I Need a Wee Rant

I'm afraid that I have to let loose with a bit of a rant today. I know what I'm going to describe is going to sound petty and like I have a really thin skin, a really low bar for annoyance. But it isn't the magnitude of the irritant, it's the frequency.

We were entering a building through a door that I'd never used before. They have a auto door complete with a well placed and well marked, disability symboled, push pad. But as we approached we saw that the door had yellow tape wound through the handles and a sign saying "please use other door." So, we did.

The entrance we typically go through, when activated, makes things easy by having both of the double doors open. There are a few of these in our neighbourhood and I love them. I can get through one door, but that involves driving and paying attention, when both open, I sail through.

So when we got to the other entrance we see that it to has two (2) doors. One swings open to the east, the other swings open to the west. Joe holds the door open, and I start through. Predictably someone comes to those doors and stands, beside the other door which works just fine and waits for me to get through. He's choosing to be inconvenienced. There's another door. Right there. Beside me. A fully functioning door. He doesn't need to wait. He doesn't need to look impatient. He doesn't need to glance at his watch to let me know he's in a hurry because, and let me be frank, there's another fucking door.

A line up in forming.

I stop, half way through, my heart racing. I put my hand on the door  beside me, the one we aren't using and I say, "There's another door." He just looks at me like I'd spoken 'crippleish,' a language he just can't comprehend. I glance to the others waiting. 'There's another door.' They all choose to wait. Wait and watch. Wait and be impatient. Wait for the door I'm using. I don't move for a second. I think they don't understand me. I push at the door, hard, and it swings open. 'THERE'S ANOTHER DOOR.'

No one moves to go through it. I start up the chair again and get through the door, those waiting then rush the door and hurry out to their important appointments and their important lives finally free of my use of 'their door.' And I mean that, it was made clear to me that this was 'their' door and I was taking too much time with their fucking door.

We got to the elevator and I said to Joe, "Sometimes the hardest thing about being disabled is holding yourself back at just screaming at people."

Joe thought for a moment and said, "Well, maybe you should some times."

Choosing to be inconvenienced is just a socially subtle way of saying 'You take too much time, too much space, you shouldn't be here.'

Well, let me tell you, I am here and, remember, IT'S MY FUCKING DOOR TOO.