Dr. Zoptic Pt. 11- Pick Up The Pieces

I missed the rent in October. October rent was in my purse when it was stolen. I didn't bother to pay rent in November and December.

I was fired from my part time position as Anatomical model at the Hospital, for poor attitude when I identified the curly haired male and the female who jabbed me to the police.

I was not remiss in dealing with the problem. I had been working with a recent grad from my law school. In school he had been a polished gadfly, distinctively working class with an ingrained contempt for anyone who had it too easy. When I reviewed the proposed complaint. "Malpractice and negligence," I agreed, "would be expected but civil rights violations and discrimination? I ain't black. How do you come up with that?"

"At the moment, it's the Hospital's bad luck--and Dr Barton's too--that an institution, like University Hospital, accepting federal funds is prohibited under The Rehabilitation Act, from discriminating against the disabled," my lawyer explained. "You were either disabled from your chest condition or from PTSD post-accident."

Indeed, such was the law prior to the Americans With Disability Act which would come some two decades in the future and which would encourage a tidal wave of litigation.

"Few people are familiar with this Rehabilitation Act," I complemented my lawyer. "Apparently you paid close attention to all the juicy curlicues in law school."

On the day, that process would be served I vacated the apartment. I felt bad. Zaftig had been my first serious love interest. I might have wished the good -- bye hadn't been so stark.

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"I guess that pretty much gives me quite a story to analyze," Dr Plume rose to indicate the conclusion of our meeting. From here I prepare a report and present my findings and conclusions to the insurer. Good luck." Before I could rise to shake his hand, Dr Plume, withdrawing his outstretched hand and scratching his head instead, added, "One last question."

To my taunt, like the detective in a dirty raincoat, on TV, Dr Plume, "You were with Dr Barton -- you call her Zaftig -- for a couple of years -- Lesbian Lovers, by your account. How did you feel just walking out on Dr Barton -- Zaftig one afternoon?"

"That's quite the loaded question," I protested, "Dr Barton -- eh Zaftig walked out on me in October when she took off in the emergency vehicle and left me helpless on the sidewalk. In December, I had to move on, return to living, and pick up the pieces. "