Tag Archives: access

An Open letter to Uber: Thanks for My Supper, But You can Do better

22 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by in blindness

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Like many people who have access to smartphones, I’ve used Uber for years – sometimes frequently, sometimes sporadically – to get my groceries, order meals in, or receive a ride from Point A to Point B. Most of the time, I’ve had excellent drivers with clean vehicles. But a recent experience has caused me to seriously question – when is enough, enough?

It was a Wednesday morning in January. I’d recently returned home from a wonderful trip to visit my family in another province – for the first time in two years. The entire time I was gone – and for almost a week afterward – Alberta was caught in the grip of a deep freeze, with temperatures dipping well below -30 degrees Celsius.

Normally, my commute to work occurs on foot. But with the temperatures being that cold, and the very real risk of frostbite to myself and my guide dog, I decided to take an Uber to work. I booked the ride through the app, got notified of the driver and vehicle assigned to my trip, dressed myself and Jenny (my guide dog) in appropriate layers, put on my mask, and waited for the Uber to arrive.

I should’ve known something was wrong – or at least not quite right – when the driver pulled up across the street from my house. This happens about 50% of the time, because for some reason the GPS units put my house across the street. Normally, the drivers see me waiting, or see the house number, and turn around to get to the correct side of the street. This one did not. Jenny and I crossed the residential street and walked around the front of the Uber to the passenger side. Only then did the driver roll down the window.

*** Please note: The portions of conversation are recalled from the best of my recollections, and may not be exact word-for-word transcription; however, I have stayed true to the spirit of the discussion.

“Did you call an Uber?” the driver asked.

“Yes. Who are you here for?” I asked him.

He confirmed my first name. I moved to open the rear door.

“This isn’t UberPet. You need another vehicle.”

Jenny stood calmly at my side, in her highly visible guide dog harness, lifting her boot-and-baby-sock-covered feet in the cold. “This is a service animal. It is illegal to deny me access.”

*unclear mumbling from the driver*

“Service animal,” I said firmly, reaching to open the door again.

The driver mumbled something else, rolled up the window, and – to my astonishment – drove away, leaving me and my guide dog in the bitter cold.

Two neighbors saw what happened. One offered me a ride to work. It was only when I got into his truck that I saw in the Uber app that another vehicle had been assigned to me. I let the new driver know that I was getting a ride to work, but was having technical difficulties canceling his trip and that I was very sorry. Eventually, I was able to cancel the ride (and was charged $5.25), and made it to work only 90 seconds late.

When I got in to work, I was fuming. Now that I was safe and warm and at work, the full implications of what happened finally hit me. Not only had I been denied service by an Uber driver – something which is well-documented in both the United States and Canada, and for which Uber has recently been ordered to pay one customer for repeated denials – but the driver saw absolutely nothing wrong with leaving someone outside on a day that was so bitterly cold. In very real terms, that driver would rather risk my life than provide me service to which I am legally entitled.

Over the coming days, I reported the issue to Uber, received my $5.25 cancellation fee back, spoke to an Uber representative, and received a small credit – which I decided to put toward my partner’s and my supper after a grueling work day. I figured it was done, a blip on the radar, and I could go about my regular millennial existence.

But now I’m not so sure.

My colleagues – when I told the story a couple of days later – were furious on my behalf. One of them said the driver should get fired. Before Uber came on the scene here, I wrote a blog post on this very topic – and I’m still not sure how I feel about this issue. Uber claims to notify drivers of their legal obligations to transport service animals, and yet I have many friends who frequently experience access denials with their guide and service dogs. Now, the common excuse I’ve heard is that Uber drivers are fraudulently claiming service dog handlers are not wearing masks (as per Uber policy and/or state, provincial, or municipal law). Someone else I know recently experienced an almost identical refusal to mine – claiming that they should have ordered an UberPet (which, by the way, is not available in all locations AND is more expensive). Is the message really and truly getting through? Whether the access denial is due to the perception that a dog is a pet, or drivers think they can lie about riders not wearing masks, the denial to a rider with a task-trained service dog who is well-behaved and under handler control is still illegal in many jurisdictions. Uber seems to think they can throw a few bucks at each rider they’ve denied access to, allow their algorithm to not match that driver with this rider, and they can go on their merry way because they “addressed the issue.”

I realize I’m coming from a place of extreme privilege; I can take my dollars elsewhere. And the more I think about it, the more I’m seriously considering getting out of the Ubersphere. Companies bear the responsibility of following laws, and ensuring those that work for – or are contracted to – them, do likewise. For now, I’m on the fence. But when is enough, enough?

My life is worth living, Uber; the fact that a driver believed otherwise is still chilling to me (no pun intended). I’m thankful the individuals I’ve spoken to about this – both in my local community and with Uber – have understood the seriousness of the situation and dealt with it with compassion and outrage. But Uber, as a company, needs to pay more than lip service and monetary compensation – large or small. Uber can and should do better. You know it, and the disability community knows it. Maybe you should actually do better.

“We don’t Serve your Kind Here”: On Restaurants and Accessibility

21 Saturday Aug 2021

Posted by in blindness, Ultimate Blog Challenge

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I am fortunate. I’m privileged to be in a city with a vibrant food culture, and the financial means to regularly treat myself to meals I don’t have to cook. Over the years I’ve sat in restaurants that have had various nods to inclusion and universal usability. But now that I’m thinking about it, there has almost always been some form of a barrier to access – either my own or for someone I’m with.

Getting in the Door

I must admit – to my shame – that I don’t think much about getting inside a restaurant as a barrier to access… but why wouldn’t it be? Getting through the door could be interpreted a variety of ways. Can your customers get to your location by many means of transport (safe pedestrian access, public transportation), or is it only accessible by car? What about getting inside? Is the door heavy, or does it open easily or automatically? Are their smooth access points to the building, or are their any steps to come inside? Neglecting any of these considerations could actually decrease your customer base, because it limits access to those who can drive (or pay for taxis), or are reliably ambulatory on two feet.

