Tuesday, February 25, 2014
So I have to be realistic. It was time to order my textbook for next quarter, and I bravely climbed the stairs to the campus bookstore, rolling back pack in one hand, purse draped over the shoulder, 40 extra pounds strapped to my body. It never occurred to me until I reached the top, unable to breath, that people in wheel chairs can't do this and they buy textbooks.
Barely able to talk, I somehow convinced the bookstore manager to reorder the book I need, even though faculty are supposed to do their ordering online. Everyone told me ordering online is complicated, and frankly, right now, I don't have a head for complicated Then I saw it.
The sign to the elevator. Going down the stairs was surely easier, but not for me. I was riding down like I should have ridden up. Only one little problem. The elevator required a key to operate.
Here's where the pitiful looking old lady gets what she needs. I walked over to the store room, where the students were working, and asked for help. One young man immediately rushed to my aid, unlocked the elevator, and waited for it to arrive.
I asked the young man if he needed to key the elevator once the door opened, and he said no. I smiled politely, knowing that he wouldn't leave because he thought I needed help getting into what turned out to be a barn-sized service elevator. When I said "oh, okay", he smiled back at me and left.
The elevator must not be used often, and the last time it was used it must have been carrying wet wool because I thought I was going to gag in there. The ground floor didn't come fast enough.
Nothing like coming face-to-face with my limitations. Elevators, even stinky ones, totally rock.