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Disability Bitch
Disability Bitch hates other disabled people again
6th August 2009
Readers, in case you hadn't noticed, it's August. Traditionally in August, the entire population of the UK flees the country for warmer climes. I am no exception. Yes, I am on holiday. I'm telling you this now in case some major cripple-based story breaks this week and you wonder why on earth I'm not covering it. I'm not covering it, readers, because I don't care. I'm on a beach, or at least I will be by the time you read this, and that, people, is the only news I'm interested in right now.
To be truthful, I'm at the airport, staring at my pasty-faced passport photo, imagining just how sun-kissed I will get in the weeks to come. I was in rapture. And then I started getting backache. I should explain that as I write this, I'm standing in the airport check-in queue. If you're thinking it's impressive that I have time to pen this column at all in such a situation, you should know that I've been standing here for about five hours straight. The bloke in front of me is letting me lean on his back. He says it gives him something to do. He also lent me his Blackberry, on which I'm writing this.
Much as I love going on holiday, I HATE QUEUING, and the check in queue is easily one of the worst queues I encounter in an average year.
It's pretty darn obvious that I would hate queuing: as a bipedal I'm rubbish at walking and even worse at standing still. It's a stamina issue. Even leaning on a walking stick, I can only manage about two minutes in line before that familiar twinge hits my spinal muscles. Five minutes later I'll be shifting from foot to foot and necking anti-inflammatories as if they were Smarties. After ten minutes, I'm in so much agony I have to give up and throw myself on the ground, even if that ground has been recently trampled by a herd of elephants with bowel control issues.
But that, readers, is not the source of my anger. After all, no one likes queuing, not even the Normals. No, the cause of my wrath in this matter is OTHER DISABLED PEOPLE.
Specifically, I hate those handicappers who look more disabled than me. All of them. Yes.
Much as I love going on holiday, I HATE QUEUING, and the check in queue is easily one of the worst queues I encounter in an average year.
It's pretty darn obvious that I would hate queuing: as a bipedal I'm rubbish at walking and even worse at standing still. It's a stamina issue. Even leaning on a walking stick, I can only manage about two minutes in line before that familiar twinge hits my spinal muscles. Five minutes later I'll be shifting from foot to foot and necking anti-inflammatories as if they were Smarties. After ten minutes, I'm in so much agony I have to give up and throw myself on the ground, even if that ground has been recently trampled by a herd of elephants with bowel control issues.
But that, readers, is not the source of my anger. After all, no one likes queuing, not even the Normals. No, the cause of my wrath in this matter is OTHER DISABLED PEOPLE.
Specifically, I hate those handicappers who look more disabled than me. All of them. Yes.
A wheelchair just like the ones that have people sitting in them
You see, I like to think I'm an honest cripple. I haven't got one of these awkward 'hidden impairments'. You know the ones, as sported by people who bound up to you when you're sitting in the priority seat, fit, toned, muscular, looking for all the world like they've just cartwheeled off an Olympic training track and are wanting to empathise with you because they're also disabled. "Oh really," you say, privately thinking, "Give me a clue then, or even better, wear a sign".
My disability is nice and obvious: I walk like a freak and wield a stick when I'm out and about. It serves the same purpose as having the word CRIPPLE tattooed across my forehead but, oddly, is a little easier to deal with.
When positioned in the middle of a large crowded queue, it would seem my disability becomes less noticeable. At least, for the last five hours, every time a wheelchair user has appeared in the same queue that I'm standing in, they've been merrily waved through into some kind of special magic 'priority' queue while I remain here. They disappear through a door in a matter of minutes never to be seen again.
Either this is some secret government euthanasia programme or they are teleporting onto their aeroplanes without so much as a "did you pack these bags yourself, madam"?
My disability is nice and obvious: I walk like a freak and wield a stick when I'm out and about. It serves the same purpose as having the word CRIPPLE tattooed across my forehead but, oddly, is a little easier to deal with.
When positioned in the middle of a large crowded queue, it would seem my disability becomes less noticeable. At least, for the last five hours, every time a wheelchair user has appeared in the same queue that I'm standing in, they've been merrily waved through into some kind of special magic 'priority' queue while I remain here. They disappear through a door in a matter of minutes never to be seen again.
Either this is some secret government euthanasia programme or they are teleporting onto their aeroplanes without so much as a "did you pack these bags yourself, madam"?
