Tag Archives: disability

The UBC Back to School Edition: Detour #2

07 Friday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, ,

OK, I did not take one detour on my path to my certiciate. I took two!

In hindsight, which is always 20/20, my first detour was probably more of a catering for my need for validation than an actual practical need on my education journey.

This second one? I 100% believe I needed it.

Admn 100 – or, as I have affectionately dubbed it, “Business Math for Dummies.” – was both incredibly useful and incredibly frustrating for me. I re-discovered my hatred of fractions, and that I am surprisingly good at graphing equations non-visually. But there were some difficulties that I didn’t know about, and wouldn’t have known until partway through the course.

First off, my textbook was an etext. I’ve written before about the etext book. This one was easy enough to navigate, though I can’t say I was a big fan of the chapters and units in the textbook collapsing, and needing to expand them, rather than going and moving seamlessly and directly from one unit or section to another. Using a braille display was absolutely essential for me to quickly read any formulas, though this was not completely seamless either (it was almost impossible to tell if a numerical value was a fraction). But overall, the textbook experience was relatively simple.

The practice exercises in the textbook were doable, but I found myself going back and forth between the textbook and my computer’s calculator. The same for using the practice exercises online – with the added fun of the exercises being technically accessible (I could do them, but not without a bunch of frustration and scrolling up and down on my screen).

Enter the veritable needle in a haystack experience that was finding a talking financial calculator.

I did find one, which does much of what I needed to. However, there was only one distributor I could find in North America, which meant I paid a small fortune for shipping, plus the exchange rate. I am only now (as of about 24 hours ago) finding a couple of shortcomings with the calculator that, again, I would probably have known had their been more accessible options out there.

And the quizzes… did I mentioned I hate fractions?

Join me tomorrow when I tell the whole story behind the “it’s just a few things” inaccessible quiz experience.

The UBC Back to School Edition: A Brief Detour

06 Thursday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

When I first registered for school, I thought I would jump headlong into my degree. But the more I thought about it, the less confident I felt about this school thing. What IS expected of me? Can I manage my time well? is there something I’m missing here? And I figured I had better find out now with a course that didn’t count toward my certificate, rather than finding out later that I couldn’t study and work and train for races (and guide dogs, as it later turned out, though I didn’t know that at the time).

Enter Comm 100 – a course I affectionately dubbed “University for Dummies”.

The first thing I noticed about this course was that it contained a physical (printed) textbook. I chose to purchase the electronic copy of my textbook, just as a fact-finding mission. Other than that, I was good to go.

I learned a few things about myself during this course.

The textbook encouraged keeping a learning journal, which I kept up for about two months (one third of my course contract). But I found that was just one more thing to do, and I wasn’t getting a lot of value out of it. That might change one day, but maybe journalling isn’t for me.

I was consistent in my study habits… when I was studying. But I was not consistent with the course, in general. I found that I had great chunks of time (even as long as a month) where I would not even think about the course, or the textbook. I finished not long before my course contract end date, quite possibly because I knew I had the time and flexibility, and knew I would finish the course in the end. Not my finest confession, but I am being honest about being a student and prone to a certain amount of socially conditioned procrastination.

This course was easy to follow, with little tidbits about time management, note-taking, and critical thinking. It was not overly difficult, with the exception of the final paper which stressed me out immeasurably. There were lessons on finding sources, evaluating those sources, and general writing principles, but the paper felt like it was tagged on at the end – like a final exam without a final exam. Or maybe I just don’t like papers?

This little detour probably was not necessary, from an academic standpoint. However, I’m glad I took it – it showed me a few not-so-flattering truths about my study habits.

And because one detour wasn’t enough… I took another.

Come back tomorrow for that lovely journey.

The UBC Back to School Edition: Accessibility Services

05 Wednesday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

As a student with a disability, it is almost inevitable that I would need to contact accessibility services sooner or later. You can understand my hesitance in doing so, given my prior experience with disability services.

First, I had to fill out a form, about my disability, how it impacts my learning, any accommodations I would need.

Then my doctor had to fill out a form to confirm that, in fact, my eyes don’t work.

