All language subtitles for CripTales.S01E06_English

♪♪

[Heart beating]

♪♪

[Dog barking in distance]

♪♪

It was when he winked at me,
I knew he had to be stopped.

I'm not a snitch,
but there comes a point,

and it's a sharp one,

when you can't ignore things
any longer.

Huh, 14:52, White Vest is back.

On the dot as usual.

Say what you like about him,
and I do,

the one thing that I can't
fault is his time keeping.

Shoot.

Shoot, for God's sake!

[Camera shutter clicks]

[Sighs]

Every day,
the same agonizing performance.

A slow, painful walk
around the block

with that stick of his.

Every afternoon, the same, hm.

At 14:54 precisely,
he limps back into his house,

pulling his trousers up
over his...

considerable backside,
as he goes.

I know a faker when I see one.

We're all meant
to be good little lambs,

tripping off to slaughter...

but it's a criminal act
we're taking about here.

I simply can't let him
get away with it.

He's back out again.

He never comes out at this time.

Shoot!

14:55, White Vest
walking with stick.

See, it's not even
touching the ground.

There's no weight on it at all,

and he's wearing a jacket
over that vest of his.

Going somewhere smart are we?

Hm, if I didn't know better,

I'd say someone was off
to meet a lady friend.

[Doorbell rings]

♪♪

He looms over me like a shadow,
on stilts,

and despite watching him
day-in, day-out,

we've hardly ever spoken.

"Alright," he says,
trying to make it sound casual.

"Yes, Mr. Giles, were you
and your stick just passing?"

"Look, I know it's a big favor,"

he says,
gripping his stick tighter,

and I wonder
if he might strike me.

"But could I borrow
your wheelchair?"

"It's broken, sorry."

This isn't a lie.

The battery's kaput,
and I haven't had the energy

to get another one.

Some days
I just can't be bothered.

Rage and fatigue
fight it out in my body,

and the fatigue wins.

Fatigue always wins.

White Vest comes
straight back with,

"No problem.

I can soon get it
fixed up for you.

What are neighbors for?"

I don't know
what to do with my face,

so I study the carpet intensely
as he barges his way in.

Well, his eyes are gleaming now.

"Had my eye
on one of these babies,

on the net for a while,"
he says.

"But then I thought, why don't Igo and see my old friend, Sue?"

"Meg" I correct him,
"but my name's Miss Davis."

Well, White Vest plays with
a bit of mucus on his finger,

as he studies my chair,
and me in it.

"Yeah, I could soon
get her fixed up,

even got a battery at home.

Just don't ask
what lorry it fell off."

I want to shout,
"Look here, Mr. Giles,

my wheelchair is not a baby.

It's functional, to get me
from one place to another."

But before I even realize
what's happened,

White Vest has literally taken
my chair from under me.

"You're a brick, Sue," he says.

"Good thing I came over,
isn't it?

Your knight in shining armor."

Bloody cheek.

"You haven't said
why you want it," I say.

"Did I not mention?"

White Vest tries
to look innocent.

"I've got my face to face
PIP assessment tomorrow,

and, well, you got to up
your game, haven't you?"

He lets the word "assessment"
fizz like a tablet dropping

in water, and, God,
I need some pain killers.

My whole body burns.

"But you don't need
a wheelchair," I say.

"Not at the moment,"
he says, dramatically.

"But in a year, who knows?

I mean, they don't know
how degenerative this condition

of mine might be."

I feel sick.

"I'll bring it back," he shouts,pushing it down the drive.

"A deal's a deal."

"Thank you," I call,
as if he's done me the favor.

Why the hell
did I say thank you?

♪♪

White Vest makes me
feel like they did

at the Assessment Center.

From the moment the X-ray eyed
receptionist smiled at me,

I knew I'd lost.

I tried so hard
to look capable, smart,

even though I felt
like an impostor.

When my letter arrived, I knewwhat it said without opening it.

Just be yourself, Meg.
Sit tall, smile.

My mother's voice
comes through, as always.

