Original subtitles

Do you need help?

I can go get my parents for you.

Nope.

I'm fine.

Hey, you're walking funny.

You need to go to the hospital, mister.

That's not from my fall.

I have a thing.

It's called cerebral palsy.

What's that?

Cerebral palsy is a disability resulting from damage to the brain

before, during, or shortly after birth,

and outwardly manifested through muscular incoordination.

The kid screamed at me.

Usually when I tell people I have CP they're just like,

"Gross," and then they're Gone Girl.

People don't really understand your disability.

It looks different on everybody.

Simon says straighten.

That ass is everything to me.

Hey, hey, focus.

Yeah.

Save that for Grindr.

I love that you think I have enough self-esteem to be on Grindr.

What would my profile even say?

"I'm gay and disabled.

But I promise not to drool on you until the third date."

There are plenty of drool fetishists out there.

Flex your foot.

I'm so fucking jealous of Bob.

Hey!

Ryan...

Bob has to use a catheter to pee.

I know, I just...

It must be freeing to be...

so disabled.

Sometimes I feel like having a mild case is like being biracial.

You're saying, like, 15 different offensive things right now.

I'm just saying I'm in limbo, okay? It's like...

I'm not able-bodied enough to be hanging in the mainstream world,

but I'm not disabled enough to be hanging out with the cool PT crowd.

At least Bob knows where he belongs.

I hear ya.

But you need to hear me.

You're lucky.

You're privileged.

You need to get over it.

Trust me.

I want to.

But it's hard out here for a gimp.

♪ It takes a long time ♪

♪ To find a love that feels so magic ♪

♪ So have a good time ♪

♪ Because the world can be so tragic ♪

♪ You will realize ♪

♪ You will realize ♪

♪ You will realize ♪

♪ You will realize ♪

♪ It takes a long damn time ♪

♪ It takes a long damn time... ♪

- Oh, shit. - Oh, my God!

Oh, my God! You're bleeding!

What is...

Are you okay?

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

This is not the way you want to look for the first day of your internship.

Don't you just want to stay home with me instead?

No, I'm not bailing on Eggwoke.

Who even reads that site?

It's just... It's a bunch of silly articles.

It's not silly, okay.

It's brilliant, millennial, LOLzy satire.

And it's a big deal.

It's unpaid.

Rude!

I'm sorry. I just...

I've just been a bit worried about you since the accident.

Mom, I fractured an elbow, okay?

As far as car accidents go, it was pretty chill.

Yeah... What about your CP?

Because they're gonna ask you to do these difficult things,

like... like faxing and printing.

Yeah, well, thank God no one's faxed since the '90s.

Here.

Mom, it's time for me to challenge myself.

Be more of an independent woman.

I mean, imagine if I had died when that car hit me.

No, I'm not going there.

I'm just saying, my obituary would've been Bleak Lively, okay?

I'm 28 years old and...

I haven't done a goddamn thing.

I just...

love you so much!

Okay.

I love you.

Okay, you guys, listen up.

I need viral content now.

Samantha, remember when you told everyone

about the unexpected orgasm you had during your abortion?

Um... Actually that was just to you

and it was in complete confidence.

Oh, my God.

Oops?

Um... Okay, well, now that I've freed you from the shame of your secret,

can you, like...

Can you write about it? Or...

Sorry, hun. Cedar-Sinai's around the corner.

This is, uh, Eggwoke, right?

I'm Ryan.

The intern.

Sit.

Excuse me.

All right.

Give me a story pitch.

Oh. Already?

Okay.

How about...

um...

this.

"Local depressed barista

found living in the Mason jar."

You know, like the hipster version.

Of The Bell Jar.

Sad.

I'm putting you on mail duty.

- Listen, Cheyenne. - Ryan.

Eggwoke is undergoing a little creative face-lift right now.

So, the humor pieces were cute,

but they didn't resonate with a larger audience of basics.

So instead we've started publishing confessional essays,

like "50 Ways to Hate Myself,"

or "Why Do I Keep Finding Things Inside My Vagina?"

So, does anyone else have anything we can write about?

Kim, hun, can you just write another post about loving your curves or whatever?

Anything for you, Olivia.

