Before I was part-time cripple, I studied disabilities studies. This meant I suddenly saw the world through the lens of someone living with a disability, most notably, a physical disability. I began to notice the little tiny lips on curves. The single step up that was only three inches, to get access to a store.. how if you needed to get inside with a wheelchair you’d have to use the “back” entrance and best of luck weaving through the kitchen to get to the front concierge. I also noticed that annually, as the snow fell in New England, so too did it seem the public works people would forget that people with mobility issues exist in the world. Snow would fall, plows would push, and suddenly the “premier” parking spots would be a fantastic spot to pile the access snow. I mean really, no one used those spots anyways, so let’s not inconvenience and reduce the “other” spots…
So I use to complain. I’d tell the school secretary, “Hey, could you call downtown and tell them those spots shouldn’t hold all the snow? Someone might need them.” And every year she would and the public works people would complain, “Well where do you want us to put it?” and every year, they’d find the opposite end of the parking lot worked just fine and no one complained. It took three years of this before they didn’t need a reminder.
Then I switched schools.
By then, I was also part-time cripple.
So today, as I parked in my normal spot, because I was walking, I thought, hum, I wonder if I should park in handicap seeing how I’ve already busted my knees this week falling outside… but, no, because I saw the two spots in our lot. (See photo). Someone else might really need it today and I don’t want to take their spot when I’m largely mobile. I’ll just walk carefully.
And so I passed by, got into my office, looked out the window at the two spots. Got mad. Walked back outside and took the picture. Sent it to my friend who worked down town. That friend has power. Within thirty minutes the public works plow cleared the spot, shoveled the edges and put down salt in the spot.
I could’ve called them. I could’ve had my boss call them. Last month I made them fix the handicap button after I had to wrestle it while in Carmen Sandiego (my wheelchair). I was mad. I was tired. I was frustrated and I didn’t care “what” impression I was giving them when I explained the purpose of a handicap button was to actually work when someone needed to open the heavy door. And they were polite, fast at responding and fixed it immediately. This particular morning, I was glad my friend took up the charge.