On the Road: Misadventures in Disability

Around my hometown, I prefer to frequent handicapped-friendly establishments. Sure, they are all supposed to be ADA compliant, but some just don’t make sense or are extremely difficult to navigate. I know where it’s a pain to get a parking spot and where it’s tough to maneuver through the aisles or tables.

I’d rather go to a store or restaurant where I know it will be easy to get parking, where I can guide my walker easily while inside and where the bathrooms are accessible and easy to navigate.

But it’s a whole different story when I hit the road. 

Some recent trips to Phoenix, where I spent 20 years as an able-bodied resident, showed I am throwing caution to the wind when entering unfamiliar territory.

A few months ago, we went to Phoenix to attend a reunion of newspaper people I used to work with. It was at a Mexican cantina near the university in Tempe. I had been there before when I lived in Arizona, before cancer (lymphoma) left me disabled. I was looking forward to a festive get-together with former colleagues.

My heart dropped when the hostess pointed to a private room UPSTAIRS. I looked at several steep stairs -- the equivalent of climbing a mountain for me. Was there an elevator? we asked. No.

I almost cried. Almost. After driving nearly seven hours across the desert to see some people I hadn’t seen in decades, I didn’t want to greet them with puffy, red eyes. 

Was there an alternate route with a ramp? we asked.  No. Was there an easier way? Yes, I would have to go through one of the dining areas, squeeze through the kitchen and up the alternate entrance with only three steeper steps and no hand rails.  

Super.

I had to interrupt the kitchen staff and then find two people to help me up the stairs. (Fortunately, I had one -- my husband -- with me.)

Is there a restroom upstairs, I asked? No. There was only the one downstairs. 

Harrumph.

I thought I’d better use it before going upstairs. I would limit myself to one beverage   because I knew it would be a huge deal to get me down the stairs and back up. 

The ladies room had one disabled stall with a handwritten sign on it, saying “out of order.” I could not use any of the other non-accessible stalls.

I made my way back to the front of the restaurant and told the hostess that the disabled stall in the ladies room was out of order. Was there another bathroom in the place that I could use? 

Umm. She didn’t think so. She seemed thrown for a loop that I was even asking a question, any question. This one seemed to mystify her.  She asked another worker, who was equally perplexed. Then they brought out a manager, who told me there was no alternative restroom for ladies, but I could use the men’s room. 

Super.

He checked to see that that bathroom was empty, then waited outside while I used the handicapped stall. When I got out, I thanked the man for his help. He said to let him know if I needed to use the restroom again.

Yeah, right.

As the day progressed, the place would be more filled with beer-guzzling college guys who I’m sure would be thrilled to find their bathroom closed while I slowly used the only available handicapped stall in the joint. 

Upstairs, it was a wonderful reunion: filled with hugs and memories, pride in what we had accomplished and an undercurrent of sadness at how the newspaper business is in a painful decline. Of the roughly 100 people in attendance, several were older than me. Some had faced medical challenges, like I had. But no one else attending the event had limited mobility and faced the same roadblocks as I had.

Lucky them. If there had been anyone who used a wheelchair, they would not have been able to attend the party.

When the affair ended, two people helped me down the steps and my husband and I walked to my car. We decided to stop for dinner at a tiny, single-level restaurant near where we used to live.

Thankfully, the disabled parking spot was right in front and the restrooms were a few steps away from our seat. But when I finally got to use the single ladies room, I discovered it was not handicapped accessible. 

Really.

More recently, I attended a wedding in Phoenix. We stayed at a nice hotel in an accessible room. But the disabled parking spots were nowhere near my room. Of 40 spaces outside our building, not one was designated for a disabled person. And there were no curb cuts -- the slanted pavement where someone in a wheelchair or walker can transition from the lot to the sidewalk.

So even though there were plenty of empty spaces, if someone parked close to my room to let me in or out of a vehicle, I could not get up or down from the sidewalk. 

The nearest handicapped spots and curb cuts were at the end of my building, quite a journey for me as I pushed my walker under the Arizona sun. 

The wedding venue was a lovely outdoor restaurant/garden property that had two disabled parking spots close to where the event was taking place.

Yay.

Two large port-a-potties were available for guests to use. There were stairs leading to them, so they were inaccessible to me.  My friend (the mother of the groom) had checked out the venue in advance because I had previously told her about a lack of accessibility at another part of the facility.  A staff member showed her a single unisex permanent restroom that I could use. The staffer said it was accessible.

