They have those low desks in banks now, made for wheelchair users and I applaud this, I really do. It’s nice to feel that somebody, at some point, realised that being a wheelchair user does not mean that you’re not allowed money.
Although possibly the cashiers were just fed up with saying “But that doesn’t look anything like your signature!” and having disgruntled people snap back at them “Well, you try writing on the arm of a wheelchair – it’s not that easy, you know.”
Of course, things have changed now: you’re more likely to be asked to tap in your PIN number than sign your name – and that’s perhaps fortunate, because in my experience the lovely low desk is more a nice thought than a practical object.
Banks don’t keep it open only for wheelchair users, you see: it wouldn’t make financial sense to have a cashier sitting there on the off-chance that someone in a chair might come in and need help, and banks are (supposedly) places filled with people of a fiscal turn of mind.
The desk is open to all customers, therefore, just like the other desks. Which means, predictably, when you and your wheelchair get to the front of the queue, the cashier who is free is almost never the one at the low desk.
I imagine you could wait around for that particular desk to be free, but to be honest I can never be bothered and I’m sure I’m not alone in this. When you’ve already spent ages in the tedium of a bank queue, the idea of queuing longer is strangely unappealing.
If you wanted to make the desk useful, it actually wouldn’t be that difficult. Don’t have it staffed full time, but when a wheelchair user gets to the front of the queue, let the free cashier move desks to the low one.
Is it really that difficult for someone to move the ten or so yards from their usual position to a low desk? But I suspect the real truth is that the low desk isn’t there for the convenience of customers, more so that banks can say that they’re complying with disability regulations.
Mind you, I wouldn’t complain if they started having a low section at the bar in pubs. As it is, if you wander in at a busy moment, you have to wave your hand in the air even to get noticed by the over-worked bar staff. Then, once they’ve realised that you are there, they can’t hear what you’ve asked them for anyway. Other customers are generally very willing to pass on your request, but it would be nice to do without the five minutes of misunderstandings first.
There’s something worse, though, than having to yell your head off in order to get a drink. Tell me, why do so many pubs keep the key to the accessible toilet behind the bar? I can understand that – it being accessible – they fear that customers other than people with disabilities might use it (because who knows what awful things those dubious able-bodied people might get up to in a small bathroom, after all?), but have they thought this through? Do they have any idea how embarrassing it is to have to ask to go to the toilet?
It’s like being a pre-schooler all over again, except worse. Because – thanks to the height of the bar – it’s not like you can sneak up to the nearest teacher and whisper your request. Oh no. You have to inform the entire pub about your need for a wee. It’s one thing having messages passed on about your choice of drink by a stranger, but frankly, toilet visits are not a conversation one wishes to have through a third person.
There’s got to be a better way. After all, if I’m jumping through (metaphorical!) hoops in order to get to the toilet, then… well, that’s not exactly accessible, is it?
If a key is absolutely necessary because bar staff really can’t trust other customers not to puke all over the floor of the toilet (or whatever they fear), why not put the key somewhere that it can be collected by a wheelchair user on their way to the toilet? It could be close to the bar so that the staff are aware when a key is borrowed, but it would give disabled customers just a little bit more privacy.
Just because people with disabilities are often subjected to humiliating indignities doesn’t mean that it’s a great plan to heap more upon us!
Still, it’s not all bad news. The very fact that the accessible toilets exist, that there is legislation which requires banks to acknowledge that we’re not all able-bodied – these are good things.
In the past ten years, I’ve seen a decided culture shift in the world of disability rights. People often say that attitudes need to be changed rather than laws, but my experience is that changing laws can change hearts and minds.
Making it possible for people with disabilities to use everyday services such as banks and pubs makes us more visible, which in turn allows people to witness that actually, we’re not so different after all. It’s great to see things moving in the right direction, but please – can I go to the toilet by myself soon?
