I am answering some disability-related questions for a friend's school project about the subway system. If I separate the paratransit system from the regular transit system, most of my problems are with people.
The system seems to work OK.
It is people who crowd the elevators instead of taking the stairs.
It is people who stand right near the subway doors and don't move to the center of the cars as instructed. The other night, I was waiting to get on a car and two guys just continued to stand at the door ... until I just barreled on. (That is one system problem: You can't board gently. You have to just power on to make it past the gaps and humps.)
It is also people who threaten to have their way with me and Claren, although to be fair that was just once.
The paratransit system is a special kind of evil, but the transit system is OK.
It's the people who make it rotten. (Well, except for the cute gal in the loose-fitting shirt who bent over to talk to Claren.)
Showing posts with label subway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label subway. Show all posts
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Accessibility for a--holes
Today I was reminded that public transportation is accessible to everyone ... even assholes.
I got to the subway right as the elevator arrived, rode straight down to the train. A train was waiting, so I hurried right on.
Immediately, I heard a voice say, "You're messing with my vehicle." It sounded magnified, like the conductor talking or something.
I looked around, wondering if I had hit the train with my chair but didn't see my accuser. There was one guy in the rear corner where the voice seemed to be coming from, but he was ignoring me. The rest of the train was empty until about half-way down where a few people sat.
I just sat there trying not to pay attention to what must not have been aimed at me ... at least I did until I started hearing "stupid white boy," "gonna fuck you and your bitch" and more. All punctuated with "You're messing with my vehicle."
I was not about to get off the train to make the asshole happy, so I just stared straight ahead and waited.
Finally, my stop came and I got off. The asshole stayed on. I was going to tell the station manager but he was busy and I just wanted to get out of there. I did.
I close my eyes now and am filled with hate. I hate myself for not doing anything, even if all I could do was say a fellow passenger was verbally abusive to me. I hate that I have a service dog who might lick him and play if he did try to hurt me. I wish Claren was a pitbull or German shepherd, something that could have hurt him. I hate that no one else in the train got involved, although I can't blame them. I hate that I am defenseless. I hate that I didn't even know he was yelling at me.
Mostly, though, I hate the asshole.
I got to the subway right as the elevator arrived, rode straight down to the train. A train was waiting, so I hurried right on.
Immediately, I heard a voice say, "You're messing with my vehicle." It sounded magnified, like the conductor talking or something.
I looked around, wondering if I had hit the train with my chair but didn't see my accuser. There was one guy in the rear corner where the voice seemed to be coming from, but he was ignoring me. The rest of the train was empty until about half-way down where a few people sat.
I just sat there trying not to pay attention to what must not have been aimed at me ... at least I did until I started hearing "stupid white boy," "gonna fuck you and your bitch" and more. All punctuated with "You're messing with my vehicle."
I was not about to get off the train to make the asshole happy, so I just stared straight ahead and waited.
Finally, my stop came and I got off. The asshole stayed on. I was going to tell the station manager but he was busy and I just wanted to get out of there. I did.
I close my eyes now and am filled with hate. I hate myself for not doing anything, even if all I could do was say a fellow passenger was verbally abusive to me. I hate that I have a service dog who might lick him and play if he did try to hurt me. I wish Claren was a pitbull or German shepherd, something that could have hurt him. I hate that no one else in the train got involved, although I can't blame them. I hate that I am defenseless. I hate that I didn't even know he was yelling at me.
Mostly, though, I hate the asshole.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Elevators are for me
When I needed it most, my brain blanked on my brother-in-law's cutting comeback when walking people fill up the elevator and don't let me on.
He suggested I say loudly: "Oh, I'll just take the escalator. Oh, wait, that's right, I can't because I'm in a wheelchair."
The stage was set on Friday when I got to the elevator at the West Falls Church metro. I got off the train and wheeled to the elevator just as it filled up with people who walk.
The two people right at the elevator doors squirmed a bit when they saw me and looked uncomfortable, but they didn't get off.
I started to say, "I'll just get the next one." But then I thought, why let these jerks off the hook; they should feel uncomfortable.
Instead as the doors were closing, I shouted, "THE ELEVATORS ARE FOR ME."
Now, I have a quiet voice, and normally when I say I shouted, I imagine most people do not hear me. This time, though, I really yelled. I know this because a woman in the station came over and asked if I was all right.
