Fun With Handicappedness; The Insistent Samaritan

(Han-dee-CAP-ed-ness - how to pronounce my made-up word).

Had another one of those fun days yesterday where your patience with the abled gets tested.

I had to go to this job search workshop thing downtown. I got a letter letting me know that it was a requirement for continued unemployment benefits. Sounds like a good reason to go to me (I'd like to keep getting my checks, thank you...).

Unfortunately, my sleep schedule has been very turned around, and this was a 9:00 AM appointment. This means getting up about 6:30 AM...right around the time I've been getting to sleep lately. I tried to change things around in the couple of days before Thursday, but come Wednesday night, though I went to bed early, I could not, for the life of me, fall asleep, no matter how hard I tried. I have frequent sleep issues, so I've been in this boat before, and I've learned that at some point, I cross a line where I just need to give up. This happened, Wednesday night/Thursday morning, at about 3:00 AM. I got up and got some stuff done, got showered, and waited until it was time to go. I was not looking forward to the idea of sitting through some government workshop thing on zero sleep.

I left at 8:00 AM, wanting to allow plenty of time for traffic. Oops...Easter week. I'd forgotten. There was almost no traffic to speak of. So I was down there, not getting lost for a change, and was parked by 8:30. Cool. Early is better than running late. I got my stuff together and got out of the van. There was a brief pause in the rain at that time, so I didn't have to worry about my umbrella.

I got down the lift, closed up the doors, and started heading up the ramp into the building. I paused part of the way up. I had a few things in my hands, and wanted to rearrange them. I'd brought a book, always assuming that these things are going to involve mega-waiting and take all day, and was trying to figure out if I could slide it into the spot next to me on the seat without it falling out as I rolled along, so I wouldn't have to carry it. It was while I was doing this that I heard a voice behind me. I looked up and saw movement in the reflection of the glass doors ahead. Behind me, a not-very-tall guy Asian gent in security guard uniform was running up from the parking lot, toward me, in a controlled panic.

I didn't need to wonder why. I was in a wheelchair, and stopped on a ramp. Clearly, I had gotten myself somehow stuck halfway up and needed saving.

Sigh.

This is one of those situations you deal with a lot in wheelchair living - good-hearted people wanting to help. It's fantastic that we still live in a world where people want to. It's a beautiful thing. And it's certainly not that it's not appreciated, don't get me wrong. But most of the time, we really don't NEED any help. And most of us also cherish our independence. We're frustrated at those times when we do need some kind of assistance, and relish in the times that we don't have to face that. So it's awkward when you're doing something that you're completely capable of doing (in this case, just pushing myself in the chair), and someone shows up wanting to help you. Imagine, if you will, yourself doing something like, say, pumping gas into you car, and suddenly a stranger appears and asks if they can help you with that. Your first thought would be what my first reaction is - um...why? But in my case, I have to remember that people don't see me as I see myself. They see the chair. They have no way of knowing what I'm capable of and what I'm not, and their first kind reaction is to want to help someone "differently abled" out. Again...that makes them a good person. For sure. And the last thing I want to be responsible for in this world is discouraging people from doing good deeds, or making them feel in some way bad about it. But there's also the other side of me that just wants to get on with my day and lead a normal life without someone coming up and reminding me that I'm different and that everyone around is staring at me - a fact I'm pretty good at blocking out. It's one of those conflicted moments in life where you're not quite sure how to feel. And it's a position, given a choice, that I'd rather not be put in, but it is what it is.

So here comes Paul Blart. I see him running up as fast as his little legs will carry him. He reaches me and immediately grabs my handholds. This, FYI, is kind of inappropriate if you don't actually know the person in the chair, but you get used to it happening. He says something to me that roughly comes out to "Let me help you", but it's clear English is not his first language, so it's a bit choppy. I try to politely (and with genuine good cheer) express that I'm fine, that I really don't need his assistance...but the language barrier is making sure that's not getting across. He starts slowly pushing me up the hill...so I do the only thing I can, which is to say thank you and sit back for the ride. He's pushing me very slowly (perhaps afraid I'll fall out), and the trip up the ramp is maddeningly long. But it's almost over, so I'm cool.

