WeduEsdAy,
M arc L i
8, 2000
Tales from a chair...
When the J opportunity arose for a member of The Print to do an investigative piece on wheelchair accessibility
decided that I would spend one whole school week (five days) bound to a wheelchair as if I was paralysedfrom the wai
position of a wheelchair-bound individual: attending classes, meeting with professors, running errands, and even goings
_________________ SHELBI WESCOTT_________________
Feature Editor
The following is a diary chronicling my experiences, feelings
and thoughts during those five days.
DAY ONE:
8:45 a.m. -OK. I’m off. Already, five days seems like a lot,
but I suppose it’s nothing compared to someone spending his
orher whole life in a wheelchair. It isn’t until I get going down
the parking lot that I realize it would have been nice to have the
luxury of a handicap-parking sticker. My chair won’t fit through
the cars in the lot, and so I am forced to travel around the cars
in order to reach the sidewalk.
It’s a little icy this morning and I’m having trouble getting
over a bump on the sidewalk (it’s a big bump). Everytime I
push my wheel, the wheel spins, but I don’t go anywhere.
However, lam determined to make it. ..after all, I’ve only been
sitting here for five minutes.
•*
A guy walks by me and gives me an embarrassed look, but
he keeps walking. That’s fine, he was probably in too much of
a hurry to give me a little push.
11:00 a.m. - My usual seat in the front of the classroom in
Barlow 112 is not very accommodating to people in wheel
chairs, so I sit in the back of the classroom using my notebook
as a make-shift table. Maybe next class I’ll try to squeeze my
chair behind a desk in the back of the class.
DAY TWO:
9:05 a.m. - I’m late to class because it took me forever to get
out of the parking lot again. On my way to class to Barlow I
suddenly realize I’m looking down a long, steep wheelchair
ramp and it doesn’t look very inviting. A bunch of automotive
students are chatting on the couches below the ramp and I’m
faced with the realization that I have the potential to make a
fool out of myself.
I start down the ramp slowly, trying to grasp the turning
wheels with my hands to slow them down. But if s too late, I’ve
already lost control of one of the wheels and in order to keep
myself from spinning into the cement wall to my left, I let go of
the other wheel. Doing this caused my wheelchair to race out-
of-control down the ramp.
My instinct is to put out my feet to protect me from the
impact of hitting the railing down below. However, I quickly
reminded myself that if I really was paralyzed...my feet
wouldn’t help me.
Suddenly, my chair hits the wall at full-force. My body
lurches forward and I smacked my head on the blue railing. I
sat there for a moment wondering if 1 should laugh, cry or
become angry.
I heard the chatting automotive students start to snicker
and a few couldn’t control letting out loud laughs in my direc
tion. They couldn’t have known I wasn’t really wheelchair
bound? Could they have? While I decided to take the “that
was kind-of funny” approach to the whole situation, I still
couldn’t believe the gall of those students who laughed at my
expense. I would like to see them try it.
2:00 p.m.- Nature calls. This is my first time venturing into
a bathroom on campus and I don’t really know how
to... well.. .get myself from the chair to the toilet. I’m tempted
to leave the chair behind, but I decide I’m going to give it a try.
There are two bathrooms close to me. The first requires
going up “The Barlow Ramp of Death” (as I have decided to
call it), which I have no interest in doing. And the second one
is upstairs. So, I roll into the elevator and venture to the
restroom.
Right off the bat, something doesn’t go too well. This door
isn’t an automatic door,
and it is heavy and big. I"
do my best to open it
enough to squeeze
through, but it took sev->
eral times of wheeling *
forward and wheeling
back in order to make it
work.
Then, I realize that
even though the bath
room says it’s handicap-
accessible... it isn’t. I
can’t get my chair inside
the stall. I try to cram it
inside, but the whole
structure shakes and I’m
sure I terrified the other
woman using the stall
next to mine.
Finally, I give up. I
don’t have time to find ■
another bathroom, I’ve
decided I’ll wait until I
get home.
6:00 p.m. - 1 am going to Clackamas Town Center to shop
and decide to use this opportunity to see how other buildings
accommodate people in wheelchairs. It doesn’t take long to
realize that all the automatic doors at Clackamas are a luxury.
Luckily, I don’t encounter many doors on my way through the j
mall.
What I do encounter is crowded shops with no room to
maneuver. The “don’t touch” shop (as my little brother calls ?
it) is impossible, so I don’t even try. I know that it wouldn’t j
take long for me to knock something very valuable over.
Finding elevators in a few of the department stores was a
task, but people were very helpful in pointing me to the right
direction.
I am very thankful that it isn’t a busy night atthe mall. There ?'
are some moments when I can’t seem to get around people ,
and there are a few who are oblivious to me
would be even more of a nightmare if it weij
7:45 a.m. - It’s raining slightly today and
soon as I start wheeling I realize that my an
are like Jello. My classroom in Pauling seen
so far away and I choose to traverse the oil
side path through the parking lot than to«
tempt the Barlow Ramp of Death.
However, as soon as I get going I realize ti
I chose poorly; the road to Pauling that rd
behind Barlow is bumpy and uneven; there a
no sidewalks to keep me out of the way of tra
fic. A car speeds by through a mud puddle, b
it misses getting me drenched in water and di
When I reach the sidewalk entrance, leading
the back of Pauling,I’m tired, wet and emotii
ally drained.
A few people pass me, walking in the sad
direction, they can see that I’m struggling
get my wheels to turn and my frustration!
starting to show. Finally I snap...realizing th
no one is coming to help, that I’m late forn
Biology lab and my hands are frozen and cafe
with mud...and I start to cry.
I have two options. 1) Compromise my joii
nalist integrity, get up and walk to clai
After all, I am only pretending to I
paralyzed. Or 2) Gather energy, push I
moving.
I choose the latter.
When I reach Pauling, a flood ofn
me. I’m almost there. As an answe
friends from The Print arrive and det
break and they assist me the remaint
lab co
than ii
over I
the lai
unseen
up and
wheel
' friend
Ryan.
: wards,
peopl
looked
cerned
Gregg
ingati
■
. movie'
Oswego) and I came to realization that I coul
I were in a wheelchair. My chair doesn’t fil
cession stand or the ticket booth. Also, as
w< uldn’t be able to get upstairs to start tht
truly isn’t anything I can do at work and it’s
DAY FOUR:
12:20 p.m. - I’m hungry. So, I travel to
replenish my blood sugar levels with a bai
chips and a rice krispie treat (well, my wheel«
me hungry). However, when I get to thecafet!