Yes, I told her. I just don't like people not letting me on the elevator. She agreed, although it might have been just to get clear of the crazy guy.
It was a rotten start to the weekend, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it felt good.
He suggested I say loudly: "Oh, I'll just take the escalator. Oh, wait, that's right, I can't because I'm in a wheelchair."
The stage was set on Friday when I got to the elevator at the West Falls Church metro. I got off the train and wheeled to the elevator just as it filled up with people who walk.
The two people right at the elevator doors squirmed a bit when they saw me and looked uncomfortable, but they didn't get off.
I started to say, "I'll just get the next one." But then I thought, why let these jerks off the hook; they should feel uncomfortable.
Instead as the doors were closing, I shouted, "THE ELEVATORS ARE FOR ME."
Now, I have a quiet voice, and normally when I say I shouted, I imagine most people do not hear me. This time, though, I really yelled. I know this because a woman in the station came over and asked if I was all right.
Yes, I told her. I just don't like people not letting me on the elevator. She agreed, although it might have been just to get clear of the crazy guy.
It was a rotten start to the weekend, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it felt good.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Go, Montana, cut that disabled hunter program
Montana is trying to scale back its program for hunters with disabilities, and the disabled hunters are in favor of it.
It seems that people without disabilities are claiming a disability to get into the program, which allows hunters to use vehicle, shoot elk cow and hunt in places others can't.
The authorities say they see hunters dragging a shot elk over mountain terrain but saying they are disabled.
The program requires a doctor's certification, so the law officers do not feel qualified to question a doctor's note even when they see a person who in no way, shape or form appears disabled.
This does not surprise me. I am confident that not all those with handicapped parking permits have a disability.
I do not blame doctors, who are overworked and want to help their patients.
The problem is people who feel that they are owed everything and are entitled to bend the rules to get what they want. Not just of the disabled hunter program but with almost everything -- the economic problems, executive compensation, terrorism, etc.
Riding an elevator does not require a doctor's note, but I am certain that if it did, I would still run into situations like today.
I pulled up to a packed elevator. No one paid me any mind, so I said loudly: "I'm the one who's supposed to be using the elevator." Still nothing. The people at the front of the elevator just looked at me as the doors shut.
Part of me wants this sort of person to become the prey of a disabled-hunter program. But that would be like snapping the rules in half. So I guess they get away with it. Jerks!
It seems that people without disabilities are claiming a disability to get into the program, which allows hunters to use vehicle, shoot elk cow and hunt in places others can't.
The authorities say they see hunters dragging a shot elk over mountain terrain but saying they are disabled.
The program requires a doctor's certification, so the law officers do not feel qualified to question a doctor's note even when they see a person who in no way, shape or form appears disabled.
This does not surprise me. I am confident that not all those with handicapped parking permits have a disability.
I do not blame doctors, who are overworked and want to help their patients.
The problem is people who feel that they are owed everything and are entitled to bend the rules to get what they want. Not just of the disabled hunter program but with almost everything -- the economic problems, executive compensation, terrorism, etc.
Riding an elevator does not require a doctor's note, but I am certain that if it did, I would still run into situations like today.
I pulled up to a packed elevator. No one paid me any mind, so I said loudly: "I'm the one who's supposed to be using the elevator." Still nothing. The people at the front of the elevator just looked at me as the doors shut.
Part of me wants this sort of person to become the prey of a disabled-hunter program. But that would be like snapping the rules in half. So I guess they get away with it. Jerks!
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Saved by a tooth
I suspect it is because I am tired, but the commute home holds innumerable ways to really piss me off.
There are the walkers who use elevators and crowd me in. Granted, one or two could have an invisible disability, but most of them are just lazy jerks.
I missed the train I normally ride, maybe because I left work a little late or maybe because people held up the elevator.
Then I missed the next train. No, I didn't miss it; I couldn't get on. Not because there was no room, but because instead of moving to the center of the car as they are supposed to do, most people congregate round the doors -- you know, the space for wheelchairs.
I honestly don't get this very popular move. It saves maybe 10 seconds. There us more space, for wheelchairs, strollers or people who need it. And needing to stretch out and read your Kindle is not an acceptable need.
I finally got the next train and got out to the parking lot where Mom was waiting. I couldn't get to her, though, because this numb-nuts blocked the ramp with their truck. Then they stopped and stared and pointed at Claren, instead of moving the F--- out of the way.
