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Trip to the library

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Written by Sean on Friday, May 11, 2007

Because it seems so many people are interested in "wheeling adventures", I’ll tell you about my typical trip to the city library. It’s not an adventure for me, not anymore. It happens every week or two, and has been for the last several years. So there you have it, my trip to the library.

The sky is grey and overcast, threatening rain. People are driving as if they never learned how. It’s a good thing the library isn’t that far off. Middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, I’m going to have a hard time finding a parking space. But I aim for the back of the library, my "secret" space. Not too many people seem to know about its existence. It’s right by the staff’s parking, on the other side of a restaurant’s backyard. I go around the roundabout, and continue past the main entrance. I turn into the library’s back lot and the spot is free! I am in luck.

I go in, park the car. I put my parking placard up, open the door, swivel my legs out of the car. I fish my chair out of the backseat. First the frame, then the wheels. I put the entire thing together, under the watchful eyes of kitchen staff observing my every moves. I put my cushion on the wheelchair’s sling seat, and am ready to transfer. Before I do that, I reach out to the passenger’s seat and pick up the few books I’m returning. I should have brought a bag, balancing that many books will be tricky.

Books on the driver’s seat right behind my butt, I swivel and transfer into the chair. I get the books and pile them on my lap, the biggest ones on my legs, and the smallest one on top, like a precarious pyramid. I push myself backward away from the car while holding the car’s door. I shut the door as I move backwards, in one easy motion, practiced hundred of times. It’s a tight fit with the car parked in the next space, but you only need 1/2" of clearance to get through.

The ground is somewhat uneven, sloping towards the library’s back entrance. I let gravity pull me slowly towards the door while I make sure my sweater is tucked behind my hips and isn’t rubbing on my wheels.

The door is open, that’s good. It’s a tight fit. Not even that 1/2" clearance, my handrims rub against the door as I go through and I cringe at yet another scratch on the rim.

I turn right, heading for the elevator. The floor here is paved with terrazo tiling, it makes my entire chair vibrate, despite the Frog Legs on my front forks.

I wait for the elevator, it takes a long time. I can hear kids being rowdy and an angry mother on the floor above me. Probably playing in the elevator or having trouble with the stroller. Typical. But the elevator is not just for wheelers,it’s also for mothers with pram. Eventually, the elevator arrives. I go up to the mezzanine floor, to return the books.

I have to go to the desk, because the book return slot has a big bench in front of it. It’s a nice bench, solid hardwood, wide. I once told the library manager that the bench located there means it’s impossible for me to return my books. He agreed, and accepted my statement. He explained that without the bench there, kids weren’t able to climb up and return books, and they seemed so proud to be able to do that. Difficult decisions to take for the manager. I don’t begrudge the kids that pleasure, since it’s easy enough to drop the books off at the lending desk.

I then aim for the second floor. I could take the elevator, but there’s a long ramp that is kinda fun to push up. And I need to keep in shape, somehow. The ramp is long, but it’s been well done, there are "gasping spaces" every 30 feet. I call them that because by the time you reach them, you’re out of breath and gasping for air.

As I reach the first bend, I see a young kid tear around the bend, running towards me. He stops dead in his tracks, turns around and runs back to his mum. Mum smiles. I smile. I hear the kid ask why I’m still in a pram. I laugh, and hear mum say "it’s not a pram sweetie". I can’t hear the rest, as I keep on pushing up the ramp.

Finally, flat floor, glorious flat, varnished solid floor. I can go fast, but I dare not. There are many elderly folks in the library this afternoon. I wouldn’t want to bowl them over. My tyres are squeaking a bit, I need to inflate them. I push my way through the kids’ section, full of joyous kids and grumpy parents.

I get to the adult fiction area. I pull to the computer catalogue, move a chair out of the way, and search for a few of my favourite authors, to see if their books are in or not. I find nothing appealing, so I go browse. First, the recently returned books. Nothing there, then, the fantasy &amp sci-fi section, nothing there either. Finally, something in the crime section capture my attention. I pick that up, and grab a couple more, just in case.

I go to the self-checkout. It is a bit higher than I like, not overly comfortable, but it’s workable. I place my card in the slot, and then one book after another, I check out my loot.

I hear two older ladies whisper behind me. My hearing is not good, but why is it that I always seem to clearly hear those pitying comments they make? I shrug it off. They are too old, too set in their ways, for me to even attempt setting them right. Wouldn’t they just collapse of a heart attack if they knew that I’m not a poor wheelchair bound man, but that I chose to wheel, and wish I was paralysed? I smile to myself at the reaction that would get.

I decide to take the elevator straight back down, rather than the ramp. As much as tearing down the ramp as fast as I can would be, there are too many parents with too many young kids. The carnage it might engender just isn’t worth it today.

I wait for the elevator, this time it comes promptly. Go down the mezzanine floor. Stop, pick up a couple passengers. For some reason it goes back up rather than down to the ground floor. Oh well, it’ll go down eventually.

I eventually get down to the groudn floor and face the terrazo floor again. "thud-thud-thud-thud-thud&-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thudquot; go my wheels. Rattles my bones and my brains. I’m glad it’s not longer.

Back out in the parking lot. It’s now pouring with rain. I hunch over my lap, trying to protect the books a little bit. I get to the car, back soaked, water dripping inside my shirt. Unpleasant. I’ll be home soon, warming up in a hot bath with my newly selected book.

Open the door, throw the books on the passenger seat, transfer to the driver’s seat, grab my cushion so it doesn’t get too wet. I take a breath. Someone walking by asks if I need assistance, I thank them, but say no. They say that I must be used to it, I agree. I reverse the process of getting the chair and myself in the car, and drive away.

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4 Comments

1 On 12 May, 2007, Claire said:

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This was great! I would love to see more stuff like this. :o) Thanks for that.

 

2 On 12 May, 2007, Marie said:

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Wouldn’t they just collapse of a heart attack if they knew that I’m not a poor wheelchair bound man, but that I chose to wheel, and wish I was paralysed? I smile to myself at the reaction that would get.

I always hope someone says: “If you keep listening to that damn iPod so loud you’ll end up deaf!!” I’ve thought of a million ways to respond: “GOOD!”, “Ever think that perhaps that is what I want?”, “Duh.”, “Huh???”

I keep waiting but no one ever says it. (or maybe they do but the damn iPod is so loud that I can’t hear them.)

Good read, anyways! Thanks for posting.

 

3 On 13 May, 2007, inVivo said:

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Thanks for this post. Great read.

 

4 On 14 May, 2007, John said:

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Very nice, Sean. You have a talent for writing and it shines through here. When reading your account I could almost feel your experience. Please do more at least on occasion.

 

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About Sean

Sean is transabled. His body image is that of an L2 paraplegic. He has been living pretty much 100% of his public life from a wheelchair for the last decade, but hasn't found peace of mind (and is unlikely to until he does become a para).