I found out the day of the wedding that it was not. 

It was a huge effort for me to get inside the small bathroom. I  knocked over decorations as I moved around the tiny room, squeezing the handles of my walker to make it narrower. (A mobility aid without this feature simply would not have fit in the room.) And the toilet was extra low to the ground with no grab bars to help someone like me get on or off the commode. I might still be stuck on the seat if I hadn’t planned ahead and brought a small portable toilet topper, discreetly carried in a fashionable zipped-up tote. But it was still a major effort to simply get up off the toilet with my weak legs.

Although the wedding and reception were absolutely lovely and lots of fun, I had to leave early because getting to and from the restroom (and on and off the toilet) was simply too difficult for me. I was worn out.

On one of our drives home, we stopped at a rest stop in California. The ladies’ room was temporarily closed for cleaning. We were directed to a back-up single room bathroom. It was available and handicapped accessible.

Yay. 

There were two large storage buckets in front of the sink and paper towel dispenser. 

Boo.

The door wouldn’t lock so my husband stood by, making sure no one entered while I was inside. While I maneuvered around the buckets to use the toilet, and contorted myself to wash my hands and dry them, a few ladies were gathering outside. I could hear them talking, anxious to use the only available public restroom.

Finally finished, I tried to open the door. It was stuck. Fortunately, my husband was right outside. I hollered at him through the door that I couldn’t get out. He tried to push while I pulled. It didn’t open.

I had a moment of panic and a brief vision of me stuck for hours in the hot bucket room with a mob of angry women outside, trying not to wet themselves.  

We pushed and pulled with more force and eventually got the door unstuck. If I had been in a wheelchair or on my own, I would not have been able to use the room.

Once freed, I made my way to our vehicle and we headed for home sweet home -- where I know the locations of the best accessible establishments. Yay.  

Yippee! Some Places That Make My Disabled Life Easier (And a Few Gripes)

I’m not always a cranky handicapped person. Some things I encounter in my new disabled life actually make me thankful that a service or accommodation works delightfully well.

I do take note of those when I come across them.

But I also take note of things that drive me nuts, things that make my challenging life even more difficult.

Here are a few of each on my latest list:

The Cayucos Beach Inn: a small, privately-owned hotel in a tiny California coastal community that has the best accessible bathroom I’ve been in.

I’ve been in plenty of accessible hotel rooms and I can say this: You never know what you are going to get. One time I opened the door to find a bathtub right in the bedroom -- not one of those walk-in bathtubs you see on TV ads -- but a regular climb-in tub. I could not get in one of those unless I had a team of firefighters hoisting me in and out. That room also had a roll-in shower in the restroom that suited me just fine. (I was in a wheelchair at the time.)

Other times I find showers that have safety bars, but the shelves for the soap and shampoo are out of reach. Or nonexistent. 

But the Cayucos Beach Inn asked what type of accommodation I needed before I checked in. I said I pretty much just needed railings near the toilet and in the shower. (I can’t stand or walk alone without a mobility device.)

What they gave me was a spacious bathroom with a shower that had to have been designed by someone who was actually disabled. Not only did I find well-placed rails, but the handheld shower wand was at my level. The padded (yay!) shower bench pulled down easily from the wall.

There was a tray at shoulder level (when I was sitting) to hold my soap and little bottles. And the towel was reachable while I was still seated.

I know, it might not sound like much to the abled world, but the combination of all those things was nirvana for me.

The Stander Co., which makes one of my favorite walkers, is not only innovative but dependable and true to their word. I found their Metro Travel Walker online when I was looking for an alternative to the boring walkers that I seemed to see everywhere. 

In a previous blog I discussed the pros and cons on all the walkers I’ve used. My black walnut Metro walker gets compliments everywhere. I tell inquirers to write down the name and look it up on their computers. The walker is lightweight and fashionable. It’s the only one I can easily lift into the car by myself and I take it most places with me. It doesn’t meet all my needs, but it’s close to it.

So I was upset when one of the crossbars broke. I had bought mine from an internet

retailer, so I looked the Stander company up online and called it. I asked if the walker had a warranty, but said I didn’t have evidence of when I purchased it. They told me not to worry, the walker had a lifetime guarantee.

They sent me a new one free of charge immediately. 

When I recently had another minor problem, I called again.They repeated that the Metro is guaranteed for life and they shipped my replacement parts post haste.