Okay, everyone,

pay attention and get jealous of Kim.

Her posts always have the most traffic. And why?

Oh, because I'm a talented, badass bitch

who's changing the way we talk about women's bodies.

And don't you forget it, hun.

Back to work.

Hey, new girl.

You need some help?

Oh, I'm fine. Thank you.

Okay, well, how about we take a break and go to lunch, huh?

Like, together?

I mean, I guess you could walk five paces behind me

if you don't want the office to talk.

I'm Kim.

Hi.

I'm Ryan.

I like that shirt.

It's very picnic chic.

Thank you.

Let's go.

I'm just so confused.

I mean, I had no idea that my job depended on exposing my life

to these Marlon Randos on the internet.

Well, I haven't totally hated the new editorial vibe.

I mean, it's gross and Olivia is definitely exploiting us for pageviews.

Thanks.

Oh, did you already pay? 'Cause I can put money down.

Please.

You're an intern.

You get paid in yogurt.

Thank you.

Listen,

I know writing personal shit is scary, but it can actually be kind of healing.

It's like once you just own everything, no one can take anything away from you.

Yeah, well, I don't know.

I lease, so...

Besides, my life is...

really, really boring. Okay?

I mean,

I don't know what I'd write about.

Oh, there's things, there's always things.

Oh! I was hit by a car.

Oh, my God.

That makes sense.

So, are you okay?

Uh-huh.

Well, what happened?

Oh, it just grazed my elbow.

And then I survived.

And then it was the end.

See? Even that's boring.

Should we go? I don't want Olivia to be mad at me.

- Sure. - Okay.

Do you mind?

Oh, it's okay.

I'm sorry.

Okay, off to work.

Yeah, this actually used to be a meat factory

and now it's our office.

Did Edward Scissorhands open my mail? What is wrong with you?

I'm sorry, Olivia. I promise you I know how to open mail.

It's just, I have a...

dexterity issue.

Were you homeschooled?

Don't let her get to you.

There's a half-eaten Luna Bar where her heart should be.

I'm not. It's gonna be fine.

Okay.

Hey, Ry.

Ry, why don't you take a break?

Because you don't really need to learn how to do that.

Yes, I do.

My boss already thinks something's wrong with me

because I don't know how to do basic shit like open...

mail.

Why don't you tell her about your CP?

I'm sure she'll give you a break

and then you can focus on pitching articles.

I don't think writing a confessional essay about the time

I ditched school to play mini golf with my mom will set the internet on fire.

That was fun!

I know.

Those fucking corn dogs they sell there.

Better than they need to be.

I have an idea.

Why don't you write an article about your disability?

No.

Write about CP?

Mom, you don't get it.

My whole life, CP has been like the main course,

when really, it just needs to be like an appetizer.

Or, better yet, just taken off the menu altogether.

Your disability is part of you.

It's what makes you...

Special.

I know. And I should embrace it.

I know.

Ugh.

It's called a "receptionist," not a "deceptionist."

Stop fucking lying to me.

Hey, Olivia.

Um... Nice outfit.

I know. That's why I wore it.

Listen, I've been thinking about what it is that I can write about here

and, um, I have something.

It's very personal, but it's hard for me to...

Hold on a sec.

I owe you such a big apology for acting like a heinous bitch yesterday.

Oh. That's fine.

No.

Kim told me about you getting hit by a car,

and as a fellow victim, I'd like to offer my condolences.

God, you were hit by a car, too?

God, no.

But I could be. We all could be.

Especially Samantha.

She has zero spatial awareness.

Anyway, it all makes so much sense now.

Your inability to open mail, your sad limp.

- Oh, my limp is actually kind of... - Are you ever gonna get better?

Or is this just, like, it for you?

Yeah.

This is it for me.

All from the getting hit by a car.

Wow.

Everybody! Come hug Ryan!

He was hit by a car and now he has a weird, sad limp forever!

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

I hope you don't mind.

I couldn't just let Olivia punish you for something you couldn't do.

Kim, it's fine.

Okay.

Thank you.

Thanks so much.

Okay, that's great. That's enough. Thank you. Back to work.

You need to write about getting hit by car.

Pieces about traumatic experiences do amazing.

Absolutely.

Let the healing begin.