This pissed-off mood continued until my 8-year-old niece came down out of bed, worried she had cracked her loose tooth. She was reassured and went to bed for 15 seconds before coming back to say she pulled the tooth out. On the way downstairs, though, she lost the tooth.
It all cracked me up.
There are the walkers who use elevators and crowd me in. Granted, one or two could have an invisible disability, but most of them are just lazy jerks.
I missed the train I normally ride, maybe because I left work a little late or maybe because people held up the elevator.
Then I missed the next train. No, I didn't miss it; I couldn't get on. Not because there was no room, but because instead of moving to the center of the car as they are supposed to do, most people congregate round the doors -- you know, the space for wheelchairs.
I honestly don't get this very popular move. It saves maybe 10 seconds. There us more space, for wheelchairs, strollers or people who need it. And needing to stretch out and read your Kindle is not an acceptable need.
I finally got the next train and got out to the parking lot where Mom was waiting. I couldn't get to her, though, because this numb-nuts blocked the ramp with their truck. Then they stopped and stared and pointed at Claren, instead of moving the F--- out of the way.
This pissed-off mood continued until my 8-year-old niece came down out of bed, worried she had cracked her loose tooth. She was reassured and went to bed for 15 seconds before coming back to say she pulled the tooth out. On the way downstairs, though, she lost the tooth.
It all cracked me up.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
I should have got off at East Falls Church
I think we have established that subway elevators are bitches.
Apparently the warnings about elevator outages suck, too. Their suckiness turned my half-hour commute into a miserable two-hour slog.
I checked my text alerts on the way home. It said the elevator going the other way was out at the West Falls Church station. There was a running announcement on the train, but I suspect even hearing people find it challenging to decipher train talk. I stuck with the text alert, and it didn't mention any issues, so I stayed on the train...
And got to West Falls Church to find the elevator I needed out of order, in addition to the one for trains going the other way.
A kind woman got the station manager for me after she took a picture of Claren. He told me that the elevator was out.
I called Dad and explained the situation, and he said he;d meet me at the next stop. I went to the next stop and waited. But he went to the next next stop, so eventually I got on the train again and went to the next stop, met Dad and got home.
What I did learn, other than to never trust the texts, was that the elevators that are painfully out of the way are -- shickingly -- unused.
Apparently the warnings about elevator outages suck, too. Their suckiness turned my half-hour commute into a miserable two-hour slog.
I checked my text alerts on the way home. It said the elevator going the other way was out at the West Falls Church station. There was a running announcement on the train, but I suspect even hearing people find it challenging to decipher train talk. I stuck with the text alert, and it didn't mention any issues, so I stayed on the train...
And got to West Falls Church to find the elevator I needed out of order, in addition to the one for trains going the other way.
A kind woman got the station manager for me after she took a picture of Claren. He told me that the elevator was out.
I called Dad and explained the situation, and he said he;d meet me at the next stop. I went to the next stop and waited. But he went to the next next stop, so eventually I got on the train again and went to the next stop, met Dad and got home.
What I did learn, other than to never trust the texts, was that the elevators that are painfully out of the way are -- shickingly -- unused.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Cursing on an elevator
I am sure the subway elevators have security cameras, but I hope they do not record sounds because if they do, someone may have heard words I don't normally use.
In my defense, total idiots were involved.
I got to the elevator in time to see it heading up, with, I assume, people who could walk. But it came back fast enough and I got on.
Then a woman who appeared to have difficulty walking. Then two people who did not appear in need of an elevator. Then to our full elevator car, a fifth chuckle-head squeezed in.
When we got to the upper level, they shot off, leaving me to get out of the far back of the elevator, where I had been jammed. I did not get to the doors before they shut and the elevator headed down again.
That triggered the blue streak.
In my defense, total idiots were involved.
I got to the elevator in time to see it heading up, with, I assume, people who could walk. But it came back fast enough and I got on.
Then a woman who appeared to have difficulty walking. Then two people who did not appear in need of an elevator. Then to our full elevator car, a fifth chuckle-head squeezed in.
When we got to the upper level, they shot off, leaving me to get out of the far back of the elevator, where I had been jammed. I did not get to the doors before they shut and the elevator headed down again.
That triggered the blue streak.
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