So I had finally decided on my area of study, and I was ready to take my first course in October. I decided to take a detour before jumping headlong into my certificate program (more on that tomorrow) but my first course was paid for, and I was ready to hit the books on October 1.

Except… my textbook was in hardcopy print.

I bit the bullet and decided to purchase an electronic copy of my textbook. I’d heard terrible things about the etext books – that they weren’t accessible with a screen reader, and they were frustrating, and I would 1000% need to get my books in alternative formats – but I figured I could make a small investment to find out just how bad it was. Thankfully… I had no problems with the etext book. Sure, I got a paper book in the mail, which is acting as a big paperweight on my bookshelf… but I got my textbook on my terms and I had to wait for no one.

Did I mention it took nearly two months to get my letter of accommodation? It was three weeks after my class start date before I had any kind of acknowledgement from accessibility services. Thankfully, I had purchased my etext book, and was able to start my first course with little difficulty.

My second course was…. a bit more challenging. I went to take my first unit quiz, only to find that some portions of some of the questions were not read by my screen reader. After some back and forth, discussions with accessibility services, the faculty of business, and my course coordinator, I came to find out that the portions of any questions that contained fractions were pasted as images into the quiz. The only options available to me were to (1) withdraw from this course, (2) skip the questions with fractions and hope I got high enough grades to keep on going, or (3) get the information another way. Unfortunately, there was no way for course production to make the fractions compute into plain text that a screen reader could read. Accessibility services was not able to provide the quizzes in braille in a timely manner (which would effectively press a further pause on my studies, and is an inefficient use of resources to boot). Thankfully, a solution was found, and I’ve been able to complete these quizzes as time and energy permits.

I know accessibility services in many post-secondary schools is understaffed and overworked. but I can’t help feeling a certain sense of deja vu – that I am supposed to be extra responsible for making sure I can access course materials that aren’t made as accessible as they could be. Would someone in a million years have caught the issues with my quizzes if I had not just sarted taking them? Are students supposed to check with accessible services ahead of time to make sure that each little thing is readable with a screen reader, or that all course videos have captions, or that slide presentations don’t auto-scroll? Is that even possible? And at what point is it the school’s duty to make their materials as user-friendly to the widest student body possible? Athabasca University uses ProctorU, an online invigilator, but you cannot use ProctorU with a screen reader; this means I need to pay at least twice the price, and take time off work, to book an in-person exam. Am I missing something, or does that seem unfair?

I don’t have all the answers, but as my “detour” courses wrap up, and I start my certificate in earnest in May, I can’t help feeling a mix of complicated emotions. Do I request alternate format materials that I may not need, further burdening stretched-thin resources, or do I do the best I can with what I have, hope for the best, and try and advocate in the middle of the trenches? Do I push for equivalent exams in both cost and flexibility, or pick my battles and bite the bullet on this one?

I don’t have those answers… I just hope I don’t have to find them while cramming for my first final exam.

The UBC Back to School Edition: Looking back

02 Sunday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

If I am being honest, I’m surprised I’ve gone back to school. I never in a million years thought I would have the time, funds, or inclination to do so. Truthfully, I’m not sure I really have the funds and time – school can be expensive, and I work, train for races, and volunteer in my community, so time is at a premium – but I have the willingness to learn and finally found something I wanted to study, so… why not?

What Took you So Long?

When I graduated from high school, I thought I wanted to be a translator. I had taken several languages in high school, including French immersion, and thought I would excel interpreting for people or translating documents. I looked at the university courses required, and thought “no thanks!” I was interested in the history of language, and all of the practical courses, but I remember looking at most of the other required courses and getting a headache thinking about them. How in the world could I manage four years of school when more than two thirds of the classes were either impractical or uninteresting to me – why would I need three science courses for a languages degree? Even looking at other areas of study for a degree, I could not find anything that could hold my interest and that I thought would be worth the financial investment and time commitment required. An Arts degree had a bunch of tangential and irrelevant requirements, I did not want to pursue sciences, I’d burned out on math classes and concepts in high school, social work or similar disciplines would be too emotionally taxing for me. The idea of a degree felt both daunting and out of reach, so I walked away from that life path.

