I got a semi full-time personal assistant in October.  since then I’ve been making a to-do list.  This list has to do with getting things done, that I never really have had the mobility or the help to do before.

One big thing on this list, is getting an agent. I’ve been speaking whenever I can for a very long time, but I’ve never had someone to represent me. Someone to work toward my  interest. If you talk to anyone in show business, one of the first things they say to you is get an agent. I decided that it was time.

I’ve never had experience with this sort of thing. I wasn’t even sure where to start so I called an agency here in town and told them that I was interested in seeking representation. To my surprise, they told me I should come in and see them. We set appointment for the afternoon, and I begin putting things together to give to them. The main piece is the PDF you can find by going to the link below.

JamieJordanOnePage2014

It has everything you need to know about me all at a glance. (well except for this blog I need to fix that) the second was a glowing recommendation letter from the last place that I spoke.  I was ready, I was going to take these people by storm.

I showed up a half hour early to look the building over for the best way in and such. As I’ve said before, you have to do a little extra prep being in wheelchair then a normal person would. As Jane ( that’s the semi full-time  personal assistant’s name) and I drove around the building. we realized that there was no accessible entry.

Before you get upset, let me just mention that this sometimes happens, and is just part of Life in wheelchair. We park in the parking lot adjacent to the building, so close that I can actually see the people inside. I call them and say that I have a 4 o’clock appointment but there is a small problem, I can’t get into the building.

First, the woman on the phone says to me. How wide of a door do you need? I say at minimum 28 inches.  For the next five minutes people inside frantically measure every door. Finally the woman on the phone says we think we can get you in the back but there’s a step. They have two men in the building that are willing to pick me up. To this I reply that my wheelchair is electric and it weighs about 600 pounds with me in it. I could just see these two men hurting themselves trying to pick the chair up and me somehow being responsible for that. After some thought she agreed. She asked me to hold and I saw the people in the building meeting again trying to figure out what to do.

After a few minutes the voice comes back to me and says that the woman I was scheduled to meet with, will come outside and meet with me.

Remember when I said that I showed up early? Even with all this confusion, it was two minutes until 4 o’clock, our scheduled meeting time.

The woman comes out, I can immediately see that she’s flustered and embarrassed and  doesn’t really know what to do. At this point I decide that I need to do my best to make her feel comfortable. I get out of my car shake her hand, give her the stuff I brought and begin to tell her about myself.

The whole time she seems completely out of her element, she tells me that an agent is not an manager and that she sits in our office and waits for her phone to ring. If someone needs a service like a motivational speaker, she matches the person on the phone with her clients  skills. She was very clear that she was not a manager. She said she wouldn’t actively spend the time seeking out work for me. Agents didn’t do that. This may be true, but I have met some agents not in my area that did seek out work for their clients. The way she said it, almost immediately after I got out of the car, felt like her best effort to send me somewhere else. I felt she was so uncomfortable from that point on, that she was just trying to get me out of the parking lot. I said what I had to say, and asked her to look over my stuff. She said she would, and then she said it was so hot outside that she couldn’t focus. I’m sitting there, having no problems focusing. I shook her hand again, and she began to walk away, saying it was hot, and she needed to get inside. I let her walk a couple steps and then said ” aren’t you going to need a way to get in touch with me?”

She hadn’t taken my number at that point and I could see she wasn’t going to. I had provided other ways to get in touch with me in the paperwork I gave her. My point  was to give her the best way to get in touch with me. I would think that would be a first priority for an agent.

Now think back to the beginning of this post. The fact that I couldn’t get into her building was a minor problem. That’s just something that comes up when you’re me. What I want you guys to see in this story, Is her reaction to me.

Our 4 o’clock meeting lasted less then five minutes. I was pulling out of the parking lot at 4:05. Why? The answer is, I made her uncomfortable.

I’m not upset with her. I’m just trying to make the point that I believe this is the way that 98% of population reacts to someone like me. It’s why  I do everything I do. No offense to Howard Stern, but I want to be the king of all media. I want to be on radio and TV. I want to write blogs, do interviews, and basically make a living being me. The reason for this, is that I want to show people that my issue, called a wheelchair. Is no different from issues that normal people deal with every day. I’m just a guy. Extraordinarily funny and gifted maybe, but still just a guy. The next time you see a person who is different from you don’t be uncomfortable, if you are not they won’t be either. It’s just a difference, be open, ask questions. You maybe shocked. because they’re actually willing to answer them.  Life is too short to be uncomfortable.

You know when you have that feeling like you “have to go”? You know what I’m talking about, right? Usually, you just get up and go. I don’t really get to do that. Normally, I have to wait until someone is able to help me to do that. The urge to poop can come on pretty suddenly. The worst is when my mom goes out of the house, and I’m feeling fine, but an hour later…
Mom: I’m going to go to the grocery store. Have to poop before I go?
Me: Nope
Me: phone: I’m sorry about this, but I have to poop.

When I was a kid, I had trouble controlling my bladder. I also have some trouble controlling my arms and legs and my eyes, but somehow the bladder control thing was much more embarrassing as a kid. That’s not really funny, but it’s true.