So, We’ve come inside… Now What?

So, you’ve got the perfect location, and barrier-free access to the building… That’s awesome! Can everyone enjoy your hospitality? Are your tables at varying heights? Is there enough space to navigate a wheelchair or walker or service dog or stroller between them? Is there enough quiet space for conversation to be possible, or for breaks from a sensory onslaught? How about menus? Can the menus be accessed through smartphone apps, braille, or large print? Is the lighting bright enough so your entire customer base can read them without squinting, or just asking the server for recommendations? Are the washrooms easy to access and navigate? Is your staff trained on local or federal laws regarding service dog access? In my own experience, at least one (and usually several) of the answers to these questions is “no.” And, as before, this either decreases your repeat customer base (at best), or provides a seriously negative experience (at worst).

“Why the Third Degree? You Aren’t my Only Customer!”

You could be reading this piece, wringing your hands, thinking that you have a hundred other things to think about rather than five hundred questions about access to your restaurant. After all, if I don’t come to your place of business, there’s always someone else who’ll take my place. You don’t have a ton of wheelchair users, or blind people, or people who use service dogs, anyway. You’ll serve us if we’re there, but systemic change… that’s just too hard and complicated, with too few returns. You may not post a sign saying “disabled people not welcome” (if you did, that would be illegal!) but the unspoken language of many eating establishments speaks just as loudly as any posted sign. This begs the question: Are disabled people (one of the largest minorities in the country) not showing up, or have we been denied access?

There Is a Better Way

Just this afternoon, I stumbled across a New York Times article reviewing a universally accessible restaurant in Harlem. The author brought a guest (a wheelchair user) who described the experience – from rolling from the sidewalk into the front door to the table at the correct height to eat at – as “a dream.” Even something so simple as easily accessing a washroom was seamless… and the one concern that was raised was addressed within minutes.

I recently celebrated a birthday. To support the animal rescue for which I’ve volunteered since the start of this year, I purchased several auction items which coincidentally included a gift certificate for Paddy’s Pub and Kitchen in St. Albert. Deciding to give it a try, my partner and I hopped a bus to St. Albert, got totally lost in the terminal, crossed a very busy arterial road (OK, let’s call it what it was: a multi-lane highway), got lost, and finally found the place. From the minute we walked in, we were provided amazing service – from asking if Jenny would like some water (she did) to recommending what’s become my new favourite beer (MH Brew Company’s Creamsicle Ale) to reading the menu because their web site’s menu was graphical, and the one on Uber Eats was incomplete. I also couldn’t help noticing how wide the isle was, with plenty of space to move and to distance, and not feel like I was going to fall on top of anyone. I can’t speak for the overall wheelchair-friendliness of the place (sorry!) but it was open enough to move, quiet enough to have a conversation, and I never once felt like an inconvenience when our server read the entire (very long) menu. And the carrot cake for my birthday? That alone was worth taking an Uber home for!

This is how access should be. This is, in effect, what customer service is: making your product or service enjoyable by the widest customer base possible.

I first started thinking about barriers to access when I was meeting a group of service dog users for supper at a Red Robin restaurant in Edmonton. I’d been there many times before with friends, and loved how seamless my experiences had always been – from the always-updated braille menus I could actually read, to the unparalleled training their staff clearly received around disability. My evening went off without a hitch… until one of the other service dog users and I both headed toward the washroom. She led the way in her foldable wheelchair, and Jenny and I followed behind. The door to the washroom pulled outward – toward us. There was only one accessible stall, which my companion took, while Jenny and I squished into one of the smaller ones. The sinks were almost too high for her to reach, and I had to hand her paper towels from the dispenser that stopped just above my shoulder. To head back to the table, I went in front of her to push the door outward so she could make the sharp 90-degree turn, twice, to leave the tiny restroom. I’d considered wheelchair access to buildings before, but it seemed just so incongruous that a place that had been so welcoming to me had thrown up barriers for someone else.

I could list a hundred other examples of exclusion – from buildings in touristy north American cities like Jasper, Alberta, and New York, with stairs-only access; to eating establishments with either hard-copy paper or graphic-only online menus; to the restaurant in Bozeman that I found out later was reachable only by car across a busy highway. But rare beacons of hopeful inclusion like Red Robin, Paddy’s and Contento give me hope that more will follow their example. I realize there are some true limitations; if your place is in a predominately car-centric area, can you make your overall experience a valuable trade-off for a taxi or Uber ride there? You may not be able to alter the architecture of your building right now, but the next time you renovate you could revise a few things to make your place easier to navigate for staff and patrons alike. You can make sure your complete menu is updated and available on delivery apps that serve your local area so that patrons can access them through technology that already meets their needs. You can educate yourself and your staff on service dog laws and etiquette – which includes your actual rights as a business owner – so that I can hopefully stop reading articles about service dogs being turned away from businesses, and fear the same happening to me, my loved ones, or fellow community members. In a hundred little ways, you can post those subliminal signs that I as a customer matter. Who knows? Maybe one day you will ask this question of your fellow restaurateurs: “Are we really serving everybody? Or are we stating – by inattention, design, or apathy – that we don’t serve those people?”

It’s never too late – or too much work – to do better.

Book Review: The Untold Story of the Talking Book

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by in Book reviews, Nonfiction

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I remember taking a road trip nearly 20 years ago and wondering what in the world I would do during the 9 hours I’d spend in transit each way. I visited my father not long before I left, and he handed me three plastic cases from the local public library, each of which contained two or three cassettes. This was my introduction to talking books. Sure, as a child, I had books with songs or sound effects, but so did the neighborhood kids. Braille books were always available, but they were big and bulky and cumbersome to transport – if I finished the volume(s) I brought with me, I could find myself without reading material at all, and bringing more than one or two volumes would take up just as much room as a small suitcase. At eleven or twelve years old, those three plastic cases with their two or three cassette tapes were my entree into the world of a more portable reading solution.
Over the past twenty years, the world of audio books has changed drastically. From those first books – abridged, in my opinion, to their detriment – to the unabridged audio books on tape or CD that became popular (if costly) at the turn of the century, to the repositories of digital downloads for rent or purchase… no one can deny that audio books are here to stay.
When I first discovered Matthew Rubery’s “The Untold Story of the Talking Book” I waited for months to read it. Of course, I listened to it in audio format; it just seemed most appropriate.

