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Another Day in Paradise by Jim Brady I was coming home from a three-day ADA training fest in Fairbanks, Alaska. When I got to Homer, Alaska, where I live, there were three others waiting for a cab. The dispatcher decided we could all be friends and share a ride. By the time the luggage was loaded there was no room for my wheelchair. I thought, "what the hell. It's a gorgeous day. I'll just roll on out of here." I had left my truck at a shop for some routine maintenance. The shop was just a couple of miles from the airport. The exercise would do me good after three days in conference rooms, I thought.
The concept was valid. I would be free to enjoy a sunny and warm day in Homer, Alaska. But in practical terms, I was doomed before I started. The cab driver was almost apoplectic at the thought of someone with a "handicap" going off on his own. I hadn't gone a hundred yards down the road when the first "good Samaritan" stopped and asked if I needed help. I politely told him I was fine and went on my way. By the time I had gone a quarter of a mile, four more dolts had intruded on my enjoyment of the glorious day with their inane questions and unwanted solicitous attitude My responses became shorter and shorter. The real problem came with the sixth intrusion. Two of Homer's finest rolled up to me, and the one on the right said, in his best just-out-of-sensitivity-training voice, "Can I call you a lift-equipped vehicle sir?" Enough! "You can call me any fucking thing you want," I told him. "Just get out of my face." It was the wrong thing to say. The cop driving the car jumped out and demanded some form of ID and told me that I posed "a danger to myself and others" by wheeling down the bike path on the side of the road. The one who'd asked about the lift-equipped vehicle insisted they were only worried about my safety. Who the hell did they think they were kidding? I am the only person in town with a fluorescent green wheelchair. Identification? I bought my house from one of Homer's finest; they knew damn well who I was. Safety? The only responsibility they had for my safety was to call the paramedics after I got run over. The truth was that they were pissed off because I dared to tell them I didn't need their help; that I could make my own decisions about my safety and well being. Maybe the worst part of this whole incident was the response from people who should have been just as pissed off as I was. What I got was, "they were only worried about you." I got, "your actions reflected badly on the agency" from my colleagues. I don't need anyone to worry about me. As for "the agency," all I care to say is, "Sorry about that. I was on my own time, and in this instance, I don't really give a shit." I have the same right to anger at intrusions on my personal space as does anyone else. I have the right to tell those who will not allow me the solitary enjoyment of a beautiful day to fuck off. Just another day in paradise. We have to find a way to stop the paternal attitudes that shackle us. Until and unless others understand we can handle our own lives without their help and pity, all of the civil rights laws ever passed will not guarantee our acceptance as equal partners in our communities. Jim Brady works as a civil rights and ADA specialist for an independent living center in Homer, Alaska. Posted Oct. 1, 2002
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