But, as I sit there,
I think of how it was

because I attended her funeral
that I lost my benefits.

I chose her over them,
and now I'm paying for it.

Of course, X-ray eyes
sees right through me,

my guilt, the fact that I felt
I didn't deserve it.

For hours the night before,

I made a listof all the things I couldn't do,

and in the morning,
I felt worthless.

I held it tightly in my hand,

but the more questions
they asked me,

the more my hand
went into spasm,

and the paper crumbled.

I crumbled.

The next day,
you-know-who is back,

zooming down the road,
running down my new battery.

"King of the Road, me,"
he shouts from the street,

like a Pit Bull with two tales.

I want to punch those
yellow teeth of his,

as he jumps nimbly
from my wheelchair.

There's not a shred
of decency in the man.

I brandish
my assessment letter at him.

"Look," I shout.

"It's so bloody unfair.

I go to them,
they give me nothing.

You go to them,
they hand it to you on a plate.

Just leave me alone."

Well, he lands
on the assessment letter

like a hungry vulture,
and for the first time,

I see a genuine light
shining in his eyes.

"You can appeal," he says.

I feel all the air go out of me
like a deflated balloon.

"It's so humiliating," I say.

"You have to fight."

White Vest grabs me
by the shoulders.

"You know your trouble,

you simply don't look
disabled enough."

My jaw hits the floor.

"You dress too smart."

"I have my pride," I shout.

He just shakes his head.

"And where's pride
ever got you?"

Without warning,
he waltzes in and starts

rummaging through
my dirty washing basket.

I desperately try to stop him,
as bras and knickers fly.

But finally, he holds up
my oldest, dirtiest blouse.

"This is the one," he says,

salivating like a huge,
horny Doberman.

"Wear this to your
next assessment,

and they'll never be able
to turn you down."

Then White Vest tips the whole
basket on to the floor,

going through it like a pig
searching for truffles.

Out come some sweat pants thatI'd wet myself in last week

and hadn't been able to wash.

"Lovely," he says,
smelling the crotch.

What White Vest
is suggesting is terrible.

I mean, horrible, wrong.

But they are my clothes
after all.

I mean, it's not exactly lying.

Stop it, Meg.
Don't even think of it.

But in that terrible moment,I just know White Vest is right.

"You need to be more disabled,"

he shouts, our daily
training session.

"I amdisabled!" I screamed
in his face, and I felt it.

"I don't think
you really want this."

I wanted to forget
I even existed.

I could feel
my old friend, fatigue,

taking over, and White Vest was
ready to take full advantage.

"Don't sit tall, slump.

Dribble a bit,
Oh, they love that.

Slump more.

More.

Look pained.

Look vacant.

Don't shake hands.

No makeup.

No sleep the night before.

Now you're the real deal.

[Chuckles]

But, most important of all,
don't speak.

I'll do all the talking."

The easiest part of White Vest'splan was the not sleeping.

By going blithely along,

had I made myself
exactly like him...

...a good little lamb
to the slaughter?

White Vest told
a pack of lies, of course.

But they believed every word

that came
from his silver tongue.

"No, Miss Davis can't
wipe her own ass.

No, Miss Davis can't
fold her own sheets.

No, Miss Davis
can't cook a meal.

Miss Davis can't stand up,sit down, or do the hokey cokey.

Don't you understand,
Miss Davis couldn't even

open the envelope
your letter arrived in?"

[Chuckles]

When we got out,
we celebrated.

Actually, we celebrated
all afternoon.

White Vest even
bought me champagne.

Okay, it's cheap
supermarket stuff,

but I'm not complaining.

When it was time
for him to go, I said,

"Mr. Giles, thank you."

And he said, "Call me Nigel."

Hm.

And then he winked at me again.

That was your mistake, Nigel.

You've made me see
things clearer

than I have done for weeks.

You've made me feel alive again.

You've reminded methat you can't get away with it,

and I am the real deal.

♪♪

[Computer whirrs]

♪♪

[Chuckles]

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