August 7: A Day in the Life

For those of you wondering what it would be like to go a day with one arm, I've come up with a list of daily activities that are extremely difficult to complete without the help of that extra limb.

• Making a bed
• Carrying a bowl of cereal, a spoon, and a glass of orange juice to the table
• Rearranging dumbbells to vacuum the carpet they sit on
• Vacuuming a carpet and keeping the cord out of the way
• Measuring a cup of laundry detergent
• Folding clothes
  
• Ironing a shirt
• Getting into a car
  
• Driving in reverse
• Getting out of a car
  
• Carrying a case of Mountain Dew, two cans of Cream of Mushroom soup, and two cans of tuna without a basket
  
• Taking money out of a wallet
• Putting change in a wallet
• Cutting open a bag of frozen chicken
• Cutting open a bag of pre-packaged salad
• Opening a bottle of salad dressing
• Opening a can of Mountain Dew
• Getting to the child-proof drugs
• Scrubbing a dirty plate
• Clapping after the Padres make a dramatic comeback in the top of the ninth inning
• Punching a couch after the Diamondbacks hit a walk-off home run in the bottom half of the inning
• Coming up with a decent topic to write about

So there you have it, folks. A day in the life of a disabled person. See? We're people too.

February 20: Jelly Belly Confusion

A color deficiency is the inability to perceive differences between some of the colors that others can distinguish. For as long as I can remember, optometrists have told me that I possess a color deficiency and have trouble distinguishing reds and greens. My sister is quick to point out my inability to tell certain colors apart in various areas of my life; most notably when I dress. My pseudo-disability has never really affected any part of my life until now.

I recently took a trip to Costco and I just had to get the four pound container of Jelly Bellies. They're the original gourmet jelly bean, you know. 49 flavors! The four pounds isn't an exaggeration either. I'm literally looking at the label right now as I use the home row of keys to type this sentence. But what do Jelly Bellies and having the inability to distinguish colors have anything to do with the other?

On the backside of the container, the fine folks over at Kirkland Signature had the brilliant idea of including a diagram. It is simply a picture of each jelly bean and what flavor is associated with each one. It's actually fairly helpful, but it's not good enough.

For the most part, all of the beans are easily distinguishable. I know every time I pick up a red bean with yellow specks, I'm going to get a Sizzling Cinnamon. I always know when I'm about to pop in a Tutti-Fruitti because of its distinctive smorgasbord of blues, yellows, and greens scattered across the pink surface.

Sometimes, however, I think I'm getting a Peach and I get the disgusting Top Banana instead. I like Peach-flavored candies. I like banana-flavored fruits. I hate banana-flavored candies. I can't tell the two apart because I'm handicapped and it's not right. Jelly Belly should do something to rectify this!

People in wheelchairs get special ramps to enter buildings on. Blind people get pets to help them cross streets! But what do my people get? We get mouthfuls of unsuspecting flavor. Buttered Popcorn when we thought we were getting Toasted Marshmallow. Plum when we wanted Mixed Berry Smoothie! Don't even get me started on the Chocolate Pudding, Dr. Pepper, Licorice, Cappuccino confusion! I really want to try that Dr. Pepper, but I hate licorice and I hate Cappuccino even more. I wouldn't go near a dark-colored Jelly Belly if someone paid me to!

The point is this: When a crippled man like myself gets the urge to purchase a four pound jug of Jelly Bellies, the least Kirkland Signature could do would be to make my experience a more enjoyable one. Include a little elf that warns me when I'm about to eat a Piña Colada and not a Sunkist Lemon or at least print the label in high definition. Just because I'm not eligible for a handicapped placard doesn't mean I don't need help.