I also had practical concerns. Many blind young adults I had known as a teenager had degrees from Bachelor to Masters to Doctorates, and still struggled to find employment. I did not want to slog through four or six or eight years of school, get into massive amounts of debt, and still not be able to afford to keep a roof over my head. In addition, even if I had wanted to walk the path of a four-year degree, in the early ’00s, accessibility of course materials was a real concern. Electronic materials were not always guaranteed to be accessible, braille books were big and clunky and took up a ton of space, and audio records of course materials might not always be appropriate for the course at hand. Both the journey and the destination were not going to be uncomplicated, and could not offer a great return on investment. So, I thought, what was the point in a degree?

Choosing a Different Path

I decided to grab an opportunity for a one-year certificate program in emergency communications. I was trained to answer emergency calls and dispatch emergency vehicles, such as police, fire departments, or ambulances. The course was all practical and useful, and would in some ways tie in to what we would be doing on the job. I faced an unrealistic and discriminatory requirement – put into place by the disability services office, no less – that if I could not find a practicum placement before starting the course, I could not start in September. My classmates could wait until January to find a placement, but I could not; the rationale was that it would be hard to find a placement for me, as it would be to find work, so if I couldn’t find a practicum, there was no point in starting. Thankfully, I had connections in the industry and had written commitments from all over Canada and the United States for emergency services agencies who said they would be willing to accept me for my practicum. So I started that course and (found out later) had the most hands-on practicum of any of my classmates.

I never did get my foot in the door, working full- or part-time with any emergency service. Many fire departments and ambulance services still used paper cue cards at the time, and technology was not yet at the point to be fully integrated to come up with accessible alternatives. One police agency, on multiple occasions, had no qualms about telling me that my vision impairment meant that I could not interpret my colleague’s body language, so could not identify an emerging situation non-visually, and I would not even be granted an opportunity to test for a position I had trained for, was good at, and for which they were regularly advertising. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized I would have burned out on the emotional toll the job would demand of me. It took me over a decade to feel gratitude that my life went in another different direction, but I am grateful every day that I took that emergency communications course, and also grateful that I never did work in that field – even if the reasons I never did were flat-out discriminatory. The fact that the disability services office at the school was right – that finding employment would be difficult or impossible – that was hardly the point; I should never have had to face that barrier by a department that was supposed to decrease barriers to my education.

Then what Happened?

Over the next few years, I worked in multiple industries. I’ve worked for non-profits, governments, and private sector businesses. Even when I was laid off by a company in the oil and gas industry during the downturn in 2015, the idea of expanding my education never had any appeal. I didn’t have the inclination, I certainly didn’t have the funds, and – even if I had both of those things going for me – I had no idea what I would study that would both hold my interest and enhance my skill set. I saw no point in going to school just because… reasons – even though I’ve had many conversations over the years with people who’ve been surprised at my lack of formal education.

Then, I had a conversation that created a bit of a monster, and sent me back to the classroom.

Join me tomorrow. I won’t promise I’ll name names, but I will tell you what I’m studying, and why.

The Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3: The Back to School Edition

01 Saturday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

,

So here I am with such great and grandiose plans. I’ve written one whole post on this blog in the past three months – about retiring my beloved guide dog, Jenny. In the past three months, I’ve gone to guide dog school to train with Guide Dog 2.0, and we’re working on cementing our bond and making us a smooth-moving guide dog team, rather than two near strangers who sometimes don’t communicate well. I’m training for a half-marathon in May, because I haven’t had time or inclination to train for a full. So what makes me think that I can write a blog post every single day for this whole month?

For one, I’m persistent (sometimes). If I really want to do this, I will make it happen. For another, I’m a student, by golly, and with that comes a certain amount of socially conditioned procrastination. Why study when I can blog about studying?

But seriously… I’ve been a student for six whole months now. I’ve gotten one final class grade. I’ve had good times and frustrating experiences. Finally – let’s be honest – I will probably never have another opportunity when I will have enough free time to do this. There’s only one course for me to procrastinate on (I mean complete) this month, and I’m half-marathon training again for a race in May. Starting May 1, I’ll have two courses to complete, in addition to working, in addition to whipping my butt into shape to run a full marathon in December. So… in short… why not?