 

About the Book

 

Histories of the book often move straight from the codex to the digital screen. Left out of that familiar account is nearly 150 years of audio recordings. Recounting the fascinating history of audio-recorded literature, Matthew Rubery traces the path of innovation from Edison’s recitation of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” for his tinfoil phonograph in 1877 to the first novel-length talking books made for blinded World War I veterans to today’s billion-dollar audiobook industry.
The Untold Story of the Talking Book focuses on the social impact of audiobooks, not just the technological history, in telling a story of surprising and impassioned conflicts: from controversies over which books the Library of Congress selected to become talking books – yes to Kipling, no to Flaubert – to debates about what defines a reader. Delving into the vexed relationship between spoken and printed texts, Rubery argues that storytelling can be just as engaging with the ears as with the eyes and that audiobooks deserve to be taken seriously. They are not mere derivatives of printed books but their own form of entertainment.
We have come a long way from the era of sound recorded on wax cylinders, when people imagined one day hearing entire novels on mini phonographs tucked inside their hats. Rubery tells the untold story of this incredible evolution and, in doing so, breaks from convention by treating audiobooks as a distinctively modern art form that has profoundly influenced the way we read.

 

A Note about Audio

 

Many of my readers access reading material through audio book libraries, whether through their state or federal library for the blind, through their local public library, or through online resources featuring books on CD or digital downloads for rent or purchase. The narrator of Rubery’s book, Jim Dennison, reads the book straight through, with neither dramatic flare nor flat intonation. It was mildly disconcerting listening to such a narrator reading a passage about “How to Read a Talking Book.” But Dennison is a good narrator choice for this book, letting the text stand on its own… and stand, it does.

 

Blindness is Prominent

 

Unlike many authors that include a few token quotes from blind people, Rubery shies away from making them out to be incompetent or demanding or whiny. He describes blind people as having particular needs (inclusion, literacy) and vastly different opinions of what that would look like. Some were portrayed as grateful for any literature at all, while others are more particular about the types of books available. Some wanted to read about those who went through the journey of blindness, while others preferred escapism. This provides a look into blind people as individuals, with different personalities, preferences and expectations. He also describes the challenges of learning braille later in life, or transporting braille volumes for those who read braille, or the limited number of books made available. In addition, he provides compelling scientific evidence (written in an accessible style) that reading with the fingers or the ears uses the same brain activity as reading with the eyes, putting the visually impaired only at a disadvantage to their sighted friends or family due to the lack of access to reading material.

 

Not a Dry (Audio) Book

 

Rubery not only discusses the history of talking books – from their inception to the present – but does so logically and with nuance. From the early days where the hope for talking books was surpassed by the technology available at the time to the present day where almost everyone has some form of talking book somewhere (on their phone, in their car), he takes us on a wild ride. I found myself most interested in the inception of talking book libraries in the 1930s. How were books chosen? Was there censorship involved? Were the blind needing protection from unpleasant topics? Did narration matter? With a finite supply of funds, what would appeal to the widest variety of people? When audio books became more popular, what made some publishers more successful than others? From “public” playing of talking books in one’s living room (a BIG no no!) to the idea that any form of “hearing” books being viewed by society as “lazy”, I found myself wrestling with some of those questions, even as I read an audio book while making dinner or going for a run.

And talking books are constantly changing, even today. Now, books on CD are still available for purchase by consumers and libraries, even as digital repositories are gaining popularity. Some audio books for adults have included (as they did for children all those years ago) sound effects and music to enhance the experience. Rubery provides a compelling case that there is room in the marketplace for audio books as they are, and as they will become in the years ahead.

 

Conclusion

 

A seasoned audio book consumer, I learned a lot from this book. From the little things (like why some libraries for the blind include warnings about violence or strong language in their book descriptions) to the big things (wondering how the printed word became so “sacred” after cultures used oral storytelling for centuries), there is much to take away from this book. Whether you read it with your eyes or your ears, it provides much food for thought and interesting discussion.

4/5 stars.

Schoolbooks and Slingshots: Education, Legislation, and the Mess In Between

26 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in blindness

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What does discrimination look like? Is it being told, flat out, that you can’t do this task or have this job or enter that building or raise a family? Is it using insulting words, raised voices, thrown objects? Or is it subtler? Is it the pervasive idea that our presence in and of itself – with minds or bodies that don’t function “correctly” – is unwanted?
More important than that, how can we combat it? Is education the best way to eliminate misconceptions? Or is confrontation more productive? Over the years I have believed that one or the other is appropriate, but I’ve done a lot of thinking recently… why is it assumed that the two are mutually exclusive?

