Public Property

Until the last couple of months, I've been left alone when I go out. Steep ramp? Just give me time, I'll get my ass up it. Something too high on a shelf? I'll work it out. Those leap-up-it's-a-miracle-moments shouldn't happen and they don't.

However.

I've been going out more lately because I have better casters and caster wheels on my chair. And also because I've lost a little weight, enough to make a difference. What I'm finding is that I am now public property and I don't like it.

During the past month, I've been down to Atlantic City a couple of times. I don't gamble, but there's just something about AC (as we Jerseyans call it) that I like. For one thing, if you go during the week, four-star rooms are about a hundred bucks. For another, there's frequently wonderful restaurants and some good shows around, too.

I zipped down the Parkway recently and made a pit stop at one of the Parkway service stop areas. Got my chair out, ran down the guy who was eating ice cream in the ramp from the parking lot and looked at the two steps that separated the sidewalk from the rest stop.

There was a ramp. A crumbling and unhappy looking ramp. For a weakling like me, I knew it was going to be a challenge and it was until, lo, a great miracle occurred and I flew up the ramp. I turned and there was some man I'd never seen before in my life pushing me up the ramp. Into the rest area building.

I thanked him. It was only polite. But I grit my teeth at the same time.

What I noticed on this trip was that I was not invisible. People saw me. In a way, how could they not? Not only was I visible, but I was the village idiot and public property. People felt like they had to take care of me.

And I have to admit, for some reason during this trip I was not the sharpest crayon in the box and don't know why.

I'd been to the concert venue before and knew the ramp up into the hall area was steep and carpeted. I asked one of the ushers for some assistance and again, I got the Wheels On Fire treatment.

This particular artist is known for never having a set list and plays whatever requests are left on the part of the stage closest to him. I knew if I went down there I wouldn't get back. (Yes, I am getting the hint that I'm not as, ahem, fit as I should be.) I asked an usher to take it down for me and she refused. I tucked the song request back in my bag.

On the way out, a couple of people who had been sitting in front of me asked if they could push me down the ramp. I said no, that gravity was going its job admirably.

The rest of the time away from home was not without a few complications. I went to a museum for a special exhibit and the parking manager nearly knocked me out of my chair and I had to finally ask him to stop helping me.

It's hard to ask for help. It's not so hard to ask people to stop, because usually you're being treated like public property.