I don’t know what directions this blog challenge will go. It may look like my desk – chaotic and messy. It may eventually be wrangled into some sort of order. It might just flow naturally. I don’t know. But I want to chronicle the start of my post-secondary journey before things get harder, and I have final exams and more accessibility issues and… life!… to worry about.

If any of my loyal readers have burning questions, this month is an open slate. Ask anything school-related. I’ll answer when I can! This is to say, whenever I’m looking for reasons to turn away from my textbooks.

My Sorta Kinda Maybe (in)Accessible Life: A Lot to Unpack…

10 Friday Jun 2022

Posted by in My Sorta Kinda Maybe (In)accessible Life

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

It’s been a while… I know. There’s been a lot to unpack, both literally and figuratively (more on that in another blog post). But I had some pretty interesting experiences in the month of April, culminating in racing my most recent half marathon. And, in an emotionally complicated twist… I received something for free because of an inaccessible system.

Work: Nothing New to Report

I spent the second half of April back in the office. It felt both exciting and surreal, and with the benefit of hindsight it still does. I did, however, have to outsource use of GWS #2 ($50); to be honest it’s getting really old. Apart from that, I’m getting annoyed with the changes they made to GWS #3 – finding anything on there is like a technological maze! (you need THIS information? click on this button and then that link and then maybe you can have it). But, as much as I can shout about intuitiveness being part of accessibility, I can honestly say I could do everything I needed to.

1 outsource: $50

Let’s go Shopping!

I was super excited to attend a local rock and gem show at the end of April. It wasn’t far from my house, and wouldn’t be hard to get to…

Except…

The address for the venue could easily lead one to thinking it was on the street. But there was a big sandwich-board sign directing traffic through a parking lot, behind another building, and facing the street half a block east. There was nothing on the event web site or web page indicating this, and there would be absolutely no way to get your friend who uses a wheelchair into the building…

At the show, I found some amazing stones. I bought a stone I planned to use for a project I’ve been unable to complete for the past several months, was able to touch carved stone statues (I almost brought home a carved jaguar that was AMAZING but would’ve been really heavy to carry home!), and bought a strand of beads that I still maintain will work perfectly with some of the new awesome presents that came in a care package my Mom sent me when we were stuck inside. People engaged me in respectful conversation, pointed out all kinds of neat tactile things, and seemed happy to be out at the show.

At one vendor table (the one with a carved German Shepherd-type dog), I had a lovely conversation with the couple staffing the table. There were stones that I liked, and some that did nothing for me. I had several stones in a bag, and went to pay… And the tap on the credit card reader wasn’t working (apparently it was a thing for most of the weekend). The man behind the counter handed me the machine…

And it was a fully touch screen machine.

Fully touch screens are not accessible for a blind person. Unless the credit or debit card reader interacts with a cell phone, there is no audio feedback telling you what’s on the screen, and no way to enter your pin number without providing it to someone else. I put my would-be purchases back down on the table, apologized, and was about to turn and walk away.

The couple wouldn’t hear of it.

“It’s our machine that’s the problem,” the man said. “The tap feature has been annoying all weekend, and it’s not like you should be telling anyone your pin.” he handed me the stones, and even when I offered to see if my debit card would work with the machine, he refused to take payment for them.

I’ve been on this planet for more than thirty years. I’d like to think that I can tell a “pity present” apart from a small gesture of generosity born of a unique combination of circumstance. I read this situation as the latter. I thanked the couple profusely, put the stones in my bag, and continued enjoying the show.

10 minutes of aimless wandering: $2.50 MINUS gifting of stones = a debit of $22.50

Traveling: I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane…

I was telling my partner recently that I have traveled more in the past six months than I had in the past two years. I visited my family over Christmas, and then, in late April, I flew to Vancouver for my first in-person race since 2019 (Hypo kinda counts… but it’s not a racing race… there is a difference!).

