Alice Miles has written an excellent piece in today's Times about the patronising approach that the world of work has to disability.
I was born with a minor physal disability that was not corrected despite much physiotherapy and surgery. It blighted my childhood and has blighted my adulthood. Don't believe that one can rise above the ignorance of strangers and strike one's own path in life. To do that you need money. Lots of it. When the well meaning person asks how one hurt one's ankle and then smilingly suggests an activity that is safe and suited to one's ability but is mind-numbingly dull, it takes a special sort of bravery not to respond with "big tits, well we won't be wearing a safety belt then." No wonder many people with disabilities are aggressive and rude: it's like the sign in the French zoo "this animal is dangerous; when attacked it defends itself.
I remember my first line manager in the Civil Service. After a month of working in a mindless mind-sapping job, I asked him how I was doing (I was proactive in seeking feedback before it was invented). He said, very well as they hadn't had to install rails. "Fuck me you turd-burgling arse bandit", I wanted to scream at him, "I meant how well am I doing this crap job?" I stopped working then as I realised that I would never be assessed for my achievements but instead marked down for my differences. Fortunately, as their are a lot more thicker people than me in the working population, jobs are designed for their abilities so I was able to switch off and coast along knowing that success would never be rewarded (and it wasn't on many occasions).
To be honest, the way I feel at the way I have been treated would earn me lots of folding money if I were a fenian or muslim just to stop me putting any violent thoughts into practice.