Normally,
when I do have to use them, I make a bee-line straight for the accessible
stall. You know, the one with the wide door, lots of turn-around room, grab
bars and extra rolls of toilet paper. However, I now believe that architects the world
over regard these accessible stalls super-valuable, and purposely place them ‘waaay’
back -- far from the restroom's entrance.
This
extra distance of course, allows me to practice lots of healthy deep breathing
and bladder control skills - - a must
for all aging women!
But
wait, there’s more!
If
I happen to enter the restroom at the same time as a frazzled mom dragging a
brood of small-fry orbiting around behind her, I’ll quickly gesture for her to take the
accessible stall first and calmly wait my turn. I’ve learned to hang back and
enjoy the entertainment. Sure enough, within seconds, several small faces hang
upside-down, peering at me from under the door or better yet, tiny eyes peek
through gaps in the wall panels while miniature feet slip, slide and dance below.
No
big sacrifice on my part; I’m simply helping preserve the planet and its
environment. Who among us hasn’t witnessed how quickly an angel-faced tyke without
a mom nearby can transform into a whirling dervish? After terrorizing hand dryers and soap dispensers; a trail of damp paper towels is all that's left behind.
Attention:
restaurant owners to take note - -
It doesn’t matter if you have the mother-of-all-handicap-accessible-features in your restroom, if we can’t get the darn
door open - - we can’t use ‘em!
If
all I can manage is to pull the door open a mere inch, the “wedge-shimmy-shove”
method comes in to play. This requires quickly wedging one wheel of my walker between
the door and frame. Then, like a good old arm wrestling match, I keep pressuring
forward and it’s only a matter of time before my walker owns the door space. With one last heave-ho I push my way in. Exercise, mental ingenuity,
self-esteem…it’s all there!
Of
course, if my husband is handy I’ll have him push the door open for me. By now,
he’s opened more doors to women’s restrooms than are allowed on a police
report!
Then
there are the push-pads of automatic door openers; always good for hand-eye
coordination games. I play, “Guess how many times I have to push the pad to
open this door?”
Whenever
I crack a door’s code it’s added to a list I keep in my head: The drugstore? – 2 pushes. The lab? – 5 pushes. The eye doctor? – 3 pause, 3 pause, 3 pause…and so on.
I know, it’s a boring game, but it prevents me from uttering less than godly
words.
Speaking
of feeling spiritual, one of the groups I belong to holds its monthly meeting at
a local church. The big double doors at the entrance are controlled by a push
pad on a wall that's a good ten feet away from the actual doors. I meet the challenge by hitting the pad and
taking off in my fastest shuffle while uttering aloud, Heaven help me get through these doors before they close!
Usually,
I don’t make it in time. But someone’s heard my commotion and pushes the doors
open from the inside. I give them a wink and say, Thanks, Good Samaritan!
Only
once have I experienced an unfortunate incident with an automatic door. It happened
at our local little branch bank; once opened, their door is set to swing shut on an
unusually short cycle. My first time there I dawdled a little too long while exiting
and suddenly the big glass door swung inward; trapping me and my walker at the mid-way
point.
Rather
than get mad, I remembered that only last year they were robbed. I figured this
was all part of their plan in tightening up security. Everyone is suspicious
nowadays. Who knows? I could really be the bandito: Desperado Dagmar - - The wild-walker-wielding-woman of the West!
I
see can Desperado Dagmar up on the big
movie screen,“…just put the money in the
bag ma’am and give me a head-start to pick up speed so I can make it out your
dang door!”
Funny
enough, recently I did wish for a thicker, stronger door. Let me explain.
In
order to provide a little more privacy to the whole process of getting a flu
shot, our local grocery store built one of those swanky little medical rooms near
the pharmacy section. The windowless waiting area was small and the room where
the shots were administered was even smaller. Everything was so cramped that a simple
sliding door with mottled glass separated the two areas. The waiting room could
clearly hear what was being said in the injection room.
The
day I was there, it was down to four of us sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the
waiting room, a sweet little-old-lady had just been called in and I was next. She
must have been nervous and asked how long he’d been giving shots. Through
the sliding door we heard the pharmacist - - enunciating very carefully and using
that overly loud voice some feel is necessary when speaking to senior
citizens: Me? Oh, I’ve been giving shots a long, long time. In fact, I grew up on
a farm in Illinois and learned how to give shots on the farm animals!
Without
missing a beat, I turned to the man sitting next to me and said, Why don’t you go next? I’ll let you take my
place. The room cracked up.
I
found the funny.
And
you can find the funny too! Let's all have a laugh together!
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| Dagmar Munn ALS and Wellness Blogger |
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