Confined?

This was the first monologue I performed, on stage with the old victory gardens probably in 96 or 97. I had only been using the power chair with public transportation for about a year.

Every day I ride the bus. In my wheelchair. I ride to the bus stop and I wait. It takes an hour or more to get to work. After eight hours of listening to customers complain, I ride two blocks to the bus stop and ride for another hour, usually more, to get home. Every day. Rain or shine.

And I got to tell you, it's pretty darn good. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect. Especially in the winter. Especially in the rain. And people always stare and sometimes they say things that are, well, let's just say they're not polite. And sometimes the bus is too crowded and the people won't move or the driver can't fit me. Had to wait for an hour last week, at my stop, on the bus, until a supervisor came and they could fix a broken lift. But that's life. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's easy. You go to work, you come home. You do your job. And sometimes - you go out.

Before I used the chair I walked and used the Special Services and the TAP cabs, I was like an ostrich, with his head in the sand, or a horse with blinders on. I was intently focused on watching for the ride so I wouldn't miss it, then getting where I was going.

The wheelchair changes all that. The blinders come off, the head comes up. For the first time since I was in college and used a wheelchair to get from class to class, I'm not staring at the sidewalk, worrying about every crack and pothole so I don't lose my balance. I'm watching the people, flowing with them and not always being passed up by everyone. Watching the crowd? I'm part of the crowd. And there's a lot to see. Not just people - store windows, horse-drawn carriages, new buildings going up, and traffic. Everybody's moving. And I'm with them. Oh, I keep an eye on the sidewalk – got to make sure I know where the curb cuts are. And when you're rolling instead of walking You feel every crack in the sidewalk, every bump or lump or uneven spot. You don't step over it, you roll through it. And you adjust, you shift. You lean a little this way, a little that way, whatever body English you can. It's a question of balance.

And there's another thing - the speed. When I walk, everyone passes me by. When I ride, I not only keep up, I can go faster than most people walk. Not as fast as a run, but eight miles an hour is a good clip. It is so much faster than my normal speed that at first I was shocked at how fast I could get somewhere. It used to take fifteen or twenty minutes, each way, just to get somewhere for lunch. Then up and out - back to work as fast as I can. Now it’s five minutes each way. It’s like having a time machine, so I get more done in the same time than before.

With prearranged rides, and to a smaller degree even cabs, you're locked into their schedule, their availability. Same time every day. If a time slot is filled or you can't get a cab, you're stuck. But with the bus - assuming there's an accessible route going where you are - you leave when you want to leave, stay as long as you want to stay, and come back when you want to come back.

It makes a big difference at work. You can stay until your work is done. You don't have to leave because you'll miss your ride. That makes a difference at review time. If someone comes to you at four o'clock and says, "We're going out after work. Want to come?" You're there.

If you can change plans at a moment's notice, then you can make up your own plans on the spot. Feel like going somewhere? Go! Feel like staying home? Stay home! Feel like going somewhere, then going somewhere else? Do it! Footloose, fancy free, I got a job and I'm making money.

Going out after work with people from the office leads to going out on the weekends, getting invited to a party once in a while, meeting up with people somewhere else, that sort of thing. I think about my early days at the last place I worked. Sometimes people got together after work on Fridays. At first they'd invite me. But because I couldn't change my ride, I had to say no. Pretty soon they stopped asking. I started using the chair a few months after I started a new job - and I was soon part of the group that hung out after work on Fridays. One night a couple friends and I had a drink after work, went to a nearby restaurant for dinner, and then just wandered around the Metra station and people watched. You know, like people do. Hanging around.. Almost forty and finally acting like a punk kid on a Friday night.

Where else have I gone? Downtown, up and down Michigan Avenue - and that in itself is a new experience. Shopping, a movie, maybe lunch - and each one in a different building! I'm not stuck to one location. And if I transfer once I get downtown, I can get to Navy Pier. You need a chair there. Lots of walking around. I like to go all the way out to the end of the pier and sit and look at the lake. And you know, when you got one of these, you always have a place to sit. That came in handy one day at the movies. The show was sold out, so I said, well, you've got space in the back, right, for wheelchairs? And the girl in the booth says yeah, and I say, Well it's not like I need a seat. Can't I just buy a ticket and go in? I bring my seat with me. And she gets this confused look on her face, like she's doing some kind of math problem, and then finally sells me a ticket.

From flexibility to spontaneity to sociability and then it follows - extra curricular activities. Before, life was merely work, and home. Carrying whatever books, papers, lunch, etc. on my back. When I was in training at MCI I got home at five, dragged my training manuals upstairs, slogged through dinner, collapsed on the couch with the best of intentions to review the day's material (and sometimes I would) and then assembled everything for the next day - put the manuals away, make lunch, pick out a shirt - and collapsed into bed at nine. But now, since I've got wheels, well in the first place I'm not so tired and there's not as much pain, so I'm generally in a better mood. Yeah, it takes twice as long to get to work and to get home, but it's easier, less demanding physically.

So I've got the flexibility, I've got more energy - maybe there's more to life than just going to work and going home! And maybe I can do more on the weekend than just lunch and a movie once in a while. And you know what? I can. I was hesitant; it was definitely a change in my routine. No more entire evenings spent in front of the television. Not as many, anyway. I could stop somewhere on the way home. Go to a bookstore, see a movie, see plays. One night I went to Taste of Chicago and wasn't even afraid of the crowds. One night I went out with a bunch of people from work and wound up riding for forty-five minutes to a steak house on Dearborn where the baked potatoes cost seven dollars. They walked with me so I wouldn't get separated. It came to be known as "The Night of the Long March." Afterward a few of them walked with me to Michigan Avenue where I got the bus home. At midnight. And, you know? There's a lot of people riding the bus at midnight. Men, women, couples, in suits, in work clothes, all kinds of people. I thought, what are all these people doing out so late at night? And then I thought, they probably wonder what I'm doing out so late, too!

One night I went to a benefit for ADAPT, an activist group for people with disabilities. At the benefit I struck up a conversation with Mike Ervin, one of the founders. A little after that, he called and asked if I'd be interested in joining a playwrighting workshop. I was hesitant. I'd have to go to class every Saturday, all afternoon, and I'd have to do work during the week to bring to class. It's been two years now and I haven't missed a class, except for when the big snow hit in January. And last year, in December, I auditioned for a play. I didn't get the part but I had an awful lot of fun doing it. Susan Nussbaum was the director for that audition. "Why haven't I seen you before?" she asked. I explained that before I'd had the chair, side trips after work weren't possible. She gave a wry smile and said, "Ah, since you've been confined to a wheelchair. . ." and laughed.

I didn't know where I could go until I had a way to get there. And then? I don't know. City, suburbs, what else is there? I mean, it's not like I'm going to go out and get a motorcycle and start driving around the country. Hmmm. I'll keep you posted.