September 2007 Archives

As Tammy and I joined the throng of tourists crawling the Las Vegas strip one night last week, we got separated. That’s because T’s camera is a natural extension of her hand, and when something strikes her, she lags behind to capture it. I usually push ahead, and she catches up with me.

I was crossing the street when someone started to push me. I automatically took my hands off my wheels, relinquishing control, but only for a second. Because almost immediately I realized that it was a stranger who was pushing me around.

Before I could twist in my seat to double check, I heard T descend.

“HEY!” she said, glaring down at the little Chinese man gripping my handlebars. “Let go of her. NOW!”

My pusher gave her a trembling look, let me go, and scurried ahead of us, discussing the situation in a harried, high-pitched tone with his travel companions.

“I think he’s scared of me,” T said, as he glanced warily over his shoulder at us and walked a little faster.

I smirked.

“I think he should be.”

“You want a push?” she asked.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

The lesson here? Never come up behind a person in a wheelchair and start to push them without asking their permission. It can be scary to have a stranger I can’t see take control, even if they’re just trying to help. My wheelchair is an extension of my body, so giving me a shove without asking first is essentially the same thing as randomly taking T’s camera out of her hands and snapping a few shots of your own because it sounds like a good idea. Something tells me she wouldn’t like that.

Ulterior Epicure (UE) sent me this New York Times article by Frank Bruni that discusses how accessibility can alter dining experiences for people with disabilities in New York restaurants. Bruni convincingly argues that sometimes accessibility solutions, like lifts with keys and accessible restrooms in a building next door, are so inconvenient they are discriminating. He concludes that even though accessibility is there, customers with disabilities aren’t treated as well as able-bodied customers because something as simple as getting into the restaurant to eat isn’t as easy as it should be.

The challenges mentioned in the article are common and translate nationwide. I’ve faced similar situations in Chicago. The funny thing is, I never think of my dining experiences as being different from anyone else’s. I took the freight elevator to the second floor of Dragonfly the other night, and as I navigated through the kitchen and around the cleaning supplies, I didn’t think about how I was missing out on the look and feel of the restaurant. I didn’t feel like I was being discriminated against. I was just pleased that there was an elevator.

When I explained this to UE he said: “Of course you don’t think about it like that. But aren’t you glad other people do?”

In this disability blog carnival entry, I’m supposed to write about my reaction to the phrase “simply the best.” Honestly, ever since I read the topic, Tina Turner has been singing “you’re simply the best” in my mind.

But tacky ‘80s lyrics aside, there’s something to be said for understanding what it takes to simply be your best when you have a disability.

For example:

• Going to college was not an option for me. It was mandatory because I wheel into a room. I think it’s true to say that most people need a college education these days to get the type of job they want, but it was doubly important in my case. To be my best I need good credentials.

• On a snowy day taking a cab is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. To be my best I have to be able to afford accessibility.

• A lot of the time doing simple everyday things takes me twice as long as an able-bodied person. To be my best I accept that, determine what’s really important, try to make good choices, and sometimes miss out on sleep to keep up.

• I’m lucky to have a wonderful family that always encouraged me to do my best and never let me use my disability as an excuse. To be my best I need and have family and friends who challenge me, support me, tease me, and keep me honest.
  

Take a look at more "simply the best" blog entries.

A woman in a scooter in the drive thru line.

I've always wanted to wheel through a drive thru. It just sounds like fun. And this old lady beat me to it!

One of my coworkers took these photos with her cell phone this weekend while waiting in line at a KFC/Taco Bell. Thanks for passing them along! You never know what you'll see on the road these days.

At the window.

I saw a fantastic ad yesterday. It was for The Economist magazine. It read "Avoid the Pedestrian." I try. But it's difficult in every sense.

One of the things I like about Wrigley Field is that bars with rooftop decks surround it. The only things surrounding newer ballparks are parking lots, and as functional they are, asphalt and neon lighting is far from charming. I like that the home of the Cubs is nestled in a neighborhood, and that you can watch the game and have a beer without having to buy a ticket.

I’ve never been on a Wrigley rooftop myself as much as I like the thought of them. Apparently, there is one rooftop bar with an elevator. And I intend to find it one of these days. Until then, I hear that another rooftop bar is working around accessibility in a “creative” way.

“You’ll never believe it!” Caryn reported to me last week in a voicemail message. “I was just at a Wrigley rooftop party and the place had a beautiful accessible restroom. So I went and asked the owner where the elevator was. He told me the only elevator was to ‘elevate’ one foot above the other on the stairs!”

I truly appreciate Caryn’s outrage on my behalf. But I’m not remotely surprised or outraged. Such places are rarely accessible. And that accessible restroom? It’s probably the owner’s way of complying with ADA without having to remodel his entire place. I’m not saying it’s right, just that the law has loopholes in it the size of Texas.

And I’m sure the bars on the wall in the restroom come in handy for tipsy customers trying to take care of business!

For now, I content myself with the thought of finding the one rooftop bar with an elevator. Hopefully it’s not an urban myth.

Three Cabs
Originally uploaded by Zesmerelda

I’m back in Chicago after a simply spectacular trip to New York City. Here are some of my observations about accessibility:

• The Greyline double decker buses, which leave primarily from Times Square but stop all over the city, are wheelchair accessible. The buses have fold-out ramps and wheelchair spots on the first level. The stairs to the upper level are not overly steep and are equipped with nice handrails. If you can make the climb it is well worth the effort. For the most part, the Greyline staff is very accommodating if a little pushy with their sales pitch and completely oblivious at times. One of our tour guides completely ignored me when I got on the bus, and he missed my trek upstairs. So when T and I made our exit in the East Village, he was surprised that I “was the one in the wheelchair.” He said: “You don’t look like a girl who uses a wheelchair.” Humm. What exactly does that mean? I’m still baffled.

• SoHo wasn’t as inaccessible as T and I remembered. I think that’s because we knew what to expect this time. The killer curbs are still there. It’s just good to know about them in advance.

• New York is old, and that really does make a difference when it comes to things like architecture and curb cuts. The hotel room we had was very workable, but since the building was so old, the bathroom layout wasn’t ideal. Curb cuts are everywhere, but there is no guarantee that they will be on both sides of the street. And curb cuts are not well maintained even in high traffic areas. So it’s a bumpy ride. A very worthwhile one, but bumpy nonetheless.

• I didn’t double check accessibility at any of the restaurants we went to, and the staff at each place bent over backwards to make access as easy as possible. I was impressed. Having said that though, I can’t imagine getting around easily in an electric wheelchair in Manhattan. Spaces are narrow, and accessibility often means a piece of plywood over a flight of stairs.

• Living in New York is expensive, and it would be especially expensive for someone with a disability. I didn’t see one accessible subway station. Cabs would likely be the quickest and most efficient way to get around. It was hard to gauge the bus situation on a holiday weekend. My guess is that for someone with a disability to live comfortably in the city, they’d have to live and work in the same neighborhood, and chances are the more affluent neighborhoods are more accessible. Anybody reading this live in New York? I’d like to hear your take.