Not long ago I found a couple of friends posting on Facebook a status that went something like this: “Maybe I’m the only blind person you know, and maybe you’re afraid to ask me questions. THIS is a safe place to ask any questions you have – big or small – about my life as a blind person.” It’s an interesting thought – something that I would consider doing on social media, for people who have already built up some form of a relationship with me. But I question the appropriateness of educating the general public… just because they are curious and don’t know how I live my life. It’s one thing for a prospective employer or university professor to ask questions about how the job gets done – but my life is my own, and I shouldn’t have to educate the passenger beside me on the bus how I cook, clean, live my life, just because they’re curious and are dying to know. If someone has the time and inclination to share this information, that’s absolutely acceptable. But not everyone wishes to do so, and should not feel judged by the disability community at large or by the general public for politely declining to answer what can be considered nosy, invasive questions when directed at a non-disabled person.
But what if someone says or does or asks something truly offensive? Is education appropriate? The answer is… yes and no. It does definitely depend on the situation – what was said, how it was said, and how willing the other party is to understand that what they said, did or asked was inappropriate or invasive. I recently had a really rough day, where someone I asked for directions talked over me as though I couldn’t talk for myself, an interviewer told me that my resume was just what she was looking for but she “just didn’t know if I could do the job”, and then a woman on the bus told me that I “looked so young and attractive” that she “never would’ve guessed I had any challenges.” With person number 1, I was admittedly abrupt and short, thanking him sincerely for his help but that I could take it from here and speak for myself (His response: “Really? You can?”) The job interviewer was much trickier, because I felt like I had to not only convince her that I COULD do that job, but also be polite in the face of that dreaded C word (“can’t“). When I was later advised the position had been given to another candidate, I requested more information about my interview itself and was able to explain why her comments and questions were unreasonable and inappropriate, and how it’s always best to presume competence; she thanked me for my feedback and promised to implement changes to her interview practices. The lady on the bus… I was so taken aback by her comment – that attractiveness, youth and disability couldn’t co-exist – that I thanked her for her compliment but told her that it was offensive, because disability is not just for the old and the unattractive. She thanked me for telling her and said she would choose her words more wisely in the future.
But not everyone is as willing to hear our answers, having their own ideas about our capabilities and the realities of our lives. More than once someone has made a statement of how sad my life must be, but when I try and explain, I effectively get told that I’m wrong – that I miss out on so many beautiful things. It’s frustrating on an emotional level, but when it comes to employment it becomes economically frustrating as well. So what do we do when others’ perceptions and ideas and design affects our ability to work, to study, to access facilities? We sometimes fight through legislation. Maybe it won’t change someone’s mind until they realize how serious it is that we’re denied job opportunities, academic pursuits, and the ability to move freely through cities, streets and businesses. I’ve never seen the picture of the “Capitol Crawl” – a public visual demand for passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act – but it’s an important image to keep in mind: access to some is not access for all, and until all citizens have access to the same products, services and facilities, a society is not truly free and equal. And even though not everything is a fight, it is important to band together as a stronger disability community – to support each other and the non-disabled who stand with us as we try and make a difference.
Sometimes it’s best to catch flies with honey rather than vinegar. But if you can’t catch them with honey because they just don’t care, vinegar is absolutely a valid option. It’s important to choose our battles wisely, to conduct ourselves with a strong will tempered by grace, wisdom and logic. Emotion, if channeled appropriately, can be powerful, but it can’t be the only way we respond to circumstance. And logic without personal experience is dry and boring and, frankly, no one wants to hear that either. Sometimes change is best accomplished through well-timed, well-tempered words; other times it means pushing back against ideas and thoughts and practices through personal or government advocacy. No one way is right or wrong for everyone, but it is important that whatever we do, however we combat discrimination and prejudice, that it improves life for everyone, not just one segment of our community.

A Burger with a Side of Discrimination, Please

05 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in blindness

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Not long ago, I was visiting British Columbia, a province with a very well-publicized and shiny new Service Dogs Act. My trip was generally a positive one, until I attempted to enter one particular bar/restaurant that I had previously frequented. I’m not unfamiliar with being asked for ID to verify my age in such places, and even my (thankfully relatively) few access challenges with my guide dog have primarily been handled discretely and/or quickly. What I did not expect was to be demanded, loudly and publicly, for my guide dog’s paperwork… from across the bar. My dog was doing nothing inappropriate, was guiding me into the restaurant, her nails slightly struggling to gain purchase on the slippery floor. So… I was demanded – loudly and publicly – for paperwork that no one else in the restaurant was required to produce. Long story short, I realized that I didn’t have current ID with me (I had mistakenly packed an expired school-issued ID card), and I was asked to leave. When I told the employee she should consider discretion if she had to request paperwork from paying patrons, she acted so surprised that such a thing would be requested of her.
Without getting into the nitty-gritties, I contacted the BC government on this issue. They ended up responding to my complaint with an inaccessible PDF (one that was scanned as a picture, so no readable text for a screen reader), which said – basically – that since I didn’t have a piece of plastic (whether issued by the government or a guide/service dog program), a business was within their rights to refuse service. They did not address the humiliating and embarrassing experience of being demanded publicly for such information and then publicly being told to leave.
Where is the outrage outside of the service dog and/or blind community? Would anyone else be expected to accept this treatment?
Last week, a news story made the rounds about a teenager with a disability who was purposefully excluded from a relative’s wedding because of her disability. The support on sites like Reddit came in fast and furious, which is awesome… but it got me to thinking: Where is the support from the public when people with disabilities are turned down for jobs (whether stated or implied) because of their disability, forced to alter their academic pursuits or undergo additional testing, find it easier to obtain resources to assist in their death than aids to live life, are killed for simply being disabled?

There is open discrimination in the world – being told you won’t get a job because of your disability (yes, this happens). There is invisible discrimination where it’s implied by the subtext of a conversation or interaction that your presence, request, or concern is not wanted or valid (yes, this happens, too). There is violence against the disabled as can be evidenced by interactions with police, the murder in Japan last week, or by cultures who view disability as a curse on a family. While disability can have its own limitations (at this point, I won’t be driving a car anytime soon); but I believe that it’s not disability that holds us back as much as perceptions and demands of others. To some, not eating at that particular restaurant may be a “little thing”, and I suppose it’s true because we had other options. But what if we didn’t? Maybe that young girl loved her aunt and really wanted to be at her wedding for that special day, and she got slapped in the face because of a perception of what she could and couldn’t do. Judging by the amount of tense family gatherings I’ve witnessed and heard of, discrimination – even by a family member – is a pretty big deal. And how big a deal is open or invisible discrimination in the job hunt when it directly impacts one’s ability to make a living and contribute to a local, national or even global economy? And if we can’t access facilities like everyone else, attend family functions, obtain employment if we have the desired qualifications and skills, do we reach a tragic end because we just don’t belong? To quote a friend of mine, I’ve been gifted a double portion of stubborn. Maybe this will help me, maybe it will help others. It’s never “just about a restaurant” when you’re made to feel scrutinized for simply walking or rolling through the door. It’s never “just one day” when you get told that you, specifically, are not welcome at a celebration, but your whole family can come along now. It’s never “just one job” when you get told there’s no way you can do job tasks you’ve honed over years of practice and hard-won experience.

