Accessing the Blake School

At the present moment, most of my being is rather focused on current events. I'm focused on ending my school year on a not-completely-awful note, focused on how much I'm enjoying the bits of soundtrack for Man of Steel I'm listening to, focused on how much I don't like this splint on my leg. But the truth of the matter is I simply don't have much to write about at the present moment. The splint can get rather gross and disgusting in eighty degree heat and slows me down. There. Thoughts from today.

Which of course means it's time for me to write one of the entries I've been meaning to write for quite literally months now.

So here goes.

Handicap accessibility at my school.

Before starting today's discussion, I probably ought to explain a bit more where I got to school. I mentioned earlier on that I go to a private school in the Twin Cities area. In order for this post to have any meaning, I probably ought to mention a few more things about the school. First off, I go to the Blake School, which is a college preparatory day school that prides itself on, among other things, being diverse and accessible. The building dates back to the early 1900s, though has been recently renovated. The student body is relatively small. I don't know how applicable this post is going to be for people whose schools/work environments radically differ from Blake, so I figured I ought to mention it.

I can remember touring Blake for the first time (this would be after I'd decided to attend and about a week before actually starting classes) and having all the handicap-accessible features pointed out. Look! Elevators! Look! Wheelchair lift! Look! Ramp! Another ramp! The more subtle features—some of the bathrooms have handicap-accessible stalls which are enlarged for wheelchairs and have railings on the walls—fell at the wayside to the more noticeable triumphs of accessibility.

That day, I never actually stopped to think about whether or not these features would work for me. I noted them, thought: This looks nice. I never assumed I'd actually ever need to use the ramp or the elevator.

I was, of course, wrong.

In the months leading up to the arrival of my frame, I started trying to think through all of the various handicap accessibility issues I'd be faced with. From experience, I knew the elevators were slower than dust. Bits of me were scared that the ramps would be too narrow. The wheelchair lift was regarded with special distrust—no way that thing would be able to fit me. The distances between classes—would I be able to make it in the five minute gaps built into the schedule?

And then the frame went on and all my thinking about handicap accessibility was for naught because I had no choice but to just do it.

The elevators were slow. At times, waiting for the machine to just show up took forever and incredibly frustrating (and then there were the times when the elevator would show up with a non-handicapped joyrider on board). The wheelchair lift didn't fit the wheelchair. The ramps, however, did.

And yet…the ramps got where they needed to go. The elevators got me where they needed to get me. I could get from place to place. The building, mercifully, was not so large I couldn't get from class to class in five minutes or less.

Long story short: getting from the car into the school was fairly simple. My brother pushed me along, up the ramp, through the door. I then did my best to persuade somebody to get me to the next class, with normally quite high degrees of success. Going between classes was reliant, again, on finding help. Finding help wasn't hard.

The biggest problem is that people can be really self-absorbed. As in, they just stand in the hallways talking and talking about their own little personal vaguely consequential dramas while failing to notice that two hundred plus tons of wheelchair and wheelchair rider are pointed right in the direction they're blocking.

I'm not an expert on handicap accessibility. To be honest, the two best pieces of advice I can give for getting around in a wheelchair are make people you know help you, see if you can get acquaintances to help you, just figure it out when you get there.

But do watch out for the people who block the way. I tend to be fairly adverse to raising my voice interrupting conversations. As it turns out, that can be a problem when you need to get places.

(For those wondering: final verdict on handicap accessibility at the Blake School is fairly positive with some minor issues to be looked into (there were not enough handicap parking spots once you took out the spot covered by the giant green dumpster) and a few little changes the student body could make, such as not blocking as many hallways)

(It is still easier to access the school by foot compared to accessing the school by wheelchair)