Possumblog

So, what's this about being cruel to the disabled?!

Well, you KNOW how I am. Kicking crutches out from under invalids and such. I suppose my life of insensitivity to the suffering of others was bound to catch up with me.

I have thought about what happened yesterday and have tried my best to let it perk and distill and clarify so that I can recall it without dipping into churlish defensiveness and my vast hidden store of invective. However, I found there was no way I could recall it without once again becoming rather annoyed at the poor, poor Victim-Americans out there.

SO, if you don’t like it when I get all mean to stupid people, or think that somehow stupid people should get a pass if they’re handicapped, or would just rather go do something else rather than read a tiresome screed of little global importance, please keep clicking around up in the blogroll upstairs for some other diversions.

For the rest of you, buckle up...

5:20 p.m. Downtown Birmingham Main Post Office.

I had some letters to mail, and they were in big envelopes, so I had to go inside to buy postage for them. This time of the afternoon, the place is busy with folks on the way home doing the exact same thing, so the parking lot does get sorta busy. There was a line waiting all the way out into the driveway. Finally got up the little hill and started looking for a place, following a gold-colored late model Chrysler minivan.

The van pulled into a place up ahead, and I thought it had grabbed the only empty space on that side, right there at the building sidewalk. But, then I noticed that it had pulled into a handicapped space, and there was one regular space just to the right that was empty. Sweet!

Pulled in, and heard a horn blow. Couldn’t tell where it was coming from, of course, because I was still in the van. Opened the door, and heard it again, this time noting that it was coming from the gold Chrysler. I looked in and saw a woman in the driver’s seat, and just then the sliding door started opening and I saw she had a ramp van. The horn continued to blow--sporadically. Was she trying to get my attention? I walked up, then back a bit and looked in the passenger side window--“Me? Hello, did you need me?” I pantomimed and pointed to myself--“Ma’am, are you blowing at me?” She never would look my way. Just kept that horn blowing, and I figured that it wasn’t me she was trying to signal, but maybe it was a warning for the ramp coming down. I stood there another moment, and decided she didn’t want me for anything. I walked in, and the horn blew some more.

Went to the scale and started the process of weighing each envelope and buying a 60 cent “stamp” for each. Stamp? Almost as big as the darned envelope! All the while, the horn outside was blowing--HONK. HONNNNK. HONK. HONKHONK HONK. HONK. I wondered what in the world she could be doing out there. I continued to weigh and buy and push buttons at the self-serve station when I noticed in my peripheral vision that there was as woman in a wheelchair behind me. I tried to hurry up a bit so I could get out of the way so she could have her turn, but the whole process with these machines isn’t quite as intuitive as it should be.

“Sir? Sir?!”

I turned to my right, “Yes ma’am?”

“Sir, you parked too close to my van. I couldn’t use my wheelchair ramp.”

“Oh, well, I’m very sorry, ma’am--I tried to get your attention--that’s why I was standing there at your window and asking you if you needed--”

“Well, you parked too close to me. But I don’t suppose you really care about the difficulties of disabled people.” Said as she turned and rolled off. “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I didn’t realize I was in the way.” She never looked back or acknowledged what I was saying.

::sigh::

I turned and went back to my stamping, because, you know, what could I do? I’m not going to create a scene in the post office with some wheelchair lady. I apologized for a slight I had not tried to cause, and for one that I had tried to remedy as best I could at the time.

Afterwards, as I have run this back and forth through my mind, I have tried my best to put myself in her situation, and to think how I might have reacted.

Which is why this little episode just burnt me up.

Let me say this to you, woman--you might have a bit of learning to do yourself.

You see, just because YOU are in a wheelchair, doesn’t mean YOU are the top dog when it comes to empathy for the disabled. You have no right to sit there and think that because the person standing there at the stamp machine pissed you off, that your disability automatically makes you right. Think about this--with the advances made in prosthetics, that chubby guy at the stamp machine MIGHT have had two artificial legs. I know I’ve seen people walking around and you’d never know they had prosthetics. I could have been one of those people. So maybe you should hold your tongue about such things.

And you probably didn’t realize that the person you were talking to was “disabled” in the past. Yes, back in the bad old politically-incorrect days when crippled children were called “crippled children.” I had to wear a rigid leg brace and a built-up shoe for four years--from 1st grade to 4th grade--back when there were no such things as special seating for the disabled, or nice low ramps, and back when some people would wonder out loud if you might be some sort of mentally retarded child. I did recover, I can walk now, but it’s not like you could ever say I don’t know what it’s like. I do. And of course, now that I have hypertension, you know, if I felt like it, I could get my doctor to sign the form so I could get a handicapped sticker for my cars and park in the same parking spaces you use. But I don’t want to.

More sensitivity? Well, you also probably never stopped to think what that mean old fat guy does for a living. See, although I’m a lazy bureaucrat now, when I was on the private side, one of my areas of expertise was working to retrofit buildings to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. Personally, I think the ideas of universal accessibility make good business sense (despite thinking that making the tenets of that philosophy a civil rights law was a very bad idea), and doing all that work gave me an appreciation not just for making things accessible for persons using wheelchairs, but also accessible for a whole range of physical disabilities.

And it’s not like I just did one or two buildings.

No, I did a bunch.

Including United States Postal Facilities throughout Alabama.

Including the Main Post Office building in downtown Birmingham.

Yep--that automatic door, those curb ramps, those low thresholds, and indeed, those four parking spaces delineated outside for handicapped access--I drew those up. And guess what, dear lady--there was a parking space SPECIFICALLY DESIGNATED for van parking just on the other side of the required 8-foot-wide loading space from the parking spot you chose. You see, most wheelchair-bound people who drive ramp vans KNOW to use the van space, because it is INTENDED to give you sufficient maneuvering room on the passenger side so you can get your chair in and out with no problems. That you chose to use the wrong space is NOT my fault.

And let’s get something straight, here, toots. I didn’t park too close to you. I parked in a legal parking space that just happened to be next to a handicapped space.

Now, you might not think that’s right, and you might not appreciate that when I went outside after all this was over with and noted that my van was further away from the line on your side than it was on the passenger side, but let’s be perfectly clear--I could have parked ALL THE WAY UP TO THE LINE IF I WANTED TO. That whole entire space belongs to one car, and that’s just the way it is.

As it was (and as it always is) I tried to park centered in the space--it’s just a lot easier that way. But I parked where I was supposed to. Why didn’t you? And hey, I’m sorry you had to back up a bit and pull over to the left--I’m sorry because again, you seem too dense to understand the purpose of the VAN ACCESSIBLE SPACE designation.

So, to recap--you parked in the wrong space. The fact that someone dared to park in a space beside you--DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT CAUSED YOU INCONVENIENCE--is no indication that that person is insensitive to your needs, or to the needs of the larger community of differently-abled persons. Quit wallowing in your self-pity. You want to live as part of the mainstream community? Fine, quit blaming others for your own ineptitude. Quit playing the victim/oppressor game. Quit assigning guilt to those who honestly meant you no harm. And lay off that danged horn.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at June 16, 2005 12:46 PM