And it’s never “just one life” when you have to fight not only others’ perceptions, bureaucratic red tape, medical concerns, and discrimination… but yourself underneath it all. Sometimes being who we are is a radical act of defiance.

The Empowered Series: Alberta Service Dog Community

15 Friday Jul 2016

Posted by in The Empowered Series

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Samantha Hjalmarson (Sam), my current feature for The Empowered Series is someone who hasn’t started a business or a nonprofit, but a community that empowers, encourages, and connects others. I had an opportunity to meet her a few months ago. Both of us have service dogs (though for different disabilities); at our meeting, her dog was much much better behaved than mine (due to Jenny’s cat-litter consumption). In response to her disability, Sam spearheaded and almost exclusively runs the Alberta Service Dog Community, but she’s reaching for different heights as well. And who would want to say no to cute puppies?

 

About Sam

 

Sam developed fairly severe PTSD after years of abuse by her stepfather, though she didn’t realize it for many years. After high school, she joined the military as a signals operator, and the PTSD along with Generalized Anxiety Disorder started causing problems with her ability to cope. After her three year basic engagement was up, Sam left the military primarily due to her mental health (though there were other reasons). Things were manageable until a car accident put her in the hospital for a few days, then left her bed-ridden for weeks after and then it all started going really downhill. PTSD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) have manifested themselves in agoraphobia; Sam spends most of her energy on managing stress levels, and sometimes even leaving the house is a challenge, making work outside the home impossible. One employer after another fired her; even though Sam worked productively when she was present, she couldn’t consistently be at work every day. Eventually she went to a therapist and was diagnosed with PTSD. It eventually hit the point where she was unable to work at all, had to fight to get onto AISH (“another long story by itself!”) and wound up with a Service Dog to help her out.
Sam’s hobbies include making chain mail, finding meditative benefit from baking and cooking. She’s a massive geek, “like Dungeons and Dragons roleplaying level geek”, video games, fantasy books and TV. She enjoys amateur photography and is a cat person (“Honestly if we could have service cats instead of service dogs I would be all over that.”)

 

About ASDC

 

Alberta Service Dog Community (ASDC) came out of Sam’s desire to be a productive member of society. Being on disability and taking money from the government left her feeling like she was being a drain so she really felt that urge to do something to help other people. While Sam’s search for a service dog went quite smoothly most people don’t have that same experience. She was lucky, extremely lucky, in that not only did Hope Heels give her a service dog but she also met a group of women who have turned out to be an incredible support network and some of the best friends she’s ever had. Hope Heels went on a hiatus (it’s currently up and running again) but those friendships remain.

Disabilities like Sam’s in particular, but others as well, can be isolating and lonely. Sam wanted to create a support network like she had, so she started ASDC to bring members of the community together. People who get service dogs from schools and programs often have that built in but owner trainers don’t. ASDC isn’t specifically FOR owner trainers, anyone is welcome, but Sam thinks they benefit the most from it, removing the isolation and creating a support system for each other. Much of the discussion and support is virtual (through facebook), but occasional training dates, coffee meetups and other activities are coordinated to get the group together.

 

More than a Support Group

 

The ASDC mandate is education and advocacy. People who want to get a service dog are educated on some of the ways they can go about that and about the laws that would protect their rights (there are two in Alberta, the SD Act and the Human Rights Act). The public is also educated about those laws, what service dogs are and the rights of Service Dog Teams.

Advocacy is another big piece of what ASDC does. Not everyone who faces an access challenge with their service dog has the ability to stand up for themselves and their rights so ASDC offers to do that for them. ASDC can provide advice on self-advocacy, or will contact a business or other entity on behalf of someone if they cannot advocate for themselves. “People with disabilities need less obstacles in their lives, not more.”

 

So what does Sam… Do?

 

Sam is currently the jill-of-all-trades at ASDC, receiving phone calls, answering any questions that come to the main page, posting the majority of articles, and stepping in to resolve an occasional conflict. Currently, her biggest role at the moment is representing ASDC on the technical committee to develop a National Standard for Service Dogs in Canada. The hope is that this will be adopted across the country and will make it so much easier for owner trainers to be legally recognized and protected, in addition to making service dog standards and access rights clear and consistent across Canada.

 

What’s Next?

 

In the future, Sam hopes to incorporate ASDC as a charitable foundation, but at this point “it’s a lot of work!” She also hopes to build a website to house resources, educational pieces, a list of trainers who can help people train their own service dogs, a list of schools that service the area. Eventually once the National Standards are completed and implemented, she hopes to do a series of videos explaining how to train for the points required to meet those standards. About the future Web site and access challenges: “Pretty much anything you can imagine someone wanting to know about Service Dogs or what to do with one I want up on that website, including a link for businesses telling them when they are allowed to ask a handler to remove the dog. I think that if a business feels secure in their ability to protect themselves then there will be far fewer access challenges.”

 

Conclusion

 

There is more than one way to contribute to society. For many of us, it’s holding down a job and contributing to the economy. If that’s not possible, it’s important to find another way. Sam has created a lively community of service dog handlers from across the province while simultaneously providing support to those who need a place to turn or a question answered. Thanks, Sam, for being “chatty” (you made this post SO easy to write!)

An Open Letter to Hiring Managers: Want to make $$$? Hire Inclusively

09 Thursday Jun 2016

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Earlier this week, I found a story about a home improvement retailer who hired a service dog user with a brain injury. This is terrific! This is corporate responsibility. This is true representation of the broader community which this retailer serves. This is hiring people with unique skills and talents to fill a role that a company sees as valuable. I took to Facebook and thanked whoever hired this man for giving him a position that he clearly desired, wishing more hiring managers and companies did the same.

