I Hate Stairs. Part 2.

Over the summer (mid-July, I think), I gathered up the children and we visited Polar Ice in Peoria, AZ to get a taste of some ice hockey in the off season.  The experience was miserable and so far ranks as the worst wheelchair-friendly experience we have ever had. 

Polar Ice's standard doorways were not wide enough for our wheelchairs (which are not overly wide, or even the widest out there).  Their handicap-accessible doors were locked from the outside.  I had to leave the children outside, unattended, in 110 degree F heat, to go inside to find someone to unlock the doors.  We finally entered the building.  We had us some NHL rookie camp hockey.  When it was time to leave, we found that the doors were locked again.  What if there had been a fire?  What if the building had to evacuate?  The woman at the desk seemed unbothered by my suggestion that my four year olds in wheelchairs being unable to exit her building in an emergency could pose more than a few problems.  My grade for Polar Ice's wheelchair friendliness is an enormous "F".  I will never, ever return there--even if the wheelchairs aren't with me.  Polar Ice exhibited the most callous, inconsiderate behavior I have ever encountered.  I was shocked, frankly.  It was our first and last experience there.  There is not an excuse in the world which can make that okay--all I can suggest, Polar Ice, is to train your staff to keep those automatic doors unlocked during business hours.

Conversely, I've taken the twins in their wheelchairs to the Ice Den in Scottsdale a half-dozen times.  We've been there to watch hockey practice a few times and for free-skate a few times.  Every single time we've been there, the staff and patrons roll out the red carpet for us.  The staff dotes on the twins, the other patrons chat them up every time, the handicap accessible automated doors always work, and I never feel like I am imposing.

You lose, Polar Ice.  That experience was terrible that I may actually hate you. I'm still sorting through my feelings so I hate to be to definite, but that experience ranks in the top 3 worst wheelchair-related experiences we have ever had.  And we get out a lot.

I Hate Stairs. Part 1.

I nabbed the title of this series from my friends at I Hate Stairs.  It's actually a great site, administrated by two good lookin' fellas who really, really hate stairs.

I chose to steal this title from them because as a parent of two kids in wheelchairs, I really do hate stairs.  They do, too.  I scream, you scream, "we all hate stairs."  When the twins come within fifteen yards of an unguarded staircase, I panic and try to remember if I took my blood pressure medication that day.  Even though they are just four years old and are incredibly mature, but that doesn't make me freak out any less.

When it comes to our wheelchairs, I freak out over lots of scenarios.  In fact, whether I have the twins with me or not, I find myself surveying everything about your establishment to determine how wheelchair friendly it is.

Here in the United States, almost every building must be handicap accessible.  But there is a big difference between 'handicap accessible' and 'wheelchair friendly'.

I'll spend my money anywhere once.  If you want me back, you'd better be wheelchair friendly.  If you want me to not complain about your lack of accessibility, then fix it.  This "I Hate Stairs" series serves as a forum for me to vent about establishments who are wheelchair-ignorant.  It's not that I hate you, it's that I hate that my children can't come into your store.  It's a fine line between me bitching about a bad experience and you taking my feedback seriously because maybe just maybe we're not the only family with wheelchairs who dreads patronizing you because we cause a scene just trying to enter your store.

I'm not EVEN going to address Gymboree here.  Every family with a stroller hates Gymboree's lack of accessibility.  That's a given.  Oh c'mon, Gymoree--like you didn't know?  QUIT PACKING 30 CIRCULARS INTO 400 SQUARE FEET OF SPACE.  That we still purchase your product at all means that moms who are desperate for adorable, quality children's clothing also have some child-less time during the week when we can visit you without strollers.  Or wheelchairs.  Do you catch my drift?  Stop that strategy of blocking your doorways with tables of corduroys on sale for $19.50--that's all we can even see because we can't navigate a stroller into your store for all the mother effing displays.  Whew.  Okay then, stepping off my Gymboree soap box.  So, I guess I addressed Gymboree even though I promised not to.  Gymboree:  I really do love your product.  If I could ever reach your cashiers to buy it, you'd be in the black.  I pinky swear.

No, this "I Hate Stairs" series will be focused on specific local establishments.  Do you own an establishment in the Phoenix metro area?  Is it wheelchair friendly?  If not, then maybe you can look forward to finding yourself highlighted in this series someday.

I've got news for you, world--if my kids' wheelchairs can't get into your store, then neither can most medical strollers.  And twin strollers.  And senior citizens in walkers.  If you have steps at your entrance, then you darned well better have an alternate entrance--or you will lose business.

Seriously, I am done with apologizing to YOU because my kids can't get into your store so that I can buy something.  Our wheelchairs are not temporary inconveniences, they are our reality and I will apologize for inconveniencing you as soon as you find a cure for neuromuscular disease.  I will not stand for ambivalence and apathetic attitudes for another minute.  If you aren't in a designated historic building, build my kids a damned ramp.

Now, excuse me for a moment while I take the children to Wal-Mart BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO BARRIERS TO THE ENTRANCE AND ALSO WIDE AISLES AND AN UNDERSTANDING ATTITUDE.  That may be the first/only compliment I make to Wal-Mart--but they get it.  You don't.  Suck on that, able-bodied smaller-retail decision makers.