Greatest Hits #1: A Typical Day (with Accessibility Barriers)

All I want is an uneventful day out...

Image Description: Author (wearing a floral blouse, tan shorts, purple glasses, and brown short hair) sits in a motorized wheelchair in front of a river view with a motor boat in the distance. On the horizon is a building, a bridge, and a cloudy sky.

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Dearest Readers: Thanks so much for your support and rolling on this journey with me! Today’s re-published article is the top viewed piece from my first year of Rolling With It and also happens to be my very first one! Hope you enjoyed re-visiting these newsletter issues with me. See you in September for brand new content and stories! Warmly, Kelly

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For many folks a typical Saturday may involve going to a movie, having dinner, then stopping for ice cream on the way home. Sounds average and maybe a bit boring, doesn’t it? Honestly, I strive for boring because it seems I cannot have a typical day without encountering multiple accessibility barriers while rolling in my wheelchair.

It started when my husband (Richard) and I arrived at the movie theater. The door to the ramped entrance was locked and there was no method for me to enter. So, Richard had to climb up the staircase to go in and find someone to help. A few minutes later he returned saying he was told a manager was on the way. We waited by the unlocked door out in the hot sun for several more minutes. Realizing we were running out of time and were in danger of being late for the movie, I asked him to go in and prod again. He did and someone came with the key to unlock the door to the ramp.

Image Description: Six wide stone stairs lead up to the AMC movie theater with a series of metal railings about eight feet apart.

I was angry and I said so. I asked if the door was always kept locked. The theater agent apologized and said usually it was locked only when the theater was closed. The implication was that someone forgot to unlock the door to the ramp when the theater opened, but for how long. Had it been locked for months? I asked what would I have done if I had been alone and couldn’t have someone go up the stairs for me? He shrugged. Perhaps the biggest question: why keep a ramp locked behind a door? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?

After the movie we went towards the area of the restaurant where I had booked dinner on an outdoor patio overlooking a riverfront. We were early, so we strolled along the water watching boaters and enjoying the lovely view. As I gazed across the plaza to the restaurant entrance I became worried because the pathway only had stairs—no ramps. I called up the restaurant to inquire about accessible directions, but the person who answered had no idea. At the same time, Richard asked for accessible directions from a waiter working at a neighboring restaurant. While the path was complicated and we never would have found it by ourselves, we eventually made it (around the building, through an alley, inside to an elevator, down to a parking garage, out a door, and down another ramp—how is that for straightforward accessibility?) and enjoyed a nice dinner.

Image Description: My intrepid husband Richard (wearing a blue polo short, khaki shorts, dark-rimmed glasses, and short grey hair) enjoying the view on the waterfront.

A friend had recently recommended an ice cream shop that I wanted to try out nearby before going home. When we arrived we saw the front entrance had a step up. But there was an access sign posted with an arrow that we followed down the block. We pressed the door opening button and nothing happened. Richard pulled the handle and it was locked. Through the window it appeared the accessible door entrance was completely blocked by a refrigerator. After a long wait, an employee came out and said the accessible entrance was “closed due to construction” (of which there were no indications), but that he could help me. I gave him my order and Richard went with him to pay and bring it back out for me.

Image Description: Step up to the front entrance of an ice cream shop. A small sign with a wheelchair symbol indicates an accessible entrance is available down the block, which it was not.

Here was a typical day—where every place I tried to go had unnecessary (and illegal) accessibility barriers. It made me angry that I needed assistance, that my husband (who was trying to have a fun day out with me) had to do so much work to ensure I was included in a boring, average day out. While we had fun, it was in spite of all the hoops we had to jump through and extra energy spent problem solving. 

I came away feeling so repulsed and excluded by the world. It appeared to be negligence and not purposeful, but when does negligence actually become purposeful? When a door to a ramp is left locked. When a plaza has only stairs where there is plenty of room for a ramp. When the accessible door is blocked by placement of a refrigerator. 

An entire day out in my city and I didn’t see a single other person in a wheelchair. I know it’s not because they don’t exist (coming soon: commentary on the estimated 25% of the U.S. population with disabilities). It may seem inconsequential, but to me it is a sign. As a society, we have given up on pushing for accessibility. As a disabled person, it has become too exhausting to fight for it at literally every place we go. We need other people to take notice, to fight these battles, and to break down the barriers that continue to exclude.

I just want to be an average person experiencing a boring day out. Is that too much to ask?

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