America was discovered by men of great
courage – intrepid explorers who braved long and perilous ocean voyages,
landing upon the rugged, foreboding shores of this continent where they endured
harsh conditions, bitter winters, hostile natives, and the Donner Party, all to
bring the hope of civilization and professional football to this wild and untamed
land.
Which leaves me to wonder – given our
proud heritage of exploration and fortitude, when did we all become too lazy to
walk?
What I’m referring to is the recent
proliferation of electronic convenience vehicle or ECV – a battery powered
wheel-craft designed to locomote persons who ostensibly cannot do so themselves.
Also referred to as “mobility
scooters,” I became aware of their existence thanks to those late night
television ads which prey upon the elderly, specifically my mother. I did not realize the extent of their
pervasiveness, however, until we decided to bring the kids to Disney World. (Motto: Experience the magic of your disappearing
cash!)
When I say “we,” I of course mean “my wife” in that most males recognize Disney as a money devouring monster in the shape of a giant mouse whose sole objective is to separate you from your savings faster than the speeding roller coaster you just waited in line two hours to ride.
After a twenty minute delay during
which our bus driver loaded, secured, and unloaded a half dozen ECV’s, we
finally arrived at the Tragic Kingdom. (Motto:
The happiest place on earth for Disney shareholders.)
At first, I thought we had stepped
into the midst of a new Disney attraction:
Scooter Land – a futuristic society where humans have evolved beyond their
need for legs. I could already hear
Goofy’s voice in my head: “Kindly exit through the gift shop featuring an enticing
assortment of Mickey scooters, canes, and prosthetics.”
At the risk of offending ECV owners, I
realize many persons who employ these devices do so out of medical necessity. Our neighbor, for instance, rides his scooter
from the house to the end of his driveway – tubes up his nose, oxygen bottle
strapped to the rear, smoldering cigarette dangling from his lower lip – to
take out the trash.
My own father, who suffers from
congestive heart failure and has two bad knees, is just the sort of person who
would benefit greatly from one of these contraptions. He gets out of breath walking twenty feet and
can’t ascend a flight of stairs without pausing for a martini.
Dad is a veteran of WWII, however, and
would never consider taking advantage of any modern convenience that might
improve his quality of life. In his
mind, crawling on one’s belly under barbed wire through a muddy field with
tracers flying overhead is nothing compared to the indignity of accepting another’s
assistance – unless it’s from a short-skirted cocktail waitress carrying a tray
of vodka tonics.
Nevertheless, each day of our magical adventure
found us assaulted, nudged, and bypassed in line by folks on scooters. There was even an ECV rental booth at the
entrance to every park. Most days, they
were sold out by ten AM.
It confounds me why anyone with a dire
medical condition which prevents them from walking would purposely come to a 10,000
acre theme park where walking, standing in line, and sprinting to the nearest ATM
are prerequisites.
Yes, there were those indolent few who
needed assistance to get around. There
were also a remarkable number of perfectly healthy individuals – some in their
teens – riding to and fro for no reason other than they were too lazy to walk
or didn’t want to wait in line.
At our resort, we watched two
intoxicated seniors – one wearing a Richard Petty hat and the other a Dale
Earnhardt t-shirt – plow their way through the hotel lobby, scattering toddlers
and costumed characters, in a race to take the pole position at the early-bird
buffet. And my nine-year-old was nearly
mowed down outside the tennis courts by two scooter-enabled couples in their thirties
who had cut their doubles match short to ride to the fitness center for their 3
PM rock climbing class.
Back home, our local news carried the
story of a heroic man who came to the aid of a woman whose scooter became trapped
on the railroad tracks at a crossing.
She had somehow turned parallel to the rails and got her wheels
stuck. Casting his personal welfare
aside, this brave soul bolted into the crossing, pulled the woman from her scooter,
and dragged her to safety mere seconds before the downtown express pulverized her
ECV into poker-chip-size pieces.
During the post near-tragedy
interview, the woman was understandably grateful to the man for saving her
life, but nevertheless disappointed he didn’t also rescue her scooter as she
would now have to walk the four blocks back to her home. The man apologetically offered her a ride.
So as the dawn of another year approaches, I resolve to walk less, ride more, and perhaps take up smoking, because if I’ve learned one thing for certain, it’s the stairway to heaven ends in a souvenir shop.