This was not what I would consider a high ticket item, (a search online shows an average price of $100). I’ve used other walkers or mobility aids that were more expensive, some were given to me and and one I got for $12 at Goodwill. But if I had a problem with any of them, usually a bent bar or a stuck joint, I just tossed it in the trash and grumbled.

Dream Dinners is a make-it-yourself meal place I was introduced to before I got sick.

I used to go with a friend, where we would spend a couple of hours assembling meals that we could put in our freezer to last the whole month. It was fun, affordable and the meals were always healthy and tasty.

Now that I’m disabled, I can’t make the meals myself. Fortunately Dream Dinners began a Made-For-You program which was fabulously timed with my recovery from grave illness.

Now I order my meals a month at a time online, then I drive to the Dream Dinners nearest me at Granada Hills, Calif. (with my Stander walker in tow).  And when I show up myself to retrieve the meals, a friendly employee happily carries two big bags of meals to my car. 

And for the next month, I can prepare dinners for my family without having to reach for ingredients and stand at the kitchen counter chopping stuff endlessly, tasks that don’t come easy these days. 

Now, a few things I don’t like:

Restrooms with wastebaskets that require stepping on something to open them. People dependent on walkers or wheelchairs can’t do this. I have to grab the top of the can to lift it up and toss in my trash. Eeeuww.

Handicapped parking signs that are directly in front of the space, without a curb as a buffer. I’ve “bumped” many a fence or post with my car as I pulled right up to the sign.

Raised bumps near the handicapped entrance to a sidewalk. 

Usually yellow, they are officially called truncated domes and they are required by the Americans with Disabilities Act to let blind people know when a sloped sidewalk meets a street. But they can cause problems for people with walkers, canes or wheelchairs. I’ve read reports of people who have fallen from wheelchairs and been injured. And people with spinal cord injuries can go into painful spasms trying to cross those bumps in their chairs.

I agree with the person who wrote a blog post for California’s Assistive Technology Network  suggesting a compromise -- maybe some smooth spots can be interspersed near the truncated domes for those who are physically disabled.

One of the most popular strip malls in my community has a front row of numerous disabled parking spots (yay), but then a field of truncated domes and cobblestones to get to any of the establishments (boo). Nowhere is there a smooth path as an alternative.

Among the businesses in the mall are a massage place and a yoga studio. For disabled people to get to either of those therapeutic places to relax, they first have to cross a wide sidewalk that is guaranteed to rattle their brains and stress them out. And then exit the same way. 

Bottom line about things that make on my thumbs up or down list: for us handicapped folks, they might make us return customers. Or not. One of the stores in my local shake-your-brains-out strip mall was a specialty grocery store that shut its doors not long after opening. Had it provided a smooth entrance that I could navigate easily with my Stander-walker-thrown-in-the-shopping-cart routine, I think its days wouldn't have been so numbered. I would have spent gobs of money there. And I'm not alone.

KEEP OUT: When It's Not OK to Use the Disabled Stall in a Public Restroom

After a week on a road trip, I’m sick of public restrooms. From rest stops to restaurants, you never know what you’re going to find. That goes double if you are disabled.

Very rarely am I pleasantly surprised. It happened on this trip in Scottsdale, Arizona at the Barrio Queen. The women’s restroom there has two stalls and both  (BOTH!) are handicapped accessible.

Hallelujah! Cue the heavenly choir.

The restroom was empty when I entered it. So anyone could have picked either stall, regardless of their abilities.

But I’ve really had it with insensitive people who insist on taking the only accessible stall in the room. I believe a refresher course is needed on when it’s OK to use the handicapped stall if you are not disabled.

Well, not a course. Just a rule: You may do so only when other non-accessible stalls are occupied and only when you haven’t seen a disabled person nearby.

Some handicapped stalls have changing tables in them, so mothers with infants are exempt from this rule. (Although I prefer when the table is outside the stall so moms don’t tie up the disabled toilet for what’s guaranteed to be a long time.)

Before I became disabled, I would occasionally use a handicapped stall. But only when all the other ones were taken and only when there wasn’t a disabled person to be seen.

But now that I am forced to use accessible stalls, I really don’t understand the rude behavior I’ve seen behind ladies’ room doors. 

I am by nature a nice, trusting person. But some gals, albeit a few, are really testing me.

