that I have to prove my needs; for example, for my home care hours, I have to show that cutting, cleaning, cooking, folding, stacking are not viable weekly activities for me.
So, I authenticate this through demonstration; a performance of ineptitude. And these performances feel like the opposite of the performance of capability required for managing in academic and non-profit settings that I frequent.
That is, when not on my couch-studio.
The zipper went two teeth lower and the wheel turned faster. As part of "the talent" as David put it, at least in part known for my writing about struggles in these physical regards, was I to perform ineptitude or capability? Needy or self-reliant? Ahh!
Well, as someone very close to me puts things in a time like this...
me-no-no!
I never answered that one. The mini-existential crisis passed and I got over it, walked from chair to chair and had a delicious dinner.
But Megan’s presence there as a friend attendant was calming and fun. Our friendship and closeness made it easier for me to ask for help in specific ways, and to feel less complicated about it. Megs handled logistics and access needs before I even knew about them - the dream! With this close friend who acted as an attendant in this instance, there was no performance of ineptitude or capability/ neediness or self-reliance. It was us, hanging out. It was a relieving, protective buffer from which we headed on fabulous adventures and riotous laughs in hotel diners.
We finally got the hair out!
It was pretty scraggly beforehand, so the ripped pieces didn’t show. Femme problems aren’t that serious to me, they’re more a way of expressing a certain type of self love in the form of time devoted to lying with my feet in the air and nail polish brush in my hand; the superficial delights of dedicating time to my appearance.
The ritual of this type of expression of care is stronger than any sort of effect.
My trip to Whitehorse to speak for the Walrus Canada 150 made it clear that getting help from a dear friend is an increasingly important source of care; the possibility for mutual attendance, a new sort of ritual.
You can access the whole CBC Radio series, The Next 150,
http://www.cbc.ca/player/play/962131011533