He continues to push me through the doors. Ahead, I see a table with a big sign above it that clearly tells you it's the starting point. There's a little form you're supposed to fill out that explains why you're there, and next to the stack of them there's a box of number two pencils. Typical government thinking. I can't just get in line and TELL a human being what I'm there for. A form must be filled out! Our tax dollars at work. So this was the logical end to the pushing (actually a bit beyond it), so I told Mr. Security thank you again, and said that I had it from there. And, of course, he didn't understand me again. He stayed, dutifully, right behind me with his hands firmly on the handles.

I started filling out the form, and there was a vast list of boxes to check for your reason. I wanted to make sure I had the right one (again, this is government. The wrong box checked could put me back at the end of the line and get me a stern talking-to), so I needed to refer to my letter that they'd sent me, and it was folded up inside the book I had sitting next to my hip. I set the form and pencil down and sat up to reach for the book. My chauffeur said something like, "Okay", signalling that he understood it was time to go, and started to pull me away from the table. I started using words again...not having learned my lesson...and ended up having to grab the book quickly, block my front wheels with my feet to keep in place, and hope that my tone got the idea across that I wasn't done yet. It seemed to. With a sigh (still trying to be patient, but just wanting this guy off my back now, as the language thing was adding a whole new layer to the awkwardness), I finished up my form. Again, I sat up and tried to say that I had it from here. Oh, no I didn't! He remained true to his duty, and continued pushing me up to the area where the line was.

Okay, I figured at least THIS would be the end of things. He'd get me up to the line, and he'd realize that this was as far as he went, and I could say my final thank you and get back to my life. Yet, my words once more seemed to fall on deaf ears. He remained. After a few moments, though, he did step away. Whew. THAT would be the end of it. Well, no. I heard him saying something behind me. I turned around, and he'd pulled one of the office employees away from whatever he was doing. And he was asking him if he could take care of me. This was not one of those handy front-of-the-line situations (like Disneyland)...he was clearly trying to get the guy to stay with me and push me. Okay. We had now officially hit the "Oh, for goodness sake" point of this event. The new guy (English-speaking) stood there, looking at me, wondering what it was he was supposed to do. And I sat there not quite sure what to tell him. So, instead, I just said, "Uh...I'm here for the Job Search appointment...?" Oh, good...he knew what I was talking about. He said I'd just need to go right down there (he pointed back toward the direction I'd come from) and gather with the other people already waiting. Excellent! I had direction, and didn't have to wait in a line to get it! And now I could just wheel myself down there and...

No. As ordered by the security guard, who now seemed to have gone back to his non-medical duties, this employee took the handholds and started pushing me down there.

Repeat sigh.

I went with it. He got me down to where the new employee was taking people's letters from them and checking them out, and he actually listened to me when, giving it one last try, I said I had it from there...and thank you. And (whew) he headed back to whatever painstakingly boring and repetitive task the state had him doing at the time. And all of a sudden...I was magically able to move around by myself! It was a medical miracle! How could someone in a wheelchair POSSIBLY roll their own ass around without divine intervention? Cue angelic music. Greenlight the Hallmark movie.

There are many people in this world to whom apathy is like breathing. I believe that people, by and large, are basically good at heart, but there are the bad apples that make the world a less pleasant place for all of us. But then, there are guys like an English-challenged security guard who steps away from his assigned duties and goes (well) out of his way to do something clearly not in his job description, just because he feels it's the right thing to do. The world needs more people like this guy (even if I don't, necessarily, on a personal level). And people like him don't get the credit they deserve. For this reason, I will continue to check my ego, will keep from seeing such acts as patronizing, and will remain vigilant in my patience and belief that a good-natured "thanks" is the very least folks of this nature deserve. Maybe I don't need the help. But maybe they need the chance to give it.

And please note that no one ever took my "why are you here?" form for me. And yet, I got what I'd come for. And society did not immediately collapse under the weigh of this dereliction of procedure. Score one for the resistance.