Yo! What About Me? Fuggetabout It!

Usually, when tourists are stopping me in Times Square to ask for directions or when I successfully manage to order "the usual" with full authority at the local pizzeria, I'm filled with a small sense of pride and ownership--I really think I am becoming a "true New Yorker".  Then, there are moments like today that make me wonder, "tell me again, why the hell do I live here?"

So, as you can imagine, public transportation in this city can be a bit of a challenge to those of us who are for lack of a better term--immobile.  My doctor has expressly forbidden me from using the subway since the stairways can be dangerous and very few stations have handicap-accessible elevators; plus, I can't put enough weight on my foot to climb the high steps of our city buses.  Taxicabs are far too expensive, so the only option I have been left with is using Access-a-Ride, the city's paratransit services that provide door to door shuttle service for the disabled.  Now, you would think that because this service was specifically created for transporting the elderly, mentally disabled, and physically challenged that the staff and drivers would be especially helpful to those that of us that truly need it, right?  Yeah, no . . . they're anything but.

I had an 8am pick up scheduled this morning . . . and, when I exited the building and came to the curbside, the driver had already arrived.  She saw me (in all my crutches-bound glory) and moved up further to bring herself closer to the curb.  She successfully pulled up, but just when she tried to back up again to come closer to me, she backed right into the street sweeper that was trying to clean the gutter directly behind her.  Both vehicles became entangled and neither one could move.

So, just like in a classic New York moment, both drivers jumped out of their vehicles and started yelling at each other, calling each other all sorts of names and throwing around that authoritative "stupid" . . . I just stood there with both of my crutches watching the whole scene!  They had completely forgotten me and had pretty much left me to my own devices.  Within about 5 minutes, I had drawn a small crowd including my building super and a few of the truck drivers from the plumbing business down the street.  They all came to my side, trying their best to get my driver's attention in their thick Noo Yawk accents, but to no avail.  I was just left stranded on the sidewalk yelling, "Hello, what about me?  Hello?  HELLO?! What about me?  How am I supposed to get to work?  Hell-o-o-o!  What about the cripple?"

After about 10 minutes, I had finally had it and resorted myself to hailing a cab and leaving those two yelling at each other in front of my apartment. . .