Mobility challenged? I’ll say!
If, like me, you’ve been not very patiently waiting behind this fella, as he ever so achingly slowly scuffs and shuffles his way millimetrically toward the next available bank teller serving our queue, you too would say that he’s definitely mobility challenged.
But you really don’t know the half of it. For the nodding yet nattily attired nonagenarian Nils von Neumann-Staufferbragen is quite severely mobility challenged (and I’m not speaking here of only his addled attention or his arthritic amble).
Why just last week, Nils’ bright orange motorized scooter (with the handy basket on the back) was jacked by a couple of VFW members escaping with the afternoon’s gin rummy kitty. The two obtuse overweight oldsters promptly put the scooter into a steep drainage swale, shearing the front axle. In the process, the doofuses also managed to lose, between the two of them, a house key, the uppers to a set of dentures, seventy-six cents in change, a gold filling, one of those layered chocolate dinner mints, and a two-for-one discount card to Petey’s Coffee Station. But Nils was left without wheels.
A few days prior to that, Nils had lost the use of his ancient bright blue Chevy Vega wagon (or any other street legal ride, for that matter, because, after the briefest of investigations by the stateys, his driver’s license was yanked, too), after he managed to loft that wagon onto the top of the historic wood covered bridge spanning Bartolo’s Basin. Seems Naughty Nils was accompanied at the time by three underage hookers, two fifths of tequila, some questionable bagged powder, several doobies, a large crate of wholesale edible underwear, a flick-knife, two grenades, primer cord and some Limbaugh-esque anti-Obama screed. Needless to say, Mrs. Neumann-Staufferbragen was intensely mortified to come bail Nils out, not least by having to post his bond by cashing in her last 20 years proceeds from knitting colorful tea cozies and rag rugs.
But Nils’ mobility was still further curtailed by the fact that the only things substantially damaged in the Vega incident were his cross-country skis, kayak and ski-doo, all of which happened to be strapped to the flipped vehicle’s roof. How he had loved that ski-doo, skedaddling with mad abandon through the snowy woods beyond Tucker’s Trace whenever the wife got on his nerves!
The accidental fire in the backyard storage shed behind the Staufferbragen homestead last fall had already claimed Nils’ entire stockpile of base-jumping gear: parachutes, helmets, goggles, gloves, lashing, carabiners, tagging spray, duct tape, granola bars, etc. That blaze had also severely damaged the undercarriage and engine of the Burt Rutan ultralight Nils had been patiently assembling for the previous few years (ever since failing vision cost Nils his job as news chopper pilot, he’d been itching to go aloft again).
If only Nils had never lost his share ownership in the Chris Parsonage Racing team of the Class 1 World Powerboat circuit. He had been the team’s ever-reliable throttleman (at least until the torrid affair with that snotty Duke’s wife kiboshed the whole deal). During races he could expect to hit upwards of 130 miles per hour over open ocean water. Now that was mobility, man!
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