I don’t mean to bore you with my take on life with a disability but there are themes that are ever present in our lives. If we were a symphony we’d be ‘Bolero’ where the same melodic strain repeats itself over and over but faster and louder each time.
So, here we go again.
We go in to the resto/bar one building over from our hotel. We are told that if we were going to be seated at the bar, which had been our request, that we could just seat ourselves. We found a spot, pulled out a chair to make room and I pulled in. Now it was a high bar, but I’m used to that, don’t mind it at all.
The bartender rushes over to us and tells us that they have a lowered bar on the other side. He then disappears and we can see him asking people to leave that space so I could have it. I don’t want them to be disturbed, I don’t want to be the issue. I signal to them and then to him that I’m fine where I am.
He shakes his head and leaves the bar area.
A few seconds later the manager appears beside me to tell me about the lowered bar and tells me that I will be more comfortable there. I tell him that I may be physically more comfortable there but I am not comfortable with moving several people so we can use that section of the bar. He tells me that they won’t mind, how he knows this I don’t know, and that the lowered bay was installed for disabled guests. I say, essentially, thanks, but no thanks, I do not want to become part of their story about being at the bar and being required to move. I am fine where I am.
Annoyance all round, but we are finally served.
I ask you this: if they installed this for disabled people why, when almost the whole rest of the bar was empty, did they let non-disabled people choose to sit there?
I further ask: Why does this happen all the time? Why does the music just go faster and faster?
We left after one beer for Joe and one tea for me and we left with quizzical looks at our backs from people who wondered why I wasn’t compliant to the demand that I sit where I’m told.
Fuck compliance.
