I’ve noticed that it takes me longer to get in and out of some buildings lately, and it has nothing to do with getting older. Many mornings on my way into and my way out of the Heart of the Valley YMCA, I run into a backup at the entrance doors. That backup is not caused by a large group of people all trying to enter at the same time. It’s not caused by one of the doors being out of order. It’s due to more and more people using the automated door opening system–even though they are more than physically able to open the doors on their own.
What causes the backup is that the button to open the handicap accessible door is on the right side of the double doors as you enter the building. But the door that opens with the power assist is on the left-side. This make sense for the few times a day someone with physical limitations needs to use the system to get in–as they don’t need to maneuver a wheelchair or a walker or a cane back away from the left-hand door so it can open out. But, when able-bodied people use the system, they all stand in front of the right-hand door waiting for the left to open automatically–blocking anyone else from using the right hand door to enter. The reverse is true when you try to exit, as people on the inside are waiting for the right-hand door (as you see it on the way out) blocking both the inside left-hand door AND the outside left-hand door.
For awhile, I used to think it was cute when little kids wanted to push the button to open the door. But now when I open the door for a mother with a stroller and a toddler, the kid throws a fit and they just stand outside so he can “go ahead and push the button. It’s okay.” And don’t get me started on seeing teenagers pushing the button and waiting for the door to open.
What annoys me more than the slightly-longer wait to get into a building on a cold, blustery day is that people not in need of the accommodations required by the Americans with Disabilities Act are taking advantage of them for no other reason than they are just too lazy to do it the “physically able way”.
I often have to go to government buildings that have staircases to get to the main entrance. While taking the stairs, I see the majority of people now using the ramp. A visit to Peninsula State Park will find nearly everyone looking to get to the top of the Eagle Observation Tower using the monstrosity of an ADA-compliant ramp (built at a cost of $3.5-million) instead of the spiral staircase straight up the tower. They may think that they are somehow “conserving energy” by going the “easy-way”–but as Sir Isaac Newton proved, they are expending the same exact amount of energy to get to the top as the stair-climbers.
Another example of “accessibility appropriation” is the growing use of closed captions while watching videos, movies, and TV. This one seems to be very generational. I can always tell when my fiancee’s daughter and her boyfriend were the last to watch something on our main TV, because the closed captions are on. Remember, these are two people in their early 20’s with perfect hearing–not people with hearing impairments that need to have the words on the screen to understand what is being said. But, they have become so accustomed to having words on the screen with TikTok or Reels videos, that they can’t watch something without them anymore.
I find closed captions annoying as heck. First, the vast majority of the TV I watch is live sports, and as hearing-impaired people will tell you, those captions usually stink. Because there is no script and no time for the automated captioning system to synchronize the text and audio, it’s usually several second behind, guesses horribly when it comes to names, and more often than not, is just gobbledygook. And even when the captions come up over scripted material, you pay more attention to reading them (even though you can hear the dialogue) so you tend to miss what is actually happening on the screen. To add to my frustration, you have to go through four menus on the TV to turn them off.
You may recall, a few months ago, I did a My Two Cents about the growing demand for special accommodations for college students when it comes to homework, classroom participation, and test taking. At many elite universities, students getting some accommodation now outnumber “regular” students–with instructors not allowed to call on students to answer questions without prior permission, and “quiet testing” rooms jampacked with kids that claim they “can’t concentrate” in a regular lecture hall or classroom setting due to ADHD, anxiety, or a myriad of other trendy diagnoses.
When I was a kid, the only time you saw someone with a dog inside a public building was someone who is blind and their seeing-eye dog. Then, dogs were trained to sense when a diabetic was getting low or high blood sugar–or an epileptic person was about to have a seizure. That was followed by “comfort animals” for combat veterans or those that had survived other traumatic experiences. But when people started seeing other people taking their dogs into restaurants, movie theaters, stores, and even on airliners the “emotional support animal” craze was born.
Suddenly, everyone seemed to have some condition (often self-diagnosed by watching TikTok videos) that “gave them the right” to have their pet accompany them everywhere. Fortunately, the tide was stemmed when airlines finally said “no way” to the people showing up for flights with their “emotional support” snakes, potbellied pigs, peacocks, and miniature horses–animals neither formally trained to provide a service and those demanding accommodation that never really needed it.
In all of these cases, systems and accommodations created to ensure equal access for those with legitimate disabilities have been co-opted by the population at-large which sees them as the “easy way” to do things. Consider that the power-assist doors at the YMCA should see use just a couple dozen times a day. But when it gets used hundreds of times, that puts extra wear and tear on the components–which leads to break-downs and the temporary loss of that system for those that actually need it, and even more expense for the Y to provide it. The same goes for the classroom accommodations that may give equal opportunity to those with special needs, but also gives unnecessary advantages to those that don’t really need them.
While we have actual laws on the books to bar the able-bodied from taking advantage of some accommodations for the handicapped, like fines for parking in handicap parking spots, limiting people from abusing other systems would be more difficult. I’ll grant you, that using the closed captioning doesn’t add expenses or wear out systems, and extra foot traffic on ramps has limited impact on concrete or treated wooden structures. But we could certainly add some shame to the practice of using them. And I think I’ve come up with a plan. We should borrow a technique used by ultra-liberal bodies across the country–usually in the field of education–and do a version of a land acknowledgement.
Before pressing the button to open the power-assist door, or walking up the ramp adjacent to the staircase, or turning on the closed captioning, or walking into the “quiet testing room”, or bringing a peacock on an airplane, the user of that system or service should have to make an Accommodation Acknowledgement audible to everyone else. It would be something like this:
“I acknowledge that the accommodation I am about to use is the original domain of those with physical and or mental disabilities that would prevent them from using the systems, equipment, or facilities intended for the able-bodied. In using this accommodation, I admit it was not installed or instituted for use by people like me without those disabilities, and that my use of it minimizes their plight and puts the accommodation