I got a ride to the airport, and was able to find security with no problem. Unfortunately, there was another passenger with a small dog that took a lunge at Jenny while we were waiting in line. I was so startled, and couldn’t breathe. Security was kind, and let me know what had gone on (in short, the small dog came at my dog out of nowhere, and my dog was trying to evade it). They offered me a chair and a glass of water, and once I calmed down I was able to go through security.

I don’t know if anyone else experiences this… but I’ve been asked a lot recently if security can “take my phone” so they can scan my boarding pass. I’m not comfortable with this – I don’t know who they are, and I like knowing exactly where my phone is. unfortunately, one agent tried to argue this point with me – “I’ll take your phone” and “How about you give me directions to where to swipe” to “But it would be easier if…”

Because I travel with a service dog, my hands get swabbed every time I go through the airport. This time, something on my hands triggered the censors, so my bag to put through secondary security screening. The agent was describing everything she was taking out of my bag, and putting it back right where it was. I still don’t know what triggered the censors, but let me tell you I was very glad to get on that plane (though less so when I realized the little dog from the security line was five rows in front of me).

10 minute Security screening delay ($2.50) + 5 minutes arguing why handing over my cell phone to a random person in the security line is a bad idea ($2.08 – that’s it?) = $4.58

Health and Fitness: Back to the Start Line

I’ve written before about running my first half marathon, so I won’t rehash that here (seriously, go read that post!) But it honestly felt like Vancouver was another first half-marathon for me. I had no idea what to expect, since I was putting my body through a whole new stress since recovering from COVID/not COVID. But I was ecstatic!

But before you can get to the start line, you need to get your race package. Depending on the size of the race you register for, you could be picking up your package at a local shop, a community centre, or (in the case of Vancouver) a convention hall. The hall was big, crowded, and was designed to make you go ALL the way around every single exhibit to get the pieces of your kit: Race bib (100% required) at one table, gloves (which I didn’t realize until I got home hadn’t come in the bag with my bib and other odds and ends) at another, race T-shirt (optional, depending on how many races you’ve run) at a tent at the far end, and (because I just like to be difficult) my Run Happy singlet at another table. I’m glad I didn’t go alone, because that was… not easy!

I can only imagine how much effort and organization it takes to put together a race of this size – I felt overwhelmed figuring out how my parents would connect with each other and with me and my guide on race day morning. Since I don’t drive and don’t know Vancouver well, I wanted out of piggy-in-the-middle – I just held my phone while everyone coordinated their wheels. And I am eternally grateful that everything there went off without a hitch.

Once we got to the start line… that was another story. The race was started an hour late due to a suspicious package found on the race course. Because of the delay, my guide and I thought we could make one more trip to the porta potties before we took off running. No sooner had we reached the line than we heard that the race would start in three minutes. The Canadian national anthem was sung, and the elite runners took off, as we wrangled our way into the crowd. We weren’t in our starting corral anymore (where you start the race based on your optimistic finish time), but we just decided to enjoy the journey… what else could we do?

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t even particularly consistent. But we met runners on the route – the woman from the Netherlands who asked if she could take our picture and share it with the blind running group there (yes!) and the runner we traded places with five or six times on the route, to the dozen people who called me inspirational as they ran past me (for the record, that feels weird).

And I gutted it out. I think COVID/not COVID affected things. I think the late start affected things. I think – and know – I can do more. But I am proud of that race in a way I don’t know that I would be proud of my fastest Half.

But once you complete the race… you have to get your stuff. At the start line, you find a table based on your bib number, and your stuff gets put on a bus to the finish line. So while you’re exhausted and hot and wanting to drink a gallon of water and eat a massive bag of chips (just me?), you get to navigate a throng of runners and supporters and find the table with your stuff on it – again, not a thing you can do without sight. Thankfully, the bags are all see-through, so it’s very easy to describe the bag’s contents in the event that your bib number falls off the handles.