I’m a toilet clogger. I think it’s because I’m sitting all day, and the poop probably gets compacted while it’s in me, so when I “go” it comes out as a giant poop baby. If I’m ever on a date, I probably won’t bring this up as a topic of conversation, but since we’re all friends here, it seems ok. The good thing is that after I drop the big one, all my clothes feel really loose again. It’s like I can poop myself down a whole size. Pants that were once chafing into my stomach a little bit are now loose and relaxed. It’s like giving birth, I suppose. A poop baby birth.

The bad thing is that I don’t want to use public toilets because I prefer to clog up my own commode. I especially don’t want to clog up someone else’s personal toilet.

*Jamie clogs toilets* every time

I have to go to the bathroom.
OK.
I need you to lift me out of my chair and onto the pot.
OK.
I also need you to pull my pants down, ok?
OK.
I may need some help after.
…
and I clogged your toilet.

If I’m ever out of town with people who aren’t my parents and someone else is taking care of me, I just hold it. I would hold it the whole time. It’s like self-inflicted constipation. Regardless of the whole toilet clogging thing, I don’t want to have to ask someone else to wipe my butt afterward. It’s just awkward. If I’m on the road with someone who’s not family…I just don’t go.

As I’m writing this I’m thinking “who could possibly want to read this” I’m writing it anyway
Because this is something you deal with when you are handicapped. Everybody deals with it, but I would wager that most of you don’t need help on the toilet. Trust me, needing help changes everything. When I’m rich I hope to get a bidet or something similar so that maybe I don’t need quite so much help. I’m looking on Amazon as I type. It seems you don’t have to be rich to own one. For some reason I feel like to have one in your house, you must meet Robin Leach as a requirements first. Your question for the day dear reader. Do you have one and do you like it?

Thanks to https://www.pinterest.com/sandrawalling/handicapped/ for the graphic

I don’t know what kind of treatment other people in wheelchairs out there get, but I can tell you a little bit of how things are for me.
When I go out in public, it’s like a circus act. Everyone wants to look at me, because I’m different. I get that. But there are some things that are just interesting and unique to me.

It was before a really big event in April, and I had been going out to promote my public speaking to some school officials. So, I went out to dinner with a friend who will be there at the event. He and his wife came and picked me up and we went to the restaurant in the van. While my dinner companions were very cordial and open with speaking to me, and there were other people in the restaurant who were not afraid to speak and converse with me, the hostess did not speak to me or greet me. Some people are very uncomfortable speaking with someone “different” like me. At this particular dinner, I made it a point to openly introduce myself to the waiter and converse with him to save us both a lot of embarrassment. Maybe they think I can’t speak and that’s why they don’t try to speak to me. A lot of times waitresses won’t talk to me. They will ask the other people at the table what I want to order.

Sometimes people are apprehensive around me because they are afraid they are going to offend me, as a remedy for this, they don’t say anything. They think that I will be offended because they look at me, so they avoid eye contact with me at all costs. That is much more awkward than having someone say something that is possibly offensive. Imagine if you lived your whole life avoiding offending anyone. I would prefer to be treated like I am “normal”. I shouldn’t have to make such a huge effort to garner equal communication that a walking person would have. Also, you could literally ask me any question and I would not be offended. In fact, I encourage it. I wait eagerly for possibly offensive questions. They are my favorites.

Everywhere I go, nobody is expecting a guy in a wheelchair to show up. Even though everyone knows what a wheelchair is, it’s a huge shocker when it shows up in everyday life. There must be thousands of wheelchair bound people in the United States, yet we rarely see them. Where are they hiding?

My family was on a trip from Texas to Memphis. The car broke down and we had to call a tow truck. The tow truck driver said, “OK, hop into the truck and I’ll hook the van up to the back.” My dad let him know that we couldn’t do that because I was in a wheelchair and couldn’t just “hop” in the back. The guy towed the van with us inside of it. There were some strange looks as we drove very very slowly through town while being towed.

One of my favorite types of people I encounter in public are the “congratulatory” people, not because they are necessarily right in their approach, but because their ideas about my life in a wheelchair are a little weird. The congratulatory stranger will greet me with a very outgoing demeanor and tell me that I’m “the man” or “awesome” and they are “proud of me” just for existing as I do. I guess that it’s akin to when someone points out that a picture of a girl with a facial deformity is beautiful. I think people do this because they feel that they are offering something that nobody else in the girl’s life is telling her… she’s beautiful. It’s probably just the opposite. So many people are probably constantly telling her those words that she realizes it’s because of the facial deformity. I’m not saying that someone with a face problem can’t be beautiful, I am saying that “normal” beautiful people don’t get the same treatment. The word I’m looking for here that best describes this behavior of congratulating me for living life in a wheelchair is patronizing. I understand that the person means well, it just always puts me in a weird position.

There are also touchy-feely people that are not afraid to give me hugs and kisses like I’m a pet or a little child. I don’t mind this behavior, especially in the case of pretty women. Come to think of it, men don’t really do it so much, so I shouldn’t complain. And forget I mentioned it at all. If you’re a beautiful woman who wants to come up and give me a little kiss, that’s fine. You can sit on my lap too if you like

Image from http://ifunny.co/fun/pXgXjnqK2