Once, during another road trip across the desert to Phoenix, my husband and I stopped at a rest stop. It was hot and windy that day. And from the disabled parking spot to the ladies room, it was an uphill walk. 

Not a steep incline, but anything other than flat, to me, seems like a mountain climb. 

My husband got my “good” walker out of the trunk -- a triwheeler that performs well on asphalt. I crept my way up the walkway in the wind and the heat. When I was getting close to the entrance,  a woman passed me and walked in the door.

“Hope she’s not taking the handicapped stall,” my husband said. He’d been around me enough to know that this sometimes happens.

No, I told him. Why would she? She was perfectly abled and she could see I was struggling to get to the bathroom.

But when I finally got inside, I found she was in the only accessible stall in the empty room. There were two others, but I couldn‘t get in them.

Here’s the deal: It’s not that we disabled folks just love the spacious stalls with the extra hand railings. Those are the only ones we can fit into with our walkers or wheelchairs. And those are the only ones where are able to get up off the toilets. 

Now I’ve occasionally run across abled women who emerge from the disabled stall and apologize immediately to me when they see me waiting. A couple have said they prefer those stalls because the toilet seats are higher and they like the hand railings.

Others won’t look at me.

I forgive those who offer apologies because I wasn’t there when they entered the restroom.

But I have no patience for those who walk by me or see me and take the accessible stall for themselves.

It happened again last week on our way back across the desert. 

My daughter and I had stopped at a truck stop, trying to avoid the flies we found on the toilet seats at the last rest stop.

We walked a long way into the establishment to find the restrooms around the corner. Inside the women’s room were six empty stalls, one of them accessible. When I paused to get something out of my purse, an able-bodied woman walked in, passed me in my walker and entered the handicapped stall.

I had to wait until she was done. I couldn’t fit into the other five stalls.

When she came out, she avoided looking at me and walked straight ahead to the sink to wash her hands.

When I got inside the stall, I found she hadn't even flushed the toilet.

Since I was diagnosed with cancer seven years ago, I have had plenty of infuriating, embarrassing moments. Most of them involve tests and hospitalizations and my  battle with lymphoma. And while I am always one to put a positive spin on things, I do not appreciate being inconvenienced by rude, inconsiderate people.

We can have all the Americans with Disabilities Act guidelines in the world in place to make life easier for the disabled. But it only takes one ignorant person -- someone who parks in a disabled space when he doesn’t need it or a non-disabled woman who hurries past me to nab that handicapped bathroom stall -- to ruin things.  

Disabled people don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this. It’s hard enough trying to get through the day with a smile on my face, not cursing the cancer that attacked my brain and left me unable to walk unassisted.

Jennifer Longdon, a brilliant Arizona blogger who advocates for the disabled, wrote that the miracles of disability are found in “those who learn to live average lives in trying circumstances. Those who find grace and courage everyday to face a world that is inadvertently hostile to their existence.”

We don’t need thoughtless people making our lives worse. 

 

The 2012 Handi Awards: Places That Make Life Easier for the Disabled

I’m quick to whine when I have trouble finding accessible accommodations in my daily life. But sometimes I am blown away by how accommodating a particular establishment or staff is.

So in the spirit of the Southern California obsession with awards, I hereby announce my 2012 Handi Awards: places that have made my life as a handicapped person easier.

First, a word about the methodology: It’s entirely unscientific, comes from a female perspective and is geographically limited to places within easy driving distance of my home. It’s a compilation of particularly accommodating places I’ve visited the last seven years in my wheelchair or walker. 

And while you may not be in my neck of the woods to visit these spots, you can be heartened knowing some people do take care to make disabled lives a little better.

Here, in alphabetical order, are the winners of my 2012 Handi Awards.

AHMANSON THEATRE 135 N. Grand Avenue, Los Angeles

After an unpleasant experience in the nosebleed wheelchair section of a show here, I was assured by a season ticket seller things would be different for me if I returned as a regular customer.

Boy are they.

Not only is handicapped parking a breeze via their discounted valet service, but the seats are perfect (not in anyone’s way or blocked in by other patrons) and the attendants are always courteous and efficient. They wheeled me in when I was in a wheelchair and remove and retrieve my walker as needed during other shows. The women’s handicapped restroom is fantastic -- a room in itself including sink -- and separated from all the other stalls. I can bypass the line of patrons at intermission waiting for a stall. 