I’m coming back to the “you’re so inspirational” comments I received on the race course, because, while they have always sat funny with me, they’ve never sat that heavy and awkward as they did on May 1. It’s not like you can have a long philosophical conversation about how inspiration porn is icky and gross, but my lack of sight doesn’t make me inspirational. It really REALLY doesn’t. It does contribute in some unique ways to how successfully I can run – sometimes finding guides for training runs and races is a challenge, the location of training runs can make transportation an issue – but I had to fight a lot more than blindness to get to that start line. COVID-not COVID was terrible, and took every ounce of energy I had. I’d been dealing with burnout for a very long time (if I am being honest, I think I’d tried to outrun it when I was running flat out in 2019). But we all have our stories of why we run, and what gets us out there; and maybe I’m just frustrated that all people see is woman who can’t see goes running. For the record, that’s boring. And because I couldn’t say that a dozen times on the race… I’m saying it here.

How do you put a dollar value on this? Honestly… you can’t.

The Bottom Line

The end of April (and beginning of May) saw me stronger than I thought I was. but I did experience some hiccups along the way. I’m respectfully submitting an invoice in the amount of…. $32.08.

A comment was left on a previous post that maybe I am undercharging for work I have to “outsource” because I should be able to do it myself but cannot. I think I agree. If anything, this exercise has taught me that we can (and should) put a value on our emotional labour, and the time and loss of dignity we experience based on societal perceptions and inaccessible design. But we can’t really put a dollar value on it… can we?

Oh, and in a happy coincidence? The day this post was published, I got an email from my mortgage provider – the one whose inaccessible web site started this experiment. They have overhauled their web site, fixed the issues with screen reader access, and plan on rolling out a full update next week. As of this publishing, I was able to access all the features of my mortgage.

Sometimes, if you speak up, someone somewhere is listening.

My sorta Kinda Maybe (in)accessible Life: The More Things Change, the More they Stay the Same

22 Friday Apr 2022

Posted by in blindness, My Sorta Kinda Maybe (In)accessible Life

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , ,

It’s been two weeks since I last checked in here. So much has stayed the same, but things are starting to pick up, especially now that I have the energy to actually do anything more than the absolute bare necessities (thank you very much, covid/not covid!)

Getting out There

Once I was legally permitted to leave my house – in addition to actually having the mental and physical capacity to do so – I couldn’t wait to get out and do things. Exciting things… like going to the pharmacy to fill a prescription, or the bakery the last possible day they were open before closing for Passover. But heading out to pick up a couple things from our local Buy Nothing group proved to be less intuitive and more frustrating than anticipated.

My first “gift” from the Buy Nothing page was a microwave chip maker. It came in its box – practically brand new! – with two trays and a slicer. My Buy Nothing group is in a fairly small area – I can technically walk anywhere to pick things up. However, this area is very easy to get lost in. An avenue suddenly curved slightly and became a street. There was no simple way to tell where along the block the house was located, as the “block” was broken up by multiple avenues (1 Ave, 1A Ave, 1B Avenue). Thankfully, I was able to text the giver, who came out and met me on her sidewalk. I’ll do anything for chips – even get myself lost in a neighborhood that’s supposed to be on a grid pattern!

The second gift was a smart plug – ironically located only a handful of blocks from the chip maker. Knowing the avenue curves and turns into a street, I thought I was prepared for being able to locate the house easily. Not so much… GPS said I was at the house a full two blocks – at the far end of an avenue and a street and around a corner – before I made it there. I loaded Aira to provide visual information since GPS proved useless. After ten minutes of angling, trying to read house numbers ($2.50), a smart plug was in my hand. Unfortunately for me, I still haven’t been able to get my phone to recognize it, and it sits unused, waiting for a time when I have the patience and energy to find some obscure solution I haven’t tried half a dozen times yet.

10 minutes of house locating: $2.50

Work

My second week of working from home felt more like putting one foot in front of the other, and just doing the best I could with what I had. However, what I did learn was that Government Web Site (GWS) #1 – which is mostly accessible, still has that hiccup when certain conditions are met. I was over the moon when I got an email about those conditions that normally means someone else has to click stuff for me, and found I was able to use a touch screen to access information that is not accessible with a keyboard. However, this is definitely not a truly accessible solution – it feels like I have to stand on my head and click my heels three times; without a touch screen, every now and again someone else has to drop everything to help me out.

