There are still times when I forget that I continuously move within an ableist world – and ultimately, when my anticipation for equal opportunities are once again unattainable.
As a crip queer, I still experience defeat when I navigate public spaces that are not accessible.
Spaces that are aware of my existence only upon convenience.
Spaces that are regulated by accessibility legislation – and yet deter complete and meaningful inclusion of disabled persons.
As a crip queer, I will forever be impacted by the mental exhaustion caused by ableism.
I recently booked an accessible taxi from the train station to my home.
I live outside of the city – and thus a taxi was the only option available to me on that particular evening. Or so I thought.
Spoiler: it was not.
This was not the first time I travelled with this taxi company. In the past, I truly enjoyed my experiences with it. This particular company offered the option to book taxis via text messages – and as an individual with a speech impediment, I appreciated the alternative means of communication. Additionally, I was not required to pre-book a taxi – an option that is seldom offered when requested accessible transportation.
I booked an accessible taxi via text messages, as per usual, an hour prior to my arrival. I received a very prompt reply: ‘okay’. This was very typical, and that led me to believe that my booking would be processed, similarly to the dozen of times I had previously booked with this taxi company.
Upon my arrival at the train station, shortly before 10:30 pm, I noticed that the booked accessible taxi was not yet in the parking lot. I waited a few minutes before sending a text message to the company and inquiring about my trip.
To my surprise, I did not receive a response.
I proceeded to make a phone call – and was told there would not be an accessible taxi picking me up that evening. I was too frazzled to articulate a coherent sentence, so that was when I asked a VIA employee to make a call on my behalf. They were given the same explanation by the representative of that taxi company – and, after requesting further information, that representative hung up the phone. The VIA employee called back several times, but the taxi company representative either did not pick up or hung up when they did.
The VIA employee called other taxi companies. None of which had an accessible vehicle in service at that time. They then called the city’s accessible transportation. Closed.
Thereafter, this employee called 911. And the city police. And the OPP. Anyone who might have had a response for us.
As soon as the receiver of our call found out I was in a motorized wheelchair, they would inform the VIA employee there was no assistance available to me.
It was at that moment I proceeded to feel deeply alone in this ableist world.
I felt completely disposable.
I had a panic attack.
The emergency services located in our communities to assist folks in their most vulnerable state were not available / did not have capacity to support me.
At all.
I understood that they probably did not have resources to drive me home.
But what about a wellness check?
Or what about escorting me to a safe space?
Or what about supporting me to plan out next steps?
It was 12:00 am and the train station was closing – and I did not have a plan.
I was grateful to the VIA employee who stayed with me past their shift to advocate on my behalf. But they exhausted all resources. Ultimately, there was no other option at that moment.
They walked with me halfway to the hotel where I felt a bit more comfortable continuing my travels alone.
I spent the next 7 hours in the lobby of a hotel contemplating how I would get home.
I was relieved that the hotel employees allowed me to remain in the lobby for a lengthy period of time.
And I recognized my privilege to have access to a warm, safe, space.
To an accessible washroom.
To power outlets.
During the next 7 hours, I held onto a glimpse of hope: my mother and the hotel receptionist called taxi companies throughout the night, inquiring about availability of accessible vehicles.
I saw at least 15 taxis from the time I exited the train station up until the morning hours.
15 taxis – just in the part of downtown where I was located.
And not a single accessible taxi. In a city of approximately 500,000 residents.
I was made aware of the (very unfortunate) fact there are only a few drivers that can drive accessible vehicles. And they only drive during the day.
I was first told an accessible taxi might be available at 6:00 am.
A few hours later, the availability was shifted to potentially 8:00 or 9:00 am.
Key word here is ‘potentially’.
We did call back the original taxi company several times and received the same answer: to call another company.
Disabled persons exist at all hours of the day – and of the night as well.
Our existence in society is not transactional.
While I recognize the demand for accessible taxis decreases at night, I also know these vans can be used by folks who do not necessarily require them.
Accessibility benefits all individuals. And this is simply one instance of it.
I do not understand why an accessible taxi was not booked when I first requested it.
I will never know the reason.
What I do know though is that the repercussions were not only experienced by me.
But also by my mother, who called taxi companies and checked in on me throughout the night.
By my colleagues, who were planning on attending a session that I would be facilitating the following day and ultimately would be postponed.
By my dog, who spent way too many hours by herself.
I left the hotel at 7:00 am to catch a community bus to my town. I gave up on a taxi – I just wanted to be home, and I knew that bus was accessible.
I finally arrived home, and to my dog, at 9:00 am. She was fine. I was not.
I had spent the last 10 hours in such an anxious state – wondering if I would one day truly belong in this world.
I was exhausted – not only by my all nighter, but also by the ableism I encountered. And by the reminder that I was still existing on the margins of society.
I have a great community of wonderful folks who surround me – and I chose to not call them in the middle of the night for a few reasons. I knew most of them would be sleeping and even if they were awake, picking me up would not have been that simple.
Also, the burden complex is real.
But still, that does not erase the discrimination I experienced.
Disabled persons are entitled to the same services and support as our non-disabled counterparts.
And yet, why do I feel relieved when I receive services that are accessible and inclusive?