Carpinteria State Beach, Carpinteria

Free, convenient disabled parking right on the beach makes this a nice spot if I want to see some surf or breathe ocean air. Or visit some of fabulous restaurants nearby. But first I’ll hit the clean, easily accessible public restroom on Linden Street in the free parking lot.

COLLEGE OF THE CANYONS PERFORMING ARTS CENTER, 26455 Rockwell Canyon Road,  Santa Clarita

While this venue could use a spot to drop off disabled ticket holders, it always provides a top rate experience once I get into the theater, whether I am in a wheelchair or walker. 

Volunteer attendants kindly escort me to my seat, bring me my walker at intermission and, when I am on the lower level, lead me to an easily accessible handicapped restroom that is not for general public use.

GAVIOTA REST STOP, HIGHWAY 101, SOUTH END OF THE GAVIOTA TUNNEL

I’ve been in plenty of rest stops I shudder to recall, but this one near Santa Barbara brings a smile to my face. It’s clean, it’s been open every time I need it and it has a friendly attendant there to point out the handicapped-accessible stalls.

Nestled in a beautiful setting and well-maintained, this is a rare rest stop where I would actually consider “resting” and maybe using a picnic table. 

JACK-IN-THE-BOX, 26547 Bouquet Canyon Road, Santa Clarita 

Located in a busy shopping complex, this Jack’s goes out of its way to make a visit enjoyable for the disabled. Parking is convenient, restrooms are lovely and accessible and the seating area inside has at least one designated table for a wheelchair.

When I ordered my curly fries (I had a craving, OK?), I asked for a cup for water. The server set down an empty tray and my cup and then I remembered I was disabled and couldn’t carry these to my table.

 (I do forget sometimes -- like when I recently bought a twin-pack of cute umbrellas at Costco and then, when I got home, remembered I can’t actually hold an umbrella and walk with my walker.)

I took the cup from the tray, went over and filled my water, then stuffed a napkin and straw in my pocket and managed to sit down without spilling. When my made-to-order fries were ready, the counter guy called out my number. I looked at him and when he realized it was me, he walked around the counter and delivered my fries on a tray right to my table. So kind.

THE GREEK THEATER, 2700 North Vermont Avenue, Los Angeles

The disabled parking in this venue needs major improvements, but the Greek gets high praise for its accessible restrooms. Built along the lines of its bowl layout, bathrooms are easy to get to no matter where you are sitting.  The stalls are plentiful and, during intermission at the concert I attended, the handicapped-equipped were  guarded by an attendant who saves them for those who are truly disabled. Yay!

 THE LATE LATE SHOW WITH CRAIG FERGUSON, Hollywood

My treatment at my favorite late-night talk show couldn’t have been better. When I called to see how accessible it was before I brought two friends down to the CBS studios, a guy at 1Iota (the agency who handles tickets) called back to answer my questions and assure me it was worth the trip.

I got primo parking, sat on my seated walker in the shade and chatted with a security guard while others lined up elsewhere on the sidewalk. Restrooms were quite accessible and convenient. My friends and I and other less-abled folks were given a separate elevator ride from the rest of the throng. And while other fans descended via stairs to their seats, I was led backstage and escorted to mine on the stage level. Two courteous staffers helped me climb a few steps to my front row seat. It was just as easy getting out of there after the show was over. 

MASSAGE ENVY, 25636 The Old Road, Stevenson Ranch

My regular massage site makes my day without the added stress of getting in the door and up on the massage table comfortably. When a front desk attendant or sometimes my therapist sees me approaching the glass door, he or she will open it so I don’t have to struggle just to get in. Ditto for exiting.

Best of all, the heated massage tables can be electrically lowered to where I can easily get on them (not the case with fancier spas I’ve been to), then elevated to where the therapist can work. 

When I visited a site in Northern California, I realized not all Massage Envy locations have such accommodating tables. The perk  -- and the wonderful massage therapists -- make me a regular at this location.

(P.S. Take heed, doctors: Is it possible to get examining tables that you can lower? I don’t think I’m the only person who can’t “hop up” on them.) 

Why You Don't See Many Wheelchairs in Restaurants: It's Not Easy Being Disabled

Next time you are in a restaurant, count how many diners are in wheelchairs. I’ll bet the number you come up with most often is zero.

There is a reason for that. Going out to eat in a wheelchair is not much fun.

Even though there are protections for the disabled covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act, the reality is restaurants -- from fast food places to fine dining establishments --  have a long way to go to enable those in wheelchairs to have an enjoyable experience.