GWS #2 is still not accessible. Unfortunately, I have twice needed to use it (read: ask someone else to access it for me). I have even spent ten minutes trying to use GWS #2 with the touch screen on my computer (the one that made GWS #1 usable), and even my phone… No dice.

GWS #3 has always been a fully accessible system. It is not overly intuitive – which I honestly believe is part of accessibility – but I have the ability to input and access all the information I need. I used this web site twice over the past two weeks, and ran into zero issues at all.

When my colleague and I set up our accounts on GWS #4 earlier this week, I was told that it had a blue button, and did not look dissimilar to GWS #2 – even the login and setup process was similar. The dread I felt was so powerfully intense… as was the relief I felt when I was able to access all edit fields and buttons completely independently. I guess you can’t really put a price on anxiety, can you?

2 X “outsourcing” = $100; 10 minutes trouble shooting $2.50

Health and Fitness

I am running a half marathon in ten days. Covid/not Covid put a damper on my training, so I have no clue what the race will be like. But my main social outlet is running and runners. Depending on the day, the distance, and the ability and willingness of humans to guide, I can either run independently with Jenny (who is still willing to run!) or I run with a friend guiding me by using a tether. My main running tracker is an app whose android app finally – six years after I started using it – labeled the buttons on its tracking screen. I had previously labeled the buttons myself, but new app updates or resets always reset the labels, too! Being able to just tap a button has taken a load off I hadn’t realize I had been carrying.

Another app I am excited to try is the Revision Fitness app. It’s been developed by a visually impaired Paralympian, and at first glance all of the workouts are fully described – something that’s generally missing from most workout apps on the market. I had planned to use my free trial during the first week of April… and we all know how that went.

Home and Personal Care

Last week, one of my favorite bath and body shops (L’Occitane) had a huge sale on their entire store. I scooped up some old favourite products, and decided to try a few new ones. When my box arrived, I was happy to receive my pampering items, but a part of me was disappointed, too. L’Occitane’s foundation has proclaimed that they are committed to labeling as many of their products as possible in braille. For years, I have purchased products, knowing that I could read the label on the bottles of shower gel or cardboard sleeves around a perfume without even having to use my sense of smell at all. Even their travel bottles had their full product name (“Cherry shower gel”, “Lavender Foaming bath”) on the bottles. My new products just said “shower gel” without any other identifier. I think it might be a blip – I’ll probably treat myself around my birthday this summer – but having something that’s so accessible be changed in such a way felt like something had been taken from me. Imagine going through your pantry, and your boxes of crackers – instead of saying “Ritz” or “Wheat Thins” or “Triscuit” – every box in your pantry just says “crackers”. Could you open your box and smell the crackers? Sure! Could you shake the box to determine your choice by weight? Of course. But the simplest way to tell your items apart is to read the label on the packaging. As it stands, I placed an elastic band around one “shower gel” to tell it apart from the other “Shower gel.” Now I just have to remember which one has the elastic!

I finally got the hang of the Covid test thing. I got to the point where over a 4-day period, I only needed fifteen minutes of Aira (read: working eyeballs!) to read my Covid test results. Still all negative, thankfully!

I’ve also chosen to not do business with a local business because their web sites are not accessible. One web site had a contact form that wouldn’t let me select anything in a drop-down menu – keyboard, touch screen, it didn’t matter. I spent fifteen minutes trying both, in case I missed a mandatory field. But nope… if there was a drop-down menu, I had no access to it. I seriously debated contacting the business/web site provider, but it was in the middle of Covid/not Covid, and I just didn’t have the mental energy to explain that I was really just trying to get in touch with them, and by the way I was having challenges accessing their web site, so would they mind fixing it so I could give them my business? I decided against this approach for two reasons: (1) I have other options out there for that particular service; and (2) the company mentioned a heavy reliance on technology, so I wasn’t confident that accessibility wouldn’t be an issue during our entire business relationship.

