I do not go into the handicapped bathroom stall anymore, unless it’s an emergency and it’s the only one available. The reason is simple: what if my mother needed it? Or somebody else in a wheelchair or motorized scooter? I’ve seen a selfie taken of a girl who used the bathroom with the door open because she uses a wheelchair, with a man WALKING out of the handicapped stall nearby. But, taking care of my mother who uses the motorized scooter to go out to eat, I can’t think of going to a place without considerable disruption. The issue is this: The scooter, when put together, is three feet long by twenty inches wide, by three feet high. We chose a scooter which can be taken apart so we can drive a reasonably sized car and put it in the trunk. Anyway, there is considerable disruption with using a motorized scooter when we go out to eat.
First, we have to make sure we can get in the door. First, is there a step or a ramp? Then, can we fit in the door? And then the second door? This is not an easy task, especially here in Kentucky, where we can encounter one door, with a small hallway, and a second door, even before we can get into the actual restaurant. What if the second door faces a different direction than the first door? That eliminates most Waffle House locations, and especially our local one, which is the only one less than twenty miles away. I haven’t been to a Waffle House in three years due to logistics complications. We try to get to as many locations as we can, though. We try not to complain.
Then, there is the seating. We usually have to use a table, which I do not mind, but when they remove a seat for my mom to sit at said table, they usually have to be told to remove a second seat. Do you know how embarrassing it is to ask for what you need, especially when you have people looking around at you with disdain? Sometimes, you have to remove the seats yourself. It’s usually easier that way, though. That way, you don’t feel like you’re being a pain.
After the seating debacle, we can order food and eat, but then comes the restroom visit. Keep in mind, my mother’s motorized scooter is twenty inches wide. Most restaurant restrooms barely have enough room for her to get to the handicapped restroom, let alone in the stall. And what if the handicapped stall is being used? She has to get off the scooter, with some difficulty, and let it potentially block the other stalls to use a regular stall. As you can see, most of the time, my mother waits until she can get home to use the restroom.
I try not to complain too much. Sometimes, though, I can see a clear injustice in poor logistics planning, especially around the disabled. Living with somebody that uses a scooter or wheelchair kind of opens your mind.