 

I’m on the job hunt, too, and it got me to thinking. Did this company hire this man – will a company hire me? – only because it is the law to do so? Will they do so because it is the socially conscious “in thing” to do so? Or will they hire people with disabilities because they realize that we’re a huge untapped market for them? Disability not only touches those living with blindness, who are deaf, who use wheelchairs, and/or who have brain injuries (sometimes in combination)… but those with invisible disabilities as well. This doesn’t even address our friends, families, and others who care about us. A Canadian organization recently launched the We Belong App. The app allows consumers to search by location for companies and organizations that hire inclusively (primarily people with developmental disabilities), giving them the opportunity to show financially that it pays to do so.

 

Meaningful employment is something that’s very important to me. I want to be hired at a position with a company that views me as an asset, not a liability. Unfortunately, the latter appears to be the prevailing thinking among people who’ve met me for interviews. I don’t make constant eye contact, I imply that it’s important to use words to communicate… and yet I have years of experience behind me, so that should count for something. Do I want a job? You bet your last dollar. But I want a job with a company or organization that views me as the asset that I am, with unique insights, skills, and talents to bring to the table. Things may have to be done differently, but change is a part of life; many accommodations for people with disabilities end up benefiting entire workplaces, and it’s not often realized until after the disabled employee moves on to other opportunities (personal or professional).

 

So for those who hire people with any disability out of pity or patronism, thanks, but no thanks. It makes everybody miserable and you honestly shouldn’t bother. For those who don’t hire us because of your preconceived notions of our capabilities – not because you truly had more qualified applicants – please know that you’ve broken human rights legislation. The law is only one piece in a mosaic that fits together to include people with disabilities in society, in the classroom, in the workplace. It takes inclusive thinkers – who are unfortunately not frequently in HR – to understand that we’re more than the eyes or ears or hands or legs or brain that doesn’t work as expected. If the law is the only reason you begrudgingly hire me or anyone with a disability, congratulations, you’re a rule-follower, move along now. Ditto about everyone being miserable. But if you want to be progressive, inclusive, and innovative like you claim you are, hire people with unique skills, talents and insights who just happen to be disabled. Your business will benefit as much if not more than the employee you hire, because we do have friends and families and others who care about us… and they reward truly inclusive and empowering workplaces with their positive words to their friends and families and coworkers… and their consumer dollars. The bottom dollar is a motivator for many; I’d like to use some of mine to support employers who don’t discriminate. but that can only happen once pretty words on a page start becoming action, once HR managers, CEOs, and office managers view people with disabilities as unique resources and assets to business and commerce.

 

Oh, and if you are one of those progressive, inclusive, innovative HR managers, CEOs, or office managers, drop me a line; I’d be happy to meet you.

First They Denied Access…

09 Saturday Apr 2016

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Earlier this week, my friend Meagan wrote a brilliant blog post about selective discrimination. If you haven’t read it yet, you should, because it’s important. I had full intentions of writing about a similar topic from another angle; thankfully she is gracious enough not to point out that SHE wrote about it first…

Over the past six months or so, since becoming more involved in the disability rights movement and meeting more people, I’ve come face-to-face with some of my own ideas about disability, access, and availability of information. People with a wide range of disabilities – those who are deaf or hard of hearing, who use wheelchairs, who are on the autism spectrum, who live with PTSD – have been far more patient than I deserve. I’ve had my own sense of privilege pointed out – just because I have access to something doesn’t mean that everyone does, and how dare I sit back and be content that I have access to facilities, employment, or information, when the fight for equality is far from over for everyone else? If you live with a disability, and even if you don’t, I hope you’ll consider the next few paragraphs carefully, make whatever necessary changes in yourself, and realize that it’s up to you and me to make things happen, even if it doesn’t directly benefit us.

Let’s start with a few examples. Several followers on twitter have recently opened up a huge discussion about a popular podcasting website that provides audio posts for their blind followers, but delays (if it publishes at all) the publication of transcripts so that deaf or deaf-blind followers can follow along. Many blind people are pushing for TV networks and video-on-demand services like Netflix to provide descriptive video, even as closed captioning has been part of TV networks for years now so that those who are deaf or hard of hearing can more fully enjoy movies and TV programming. In either example, many of those who have received access to the information or service are strangely silent on pushing for others with different accessibility needs to have that same access for themselves. What about physical access to buildings? Just because I have two strong feet and the ability to use them to propel myself forward, how dare I take for granted the ability to walk into any building I choose – a shop, a restaurant, a concert venue – and not even have to think twice about it? Many wheelchair users have to contact restaurants ahead of time to ensure there are ramps to the building, or make sure the seats they purchased for that blockbuster concert are truly accessible. Many are too gracious to point out that we all have our own struggles, but that’s hardly the point now, is it?

 

Among service dog users, the guide dog is the most commonly recognized. But many other service dogs exist. What gives guide dog users (myself included) the right to police what specific services another’s service dog provides so long as it mitigates a disability? How dare we sit smugly by when other legitimate service dog teams are denied access to public facilities just because we are the privileged and most recognizable? What gives other service dog users the right to tell guide dog handlers how much more training our dogs need than theirs? I’ve seen all of this and more… and it’s ugly. And I’m not even touching on the service dog fakers…

 

The blind community in and of itself is not exempt from such stances of privilege. There is an outspoken outrage when a guide dog user is denied access to a restaurant, movie theatre, or taxi. Yet, in moments of vulnerability and candor, some blind people who prefer to travel with canes acknowledge that there’s a teeny tiny part of themselves that is grateful that the battle for access isn’t directly related to them. Until this past week when two blind friends using canes were refused entry to a restaurant because the eating area was upstairs, modern instances of service denial to the blind traveling with canes are exceedingly rare. Several of my deaf-blind friends have had blind people question their dignity and right to access information, resources, and employment services. None of these things are right, and no one should ever indicate that discrimination in any form is OK… and yet…

 

I’m going to go out on a limb and borrow an oft-quoted and paraphrased poem by Martin Niemöller. Maybe this will help the disability community realize that we’re not so different after all, and denying access to some of us should be considered equally as horrible as doing so to all of us:

 

First they denied access to the service dog handler, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a service dog handler.