Readers, I've got a question: why do wheelchair users need to jump queues? (I bet they've never heard that one before - Ed) After all, these are people who bring their own seats with them to any event they attend, even events at which seats are not traditionally provided. That's sort of the point. If there was an international standing upright convention, every single wheelchair user I know would take their wheelchair with them. You'd think they could wait in the queue with the rest of the world, sitting in their nice, comfortable chair, enjoying the texture of their custom made ergonomic cushion, maybe reading a book, filling in some puzzles, or having conversations on their mobile phone. But no, they always get to queue-jump.
Yes, yes, I know. Some wheelchair users have limited stamina too. That's fine. I don't mind those ones being waved through. It's just that in every queue I've ever been in, every wheelchair user who shows up gets waved through priority boarding no questions asked. I, meanwhile, find myself begging pathetically to anyone who looks even vaguely official, rolling up my trouser legs to reveal operation scars, twisting my body to ensure I look especially like a handicapper that morning and roughing up my oh-so-trendy stick so it looks a little more like I was gifted it by some NHS scheme for especially needy folk.
Sometimes it works and I get to join the priority queue. Sometimes I am asked to fill out a twenty page questionnaire detailing my medical history. Sometimes I am asked where my carer is. And sometimes, dear reader, the keepers of the queue are paying me so little attention I find it impossible to make eye contact with them, and they only notice I might need help when several of my fellow queuers are dialling emergency services because I've just collapsed on the ground.
I've had enough. I'm not queuing anymore. I've got a solution, though. Next time I spot a wheelie entering the building, I'm going to grab the handles of their chair and claim to be their carer, making patronising comments about them as I do so. It's a sure-fire method of getting into the priority boarding club.
I'm hoping this little trick will also get me upgraded to first class.
Yes, yes, I know. Some wheelchair users have limited stamina too. That's fine. I don't mind those ones being waved through. It's just that in every queue I've ever been in, every wheelchair user who shows up gets waved through priority boarding no questions asked. I, meanwhile, find myself begging pathetically to anyone who looks even vaguely official, rolling up my trouser legs to reveal operation scars, twisting my body to ensure I look especially like a handicapper that morning and roughing up my oh-so-trendy stick so it looks a little more like I was gifted it by some NHS scheme for especially needy folk.
Sometimes it works and I get to join the priority queue. Sometimes I am asked to fill out a twenty page questionnaire detailing my medical history. Sometimes I am asked where my carer is. And sometimes, dear reader, the keepers of the queue are paying me so little attention I find it impossible to make eye contact with them, and they only notice I might need help when several of my fellow queuers are dialling emergency services because I've just collapsed on the ground.
I've had enough. I'm not queuing anymore. I've got a solution, though. Next time I spot a wheelie entering the building, I'm going to grab the handles of their chair and claim to be their carer, making patronising comments about them as I do so. It's a sure-fire method of getting into the priority boarding club.
I'm hoping this little trick will also get me upgraded to first class.
MillsWatch
No update on the life of our most prominent showbiz crip this week. Find your inspiration somewhere else. The Church of Heather is closed - like half of the BBC.
Get friending with Disability Bitch on Facebook. When she returns from holiday she wants to get RSI hitting the confirm button. Thanks. The Editor.
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Comments
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Oh thank heavens Bitch that you aint been spirited off to who knows where!
But then again you seem to be on route to who knows where anyway!
It sounds like you have a bad case and Pre Vacation Crabbyitis ... so the sooner you have had a good rest and stop taking it our on the rest of us the better!
... and are you able to take orders for the duty free?
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it is so easy to be bitchy standing in line. probably people who use wheelchairs in airports go ahead for two reasons: 1) to minimize the time of staff standing around behind the chair (they can be slower to wave through people with family) and 2) to maximize the amount of time airport security has to get you out of the chair, through the x-ray and back into the chair -- also gives them time to lose the battery, tag the chair for Shanghai even though you're going to France, load you onto the airplane like a sack of potatoes, and other indignities.
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I can see sds001's point with Airport queues where you have staff trailing you around. But McDonalds, really?
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From my power WC, I have often watched passengers in the airport/airline WC get whisked through the special door. Its not that they're a WC user but that their sitting in an airport/airline WC. Its to keep the staff member free to fetch another passenger to whisk through.
Lets face it, if you sitting in a WC in a crowd or through the door, you''re sitting the same 5 hours until the plane departs.
As a confirmed people watcher I rarely accept the offer to go through the special door, but am likely to accept it when the crowd is teeming . Waiting in a nice quiet line is easy when I'm sitting!
Although I will accept the offer in the bank or post office where the lines are not as regulated.
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Honey, you are such a selfish and self obsessed Bitch…probably why we love ya!
That wheelchair user who looks to be having it so easy has already run the equivalent of a marathon just to be at the damned airport and is unlikely to be lazing on the beach alongside you once you get…wherever!
