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Home / Thoughts / Other's Thoughts / Lane's Thoughts / Exposition Inhibition

Exposition Inhibition

Written by Lane on Monday, August 24, 2009

A number of weeks ago, a exposition of disability products and services passed through a nearby town. Normally, I would eschew such things as being too dev-y, but I had my new chair on order and was still in the mode of considering embellishments, so I took a day off work and went on down. It turned out to be a great time.

Like a lot of conferences and similar events, you had to register weeks in advance and I had taken care of this with the anticipation that I might attend. I wasn’t sure up until the final date. Getting there was a piece of cake – it was down the road from my very favorite bookstore. Pulling into the sizable parking lot was a vaguely comical experience. It was a normal convention center, but ALL of the parking spaces had temporarily been converted in handicapped spaces through a combination of signs, ribbons, and other markings. It was well orchestrated, but clearly the assumption was that you were handicapped until proven otherwise. Funny.

I parked some distance away from the building, as I was still using my ill-fitting old beast, with poor tires and worn-out bearings. It was a sweltering hot day, but the ride to the door was a breeze. Once inside, the walk to the arena was another matter. You couldn’t have found deeper, more annoying carpeting. Loose sand would have been easier. The room was probably 500 ft from the entrance. I’m still amazed that there weren’t wheelers just stranded in the middle – unable to make the pass. Who picked this joint?

Since, up until this point, I had used my chair mostly in personal mobility desperation or in mini pretending-type sessions, I have not encountered many other wheelchair users. That was all about to change. I had to deal with a sea of wheelchairs moving at speed, moving in all directions, hawkers on each row, and a milieu of aides and overwhelmed onlookers blocking the normal flow of traffic – as they would at any trade show. This was most-certainly trial by fire.

Eventually, the shell-shock wore off and I started cruising the isles. It was indeed interesting to see the who’s who of DME represented all in a compact arena. As an introvert, I naturally find the interactions with vendors intimidating, but in a way, I felt like I was playing the part of the para, not the badly injured, so I looked at it as acting, not plain-old talking. In this way, I was able to bypass some of my inhibitions.

One of the booth that I wanted to visit was the FrogLegs booth. I’ve heard mixed reviews and being somewhat aware of the physics involved, I found their claims to be questionable. I wasn’t looking for a fight, but I wanted to hear a more detailed version of their pitch. The lady at the booth gave a nice explanation of each of their devices, took light questions, during her descriptions and completed here pitch. After listening patiently, I asked a couple direct questions about points she had raised in her talk. With a kind smile she said “Oh no! You’re an engineer, aren’t you?”

Even thought this is not really true, I smiled and said yes. She pointed me toward their head (I think) engineer who was also at the booth. He and I talked for quite a long time. He explained the features, acknowledged certain shortcomings, explained certain points I hadn’t considered. Then we started talking about a not-yet finalized prototype they had on display. It turns out that the devices used devices and material that are in my core area of expertise so I was able to talk about them with vigor. He ended up getting out a notebook and pen to take notes as I advised him on expected shortcomings, that would be experienced with time and stress, then I suggested design changes, vendors, etc. Upon entry, I expected to be the absolute lowest rung on the totem pole, so it was fun and unexpected to be able to do consulting while I was there.

I could go on and on for pages about all the interesting interactions I had - including those with many of the major vendors. I looked at spoke guards, funny T-shirts, spoke-thingies, stickers of all kinds, and other kitsch. I swooned over the TiLite ZRa that I wouldn’t be having due to insurance acceptance, I talked to the Colours, Invacare, and Permobile people just for fun. I’m on a first name basis with one rep. now after after talking with him at length at the show, then seeing him at my DME vendor a week later. He got me a cool little upgrade after I gave him a little whine at the show about his company shipping almost two weeks late. (I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.) At his booth, he asked what kind of hand controls I used. I was able to brush that question off, but if push came to shove, I would have gotten down to the medical truth. He’d still be getting a large sale from me.

After talking to more and more vendors – even the fashion conscious Colours group - as well as some individual wheelers, I started to realize that other people viewed my chair wholly differently than I did. They still recognized it as a functional device and a well kept one at that. Upon leaving the show, I too, had a different outlook on my own appearance and my own chair. Kinda funny, eh?

What’s funny, too, is how incredibly comfortable I felt around people of my own kind. A lot of other people at the show reported this too. It was nice to be an incast. In the chair, at eye level with everyone, with a shared purpose, and not even a hint of a question about your chair use - why, when, how. Bring your four (or six) wheels and you’re in. This power of this feeling can not be properly captured in words here.

My notes go on an on, but my report wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t mention how I was forced to confront one of my greater disability-related fears. There was an exhibition baseball game going on in one corner of the building. All were invited to play. It looked like fun and I was tempted, but I was afraid of a botched transfer, so I avoided it. That hesitancy turned out to be the highlight of the day because while I sat on the sidelines watching the game I met the absolute nicest, kindest person. She wheeled over to ask about the game, and I told her what I knew. We went on to talk for some time about this and that, the show, jobs, life, etc. It was nice.

Ultimately, she had to leave for other business. She offered me her hand – and this is the hard part – I was terrified of quadriplegic handshakes. I don’t know if this is a fear that anyone else in the world has, but I was completely clueless as to the etiquette with paralyzed fingers. The problem in these types of situations, is that the other party will sense even milliseconds of hesitancy, so you have to just punt and try something. I regretted royally that I hadn’t prepped anything in my mind, but I took my best guess…and… it turned out to be no big deal. It was a perfectly normal handshake and a pleasant parting. Check.

As she rolled away I was a bit curious about what the other business was, but I didn’t give it a lot of thought. Some time later it all hit me - this person was taking the stage. I do NOT know how I didn’t recognize her before – she is a total celebrity in the disability community. Sure, people are people, after all, but it was cool to know from talking to her that this person clearly, had a deep-down good heart. I’m glad that there was something about me that made me interesting enough for her to choose to come to talk to me among a field of any number of others. That final experience was a real mind trip.

Sign me up for next year.

Tags: Celebrity, Engineering, Exposition, Inhibition, Kindness, Wheelchair

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