Seeing a blue wheelchair symbol at the entry to a restaurant does not guarantee the place is comfortable to disabled patrons.

I remember the first time I visited a local restaurant in a wheelchair. My legs, paralyzed for months after brain cancer, were getting better. But I couldn’t stand or walk.

My husband had driven me to a doctor’s appointment and, in the spirit of my new freedom (I had been hospitalized for more than four months), suggested we go out for lunch on the way home.

He pulled up in the disabled parking space of a restaurant I liked. We noticed the blue accessible sign in the front window.  And he asked the hostess if I could be accommodated in their restaurant.

“Sure,” she said, pleasantly, leading us to a table for four at the back of the facility.

She pulled away a chair and my husband pushed me up as close as I could get. I sat at an angle and because the pedestal beneath the table protruded, I wasn’t very close.  My mouth was at least a foot away from the table. And, when the food came, I could barely reach it. 

To my right, inches away from my shoulder, was the right shoulder of a baby. He was in a high chair at the end of a booth where his mom was enjoying lunch with a friend. 

He had an advantage, though. At least he could sit right up to his table and reach his food.

I was pleased that my husband and I were out dining like we used to,  but I was uncomfortable, in pain and did not enjoy the experience. Going out to lunch didn’t have the same appeal it did.

When I needed to use the public restroom, it was a disruptive production. There was not enough aisle space for me to wheel there discreetly. Waitresses moved out of my path and rearranged chairs. Customers seated at a larger table scooched in or stood up while my husband pushed me by.  And then the whole thing had to be repeated on my return trip. 

I’ve been able to use a walker for the past several years, but it’s often just as difficult to maneuver between chairs and tables.

(And 9 times out of 10, I am seated far away from bathroom. Draw an invisible line from the restroom to the farthest point in the restaurant and that’s where the  hostess will seat me.)

On a recent visit to Phoenix, I went with my sister-in-law to an outdoor lunch place that was a favorite of mine when I lived there. But I was able-bodied back then and wasn’t aware of how handicapped accessible it was. I felt reassured as we easily pulled up to the only handicapped parking spot in front. But once I got out with my  tri-wheeled walker that can ordinarily handle tough terrain, I was sorely disappointed. The gravel and dirt driveway gave way to a spot that should have been named the “Keep Disabled People Out” entrance.

It was as if they found 50 billiard-ball-shaped rocks and cemented them in a rectangular entry that you had to go through to enter the restaurant area.

I’ve struggled over cobblestones in front of some of my favorite hometown restaurants (curse you, cobblestones!), but I had never encountered anything as challenging as this. I can’t imagine how people in wheelchairs or using canes navigate it.

Once we got through the entrance and ordered inside, we went to nearby outside table to dine. It was like a mine field: uneven terrain dotted with dips.

The final insult occurred when I visited the outdoor restroom. It was down a slight grade; a seemingly short distance but again full of holes, some hidden by grass. As I struggled down the slope, a woman commented: “They sure don’t make it easy for you!” 

When I finally got to the restrooms, I found two single unisex ones. Neither had a handicapped accessible sign. The one I picked wasn’t accessible, I learned once inside.

I almost cried. I managed without a bar to hold onto (gripping a public bathroom wall -- yuck) but don’t think I could have accomplished it in my wheelchair days.

When I told this sad tale of what should have been a nice outing in a favorite spot, friends said, “Isn’t that against the law?”

Well, maybe. Depends on how old the facility is. I just won’t go there again. Or to the fine dining Phoenix establishment I visited on another trip that had non-accessible bathroom stalls so small you couldn't close the door if you managed to get in there with a wheelchair or walker. While I am quick to harrumph, I’m not going to file a complaint or lawsuit. But I commend those who do when they face  similar problems.

After a 10-year court battle, a California judge ruled last fall that Taco Bell may have to upgrade hundreds of restaurants in the state to provide proper accommodation for customers in wheelchairs.

Among items the judge found illegal were tables too low to fit customers in wheelchairs, toilets too low and soap dispensers too high. Also the ordering line was too narrow to fit wheelchairs or scooters. A customer could wait on the side and be helped by restaurant staff. But the judge said customers described such an arrangement as “inconvenient, cumbersome and embarrassing.”

Being disabled is inconvenient, cumbersome and embarrassing as it is. I don’t need to pay to dine at places that make it worse.