Then they denied access to buildings for the wheelchair user, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a wheelchair user.

Then they denied access to information for the deaf, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not deaf.

Then they denied access and accommodations for the autistic, and I did not speak out— Because I was not autistic.

 

Then they denied access and dignity to those with PTSD, and I did not speak out— Because I did not have PTSD.

 

Then they denied access to me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

An Open Letter to Service Dog Fakers

18 Friday Mar 2016

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Listen to a reading of this postDownload

You and I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting, but you’ve met almost all of my friends at one point or another. You may think you’ve pulled one over on everyone, but you’ve actually made governments – state or provincial – stand up and take notice of what you’ve been doing. I wish I could say that it’s nice to meet you, but then I would be lying… something you do every day by passing off your pet (even a well-behaved one) as a service dog. Maybe you know in the back of your head that your actions may affect those of us with illnesses or disabilities who use service dogs to increase our independence or alert to oncoming life-threatening situations; maybe you just want what you want. You love your dog, I get it; I love mine, too. But just in case you weren’t aware, there are some broader implications of buying a $75 vest online and getting some doctor you’ve never met to sign a piece of paper indicating you need a “service” dog. You’ve heard the general arguments, and you keep doing this, so maybe it’s time someone asked some tough questions.

 

Is it Even RIGHT for your Dog?

If your dog doesn’t scrounge, bark, growl, lunge, wander around unnecessarily, or display other inappropriate behavior in public, move on to the next section; I have different questions for you.

Service dogs are well-trained and welcomed into public establishments for good reasons. They go through hundreds if not thousands of hours of public access training by owners, puppy raisers, and/or professionals, who work their way up to being able to take the dogs into malls, restaurants and stores. Not all dogs that are bred, raised, and go through service dog training complete it for a variety of reasons (much of it stress or health related). Even trained service dogs have “off” days but overall are well-behaved and continuously trained to be that way even after being issued to a handler with a disability or life-threatening illness. If a service dog is uncontrollable or aggressive or ill, and no amount of retraining can fix this, handlers go through the heartbreaking process of retiring the dog. In contrast, you just want what you want – your dog in a store with you – and don’t care about the sudden stress you’re putting on your dog. Your Fluffy, nine times out of ten, is incredibly stressed by your taking him into Walmart to buy your quart of milk, dozen eggs, and a replacement toothbrush, and can act fearful or aggressive due to that stress. And don’t get me started on your allowing your dog to get out of control, display aggressive behavior, to wander away from you, or to do other things for which a child would be asked to leave had they done them. In a terrific facebook post, a friend put this better than I ever could:

… look at it from that pet dog’s perspective. He has no idea what is happening to him, very likely does not like it, does not know how to behave, and doesn’t have a handler who is listening to any of the dog cues he is sending for: “Please don’t bring me here. I don’t like this. I’m scared or mad.” That dog is clearly saying one thing, but all that human hears is: “Me. I get to do what is convenient for me. Screw my dog. Screw the civil rights of other people. Me.”

 

Can you Expand your Dog’s Training?

If you’ve socialized your pet appropriately in pet-approved malls, restaurant patios, and stores, you have my gratitude. Dogs are a reality that our service dogs will encounter regularly, and the better trained or behaved your dog is, the easier it is for my service dog and I to go about our business.

But if you have the previously-mentioned “service dog” vest on your pet dog and take well-behaved Brutus or Fluffy into malls and stores where dogs are generally not welcome, not only are you committing a fraud by passing as someone with a disability or illness, you are making your dog unnecessarily dependent on your companionship. You think you can’t function without him, but in reality you are making him uncomfortable with his own company. If your dog can’t be left at home for a few hours without disturbing the neighbors with her barking or destroying your couches out of boredom, this makes my point for me. Why don’t you take some of that wonderful training foundation you’ve put into place and use it to work with him on separation anxiety? You’ve gotten the socialization training down pat, so take a little bit of extra effort and make all of our lives more convenient, not just yours. I have full confidence in you!

 

Do You Know Your Fraud Is Coming to An End?

Not only are legitimate service dog handlers sick of what you’re doing, businesses and governments are, too. This will affect your ability to pull off this fraud for much longer, particularly as it pertains to your misbehaving Brutus or Fluffy. Many of us service dog handlers are educating businesses on what is appropriate service dog behavior, what is a legitimate service dog being under control but having a rough day, and what is flat-out unacceptable. Businesses and service providers are being advised about the questions they can ask, what behavior is acceptable, and when they can deny service. Did you know that in most jurisdictions, businesses have the right to ask that any misbehaving dog – service dog or not – leave the premises? You’ve gotten by with your mass-produced “service dog” vests and registry cards (which, by the way, currently aren’t worth the plastic they’re printed on), counting on the fear of getting sued for asking you to leave your disruptive “service dog” outside or at home. But many of us handlers have your number and are contacting businesses and advising them of their rights (because, after all, they have rights, too).

What is also looking much more likely in a lot of states and provinces is a government-issued ID, which will make it much much harder, and the penalties much more expensive, to pass Brutus or Fluffy off as a service dog. And you know who’s going to have the burden of providing this legitimate piece of plastic for the asking? Someone like me, who thank you very much, is noticeable enough because of my service dog – you know, one that mitigates a disability? I hope that financial penalties for your fraud will be high, even as I don’t think it’s fair that I will likely one day have to show identifiable information to anyone who asks because you’ve chosen convenience and selfishness over my right to an autonomous and independent life.

 

Do you Actually want to Live My Life?