15 minutes of test result reading ($3.75) + 15 minutes of inaccessible web site navigation ($3.75) = $7.50

The Bottom Line

If it looks like I am throwing a pity party, I’m not convinced I’m not. I thought this exercise – quantifying the “little things” in my day that make this blind life harder – would be interesting and informative. Instead, while I am grateful for the things that put me on an equal playing field, I’m seeing how very very far we have to go.

I am respectfully submitting an “invoice” in the amount of $112.50 + a box of elastics.

My Sorta Kinda Maybe (in)Accessible Life: The COVID/not COVID Edition

08 Friday Apr 2022

Posted by in My Sorta Kinda Maybe (In)accessible Life

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

When I first conceptualized this experiment, the one thing I didn’t expect was life grinding to a screeching hault! I received word over the weekend that I had come into contact with someone who tested positive for COVID-19. And, what do you know! I had symptoms! So… I got to go approximately nowhere, and see approximately no one.

But after a week of fatigue and brain mud… I still had a few hiccups along the way.

A Quick Adjustment to Calculations

In my initial post, I provided a monetary value for certain inaccessible systems/experiences of ableism/etc. The one thing I failed to consider was: What would I do in a situation where I had no choice but to ask someone to do something for me that I cannot do for myself… at all? Especially if it’s a thing I should – in any other instance – be able to do for myself. So, I have implemented a flat rate for those instances of $50. This is because I not only have a history of trying to work through something I should be able to do, but I need to take someone else away from their life because of it. $50 – no matter the complexity or duration of an activity – could “compensate” for my loss of dignity, as well as taking into account someone else’s time.

Social Life

Seriously, what social life? I’ve been stuck at home for nearly a week! I did attend a restaurant last Friday to celebrate my partner’s and my third anniversary. The menus were accessible online, and the staff was great (read: not patronizing or weird). No unpaid emotional stuff here!

Around the House

For someone who has lived for two years during a global pandemic, I’m surprised I haven’t had to take a COVID test before now. A friend dropped off two tests for me on Sunday. I found the instructions for the test confusing and clunky, though I could read the information online or on my phone. However, I was not able to read the test results myself.

Over the past six days, I have taken six COVID tests. For the record, they have all come back negative. Over the past six days, I have spent 80 minutes using a service called Aira (an online service that connects blind people with employees whose eyes work better than ours and who provide visual information that we cannot see). The fact that Aira has a free promotion for COVID-related tasks and information is hardly the point. I can’t access my test results independently and privately (the same is true for pregnancy tests, for the record).

80 minutes at $15/hour: $20

Work

I love being able to work from home, especially feeling like this! This makes me blessed and privileged, and I don’t take that lightly.

Did you know that PDF documents – particularly ones that are scanned – are often not accessible to screen reader users like myself? This is because they are usually scanned as images by default. In order to read any PDF that gets sent to me, that involves a – paid – upgraded license of Adobe. Wait… Someone needs to pay so that I can read standard document formats? Yup! If I wanted that same functionality at home, I would have to pay $20 per month. I’m adding this to my ledger because it’s absurd.

I regularly use government web sites (GWS) in order to do my job. GWS #1 is mostly accessible, except when certain criteria are met. I ran into such a situation with GWS #1, where I could not physically click a link myself and had to get someone else to do it for me ($50). Once that was done, I was ready to run, but still I couldn’t do this thing myself and had to “subcontract” someone else.

GWS #2 presented a whole other problem. A few months ago I had an extremely long conversation (a total of 2 hours – $30) with the developers of GWS #2. It came to light that because I use a screen reader, GWS #2 doesn’t play nice (with any screen reader); the presence alone of a screen reader means that I have no ability to use GWS #2 at all. Even after a minimum of two new releases, GWS #2 is still inaccessible. I was placed in a position this week where someone else had to use GWS #2 for me ($50). I am blessed to work with understanding people… but what if I didn’t? Thankfully, most of the rest of my work-based activities are intuitive and accesible.

2 outsourced tasks from GWS ($100) + 2 hours of troubleshooting with no results ($23) = $130

The Bottom Line

I made it through this week, and I am none the worse for wear. On the (in)accessibility/emotional labour front, I respectfully submit an invoice in the amount of $150.

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

22 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by in blindness

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, ,

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.