Consider factoring this lot into your travel plans for EVERY trip:
• Having to book as late as possible because you never know when your next relapse will occur – so, no forward planning beyond a few weeks.
• Paying at least double for insurance for you and partner because normal insurance will not cover his cancellation for your pre-existing problems.
• Having to personally source, book and confirm all transport, hotels, equipment and some entertainment before your trip. Expect 90% failure: 10% success for every arrangement and at least 35% additional trip costs above your total base cost.
• Coping with so much blanket rejection, ‘Do you have…’ ‘No.’ ‘Would you…’ ‘No.’ ‘Is there…’ ‘No.’ It all gets very old very quickly.
• Having to pre-book cabs, for every trip you want to make whilst on holiday, from the UK before you even get there and paying at least double the price of any other cab. Spontaneity - out the window!
• Negotiating the airport ‘experience’, from car to check-in, pushing a baggage trolley and a wheelchair – one hand on each – through carpark, across roads, through door, up lifts, down lifts, through crowds of people and aisles.
• Arguing with the check-in dolly for the seats you tried to pre-book, due to your special needs, that she has reallocated to a standing plonker who ‘wants to sit at the front.’
• Trying and failing to get to a toilet as past experiences on planes and toileting…not happy!
• Laboriously explaining the transfer procedure from wheelchair to seat to the staff who are supposed to be helping you and then showing them how to do it cos it’s just easier to diy!
• Holding your bladder for up to fourteen hours on a seven hour flight – first on = LAST OFF, dontcha know?
• Finding a safe place to leave your bags and wheelchair crip whilst desperately trying to locate the cab/car that was supposed to meet you which may/may not turn up and trying to get in whatever vehicle may have turned up and to your hotel in one piece.
• Finding you have no access to toilet or bathroom facilities after 14 hours of travel AND cannot get into the bed in the room AND there is no other seat for you.
• Finding the equipment you hired is not there/broken/the wrong thing and it is 5.50pm local time – you have 10 minutes to sort it out or every trip to the loo will involve three transfers and a lot of agony.
• Managing without essential equipment, sleeping in an armchair every night, having no bath/shower access for part/whole of your stay.
• Coping with additional pain, sleeping, dependence and mobility problems because the wheelchair and bed are not your regular – with all moving parts – equipment and the promised facilities are so inadequate.
• Trying to enjoy yourself despite all of the above?
• going through it all again to get home.
Be clear - the moaning does not mean we don’t do it. We keep trying and we are, kind of, looking forward to trying more of the UK and Europe when we get a new car – and can travel with equipment! Not that we haven’t tried both before and failed abysmally but, hey, wet rooms are in vogue now and there is a disability discrimination act, no?
It just gets really hard to motivate yourself to do it and, frankly, who can be a*sed with this amount of hassle and expense? You’ve gotta really really want to go wherever…
So, next time, Bitch, that you ‘stand’ in the queue looking at me being waved through the check-in and thinking, ‘why should she go through….’ Just hold that thought…cos if there is one thing I know about disability – there’s always someone worse off than…?!!
Luckily, London is a real pleasure over summer – no children, no people, bliss – and who wants to travel when everyone else does anyway – certainly not most wheelchair users! Perhaps I’ll see you around town if your travel experience becomes as wearisome as mine. Until then, happy holidays & Salut
eLle on stiletto wheels
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Oh man, this happened to me in New York. My connecting flight was cancelled due to weather and I had to stand in a queue for hours. I couldn't even sit down because the crowding was so dense, so by the time I got to the desk I was in agony and tears. I don't think I have ever been in that much pain in my entire life, I would happily have taken a bullet.
On the bright side, the woman at the desk was incredibly sympathetic and snuck me a hotel voucher along with some meal tokens. Since the weather had caused the problems, they weren't obliged to give anyone help, but she made a sneaky exception for me. People like her need worshipping like gods, I swear.
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DB, I had a similar experience coming back from my holiday. I'm not in a wheelchair, but my mum has trouble with an ankle and it caused her bother on the plane coming back. Also the airport was a farce - incomplete and the plane was delayed due to baggage that shouldn't have been on!
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About being waved through in airports DB, I didn't ask for priority boarding but I was given early boarding because they had to strap me into a chair device in order to board the plane. I guess it is faster and easier for them to get me on without people standing in a queue behind them while toting me up the airplane stairs.
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The airlines have no clue. None of their employees are trained properly; neither are airport transfer people or hotel employees. Just suck it up at the moment, and send a well-worded complaint with the employees' names on it for every incident.
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Send a well-worded complaint with all the employees' names on it for every incident.
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