During these three hours I found myself confronted with many difficulties that I had not even considered would be a problem. While many shops were easily accessible with wide open doors, most problems lay within shop walls. One shop in particular had limited space between its aisles that were not wide enough to fit my chair. This was a major barrier in allowing me access throughout the shop and to the cash register. Many products were placed on higher shelves which meant I would require assistance in reaching them, something I would not be inclined to do if I was browsing without the intent of purchasing.
Throughout thr day my three college associates would frequently call to each other across shop floors to draw attention to an item of interest. Because it would take me longer to reach them, and often because of obstacles in the way, I found myself opting to wait by the main door for them to finish. I can see how, over time, moments like this could lead to anger, frustration, upset and ultimately resulting in the avoidance of engaging in this type of occupation with friends. Fault does not lie with my college associates, it lies in the inaccessible structure of the shop. The layout creates a barrier to allow for optimal engagement, thus negatively affecting my experience and leading me to feel isolated and "left out".
The restaurant we chose for lunch was small with little room for movement between tables and chairs. I could see this being a problem for anyone with a buggy or even with a lot of shopping bags (a distinct possibility given the restaurants location). Only for it being quiet, with only three other customers present, was I able to get around. However, it was not with ease. The counter where orders were taken was placed in such a way that I was able to wheel myself towards it. I then had to wheel backwards to my table as there was insufficient room to turn my chair. The table we sat at was chosen because it was the only one with enough space to accommodate my chair. There was no wheelchair accessible toilet on this premises.
Bumpy footpaths proved to be a major problem when, towards the end of my three hour session, the control switch for the wheelchair finally came loose and broke off the armrest of my chair. I had not noticed it was coming loose and it never dawned on me to check it. At €1,000 the cost of the controls do not come cheap. Not only this but upon coming loose the chair jerked forward throwing me from the seat. Only for having the use of my legs was I able to hold myself upright and avoid falling on the ground and being at the mercy of someone else's aid. Uneven, bumpy surfaces also required that I kept having to move my feet back on the footrest as the vibration caused them to move forward. I understand the majority of wheelchairs will have a strap for around the feet but this one did not.
Many footpaths were not wide enough or lacked dipped kerbing, thus forcing me on to a busy road that was already barely wide enough to allow the comfortable passing of two cars. Why would I want to put myself in that kind of danger? More important is the question why should I have to? I got myself stuck between a tree and a wall owing to the narrowness of a footpath and without the help of those accompanying me I would have been stuck for a lot longer. But the question here is why should I have to rely on someone else being with me for me to manouver the city comfortably?
What I experienced was minuscule in comparison to the challenges faced every day by wheelchair users. What I gained was a little insight and I have no doubt the list of challenges is far greater than the ones I encountered. Added to this, was the benefit of knowing my experience was one that would come to an end. I found myself quite overwhelmed by the end of the exercise. Physically exhausted from trying to access shops, wrestle with doors and manouver my chair at the same time. And emotionally tired from thinking about my next moves, assessing whether or not I would fit through a space, looking ahead to locate where I could cross a road safely and feeling like an outsider with my group owing to the inability to access all areas of the shops I entered. The experience, though short lived, has opened my eyes. I now walk through the city centre with a whole different outlook. I find myself assessing pedestrian crossings, the positioning of lamp posts and trees on footpaths and walkways, the availability of public seats and rest areas, elevators, wheelchair ramps, the size of parking spaces...the list goes on!
Universal Design is not only for those with a disability. Dipped kerbing accommodates the elderly who cannot lift their feet as high as they once could. Wider aisles accommodate a mother with a buggy, allowing a more pleasurable shopping experience. More space in busy city centre restaurant allows shoppers to relax and prevents accidental trips over shopping bags in walkways between tables. Universal Design, accessibility for all; it just makes sense.
