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  • Leiz Chan

SDS Can't Accommodate This Huge, Debilitating Ass of Mine


University of Iowa Student Disability Services

My name is Chase Byches, and I’m a third-year student at the University of Iowa. I recently had an unsatisfactory visit with the Student Disability Services (SDS) on campus, which is allegedly dedicated to helping students meet their academic needs. However, when I went in, I was met with amusement, like I was an exhibit in a zoo. It was humiliating.


To make this short: I have a huge, debilitating ass. It’s a whole thing that my twenty doctors can get into with you, but my mammoth posterior affects my daily life and ability to succeed in college. If you’ve ever been in the EPB or any lecture hall, really, every desk and every chair is made for a preteen. My boisterous booty cannot—for all that is holy—fit into any of them without causing a scene. It’s hard to drive, it’s hard to run at the rec, and it’s hard to get through the dining hall without swiping an innocent bystander. Don’t get me started on the way I have to haul it up the Pentacrest, each cheek dragging on the pavement like heavy trash bags. I’m too stubborn to take a Cambus just to get up the hill, but hell, I wonder what I’m trying to prove sometimes. I’m behind in school. I’m the butt of many jokes. It’s why I finally caved and visited the SDS for help with the enormity of my cake.


The office used automatic doors, but I had to wait for them to slowly and fully open to even get my rump inside. When the desk worker saw what I was packing, she covered her mouth and looked away, but I could catch her stealing glances at my killer keister.


In a small, shaky voice, she asked me, “What can we do for you, rear? I mean dear. What can we do for you, dear?”


“I have the 12:30 appointment to get an emotional support forklift for my, um, problem,” I told her, and that made her lose it. I had never felt so stupid in my entire life. What kind of diversity, equity, and inclusion was this, if they couldn’t help people from all walks of life?


“Certainly,” she said when she recovered. “Is this for Hugh Jasse?”


“Chase. Chase Byches.”


"Well, Mr. Byches, I sure hope we can help you. Our accommodation service is one of the best buns in Iowa—ones, I meant to say ones!”


“Great, yeah. I just want to see Dr. Bighams,” I replied.


“I have to warn you, there’s a chance that even if we green light your request, your instructors won’t approve of your butt lift—your forklift, excuse me.”


Great. Just peachy. At this point, I felt the weight of two moons crashing down on me. The DEI chair was going to hear about this, I knew for a fact. In the meantime, I decided to go through with my meeting at SDS and see what they could do for me, if not give me the forklift that I requested.


“Okay, you can go right through that door. He was out for a coffee, but baby got back—I mean, Bighams just got back,” she said. Before I could tolerate any more intolerance, I left in a hurry; the fastest I could move with this caboose in tow. Thank you, UI, for one of the most embarrassing experiences in my life. But Hawks all the way, right?


…Oh my fucking god. But Hawks. Buttocks. Shit.


I’m dropping out.

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