A DISEBLAD’S GOODNIGHT NOTE

05.04.05


I am diseblad. Yes, there’s nothing wrong with your vision. That’s how a guard called me a few hours ago at the court of Badminton in Goudi. We are speaking about the place where this famous musical of mister Weber, entitled ‘Cats’, is performed. Although I am a cat-hunting devotee and I don’t really dig musicals, I decided to enjoy this superior performance myself, since it was attended by most Athenians anyway.
I still laugh at the silly guard who approached us from the beginning in the mood for inquiry.
‘You know, the gentleman uses a wheelchair and this is why we would like to park the car as close to the entrance as possible.’
He bends sown and looks thoroughly at the back seat. He asks:
‘And where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘The disabled guy.’
I get out of my seat. ‘I’m here, man. A quite big lout and you don’t see me? What do you expect to see? Snow White lying in a glass coffin?’
The guy loses it. He yells at someone else: ‘Open the door, man, the kid is diseblad.’
(What am I?)
He turns to my mother. ‘How did you say that?’
She can’t answer. She bursts out laughing just like I do.
‘Oh, yeah. Disabled.’!
[Tomorrow the rest – or the day after tomorrow. I am sleepy and I have to wake up early. I would write you from work too but they cut our connection to the internet and the bosses claim that they don’t have money to pay for the subscription.]
Yours sincerely,
The diseblad.