Speaking of living an autonomous and independent life, do you realize what these real service dogs actually do? They guide blind and visually impaired people safely through streets and malls and airports. They alert a deaf or hard-of-hearing handler of sounds in their environment. They pull wheelchairs and open doors and retrieve dropped objects. If their handler is going through a panic attack, it is the dog’s job to indicate that one is coming or remove the handler from the situation. If a diabetic’s blood sugar is low or an epileptic is going to have a seizure, these dogs alert them to get to a safe place or to take their medication. And I haven’t even scratched the surface. These dogs do a million and one little things that assist the independence of people with disabilities and/or with illnesses that could threaten their lives.

Have you lived a day where you hear a child ask what’s wrong with you, or how sorry someone is that you are blind or deaf or use a wheelchair? Have you been told that severe anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder is all in your head while you’ve struggled to leave your house and feel safe in a crowd? Do you worry about packing enough food in case your blood sugar gets too low, or have this niggling sense of dread in the back of your mind about when the next seizure could hit? Do you struggle to obtain or maintain a job because people question your ability to perform job tasks, or feel like you have to hide a part of yourself in order to keep the job you do have?

I could go on and on with these questions, but I’ve made my point. Until such point as you’ve lived these lives – whether my own or that of someone I know and care about – then you have no business pretending that you do. Until you’ve had to chew out a parent for allowing their child to make inappropriate overtures to your service dog, until you’ve had strangers abruptly grab your body or mobility aid because they “meant well,” until you’ve been told that your panic attacks or flashbacks are all in your head and to suck it up and get on with it, you do not have the right to use a dog to pretend that this is your reality. If you wouldn’t take your pet dog dressed in “service dog” gear to a job interview because you wouldn’t want the stigma of disability attached to you, then how dare you do so when it’s convenient for you? You want the perks with none of the inconveniences, fears, and complexity that go along with them.

 

In Conclusion

Many people with disabilities live happy and fulfilled lives, some with service dogs and some without. For many of us, a service dog is the difference between independence and seclusion, confidence and fear, life and death. Are you still going to tell me that this little white lie – pretending you have a disability – doesn’t hurt anyone? Call me the next time someone talks to you like you’re a child, denies you an opportunity for employment, or makes you disclose the fact that you live with PTSD because you “look so normal.” If a store doesn’t want to welcome pets, that is their decision; but they can’t turn away people who use wheelchairs, walkers or canes, so they can’t turn away well-behaved service dogs accompanying people with legitimate disabilities. Unfortunately, actions like yours have caused stores and restaurants to turn us away, usually rudely and publicly. I’m sure your dog is lovely, but you have no business pretending he is what he isn’t, or you live with something you don’t. I don’t care what makes you knock off this self-centered entitled behavior – huge monetary fines, a pricked conscience, or embarrassment from being asked to leave by a well-informed employee of a no-pets-allowed establishment – but it’s time your nose stopped growing.

It’s Not About the Oranges

12 Saturday Mar 2016

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I never thought I would write a blog post about a fruit I seldom eat, but I also never thought that Twitter would nearly blow up over… oranges.

 

Whole Foods, an American grocery chain generally marketed to the upwardly mobile and/or environmentally conscious recently stocked pre-peeled oranges wrapped in plastic. The backlash on social media was swift: Who is too lazy to peel their oranges? And all of that plastic CAN’t be good for the environment… right? Whole Foods then issued a statement that the product was a “mistake” and they pulled it from their shelves.

 

In response to – if not defense of – this product, many people with illnesses or disabilities that make peeling and cutting fruits and vegetables a painful challenge (if not impossible) chose to use this as a teaching opportunity. I’ve written a bit about social media activism, and while an argument can be made that much of it might seem angry or whiny, I found the tone of this particular activism was more informative. It brought to the consciousness things I’ve never considered myself, because I’ve been blessed with two steady hands that make cooking and food preparation a generally (though not always) safe life skill. But what if I had limited dexterity or severe joint pain? What if I had to worry about coordination or seizures? I don’t live with these things, and that’s a blessing, but many people do… and many have articulated that products like this are accessibility needs, not wants.

 

Leaving aside the general price-points of high-end markets, I’ve enjoyed the general tone of this conversation, at least the respectful bits that discuss the seeming gap between environmentalism and access to healthy food. Whether Whole Foods put this product on their shelf, or another grocer somewhere else, the topic will continue to be brought up in various incarnations. What is the difference between pre-peeled oranges packed in plastic and pre-sliced mushrooms packaged the same way? No one bats an eye about that. How about personal servings of yogurt, pre-shredded salad mix, or juice boxes with plastic-wrapped straws? Many of these foods are considered “convenience” foods, and no one can argue that they aren’t as environmentally friendly as buying that big tub of yogurt or that large carton of juice. Convenience in and of itself isn’t always bad, especially if it makes life easier and healthy food more easily preparable for everyone. No one seems to bat an eye at these “convenience” foods as much as the oranges, perhaps because they are portable and self-contained right off the shelf. But I, for one, may never think of them the same way again. What if I couldn’t peel my own orange, for whatever reason? Would I have to try and hide my “convenience” food purchases for fear of being judged as not caring for the environment? Would I, as others have suggested, have to call someone over to my house to peel my apples for me if I get peckish in the middle of the night? Thanks, but no thanks…

 

The discussion that this little fruit has brought may never go away completely, and it’s not an either-or debate. The suggestions have been swift and numerous to intersect convenience, attainability, and environmentally friendly. Suggestions ranged from simply pointing out that there are worse or different ways of being poor stewards of the earth, to suggesting that some of the cost of pre-packaged food can go into research and development for more environmentally friendly containers and wrapping. None of this is a one-sided debate, because it is like comparing… well, apples to oranges. If I walk to a grocery store and buy some pre-packaged food, am I leaving more of a carbon footprint than someone who drives to the grocery store and buys all of their products in bulk? There are no easy answers to these questions, but the conversation is worth having. I may not be a card-carrying environmentalist, but I like to do what I can for the planet. And if someone wants to buy a pre-packaged salad, for whatever reason, it’s nobody’s business but theirs. Besides, if you want to raise a stink about plastic-wrapped vegetables, what about the plastic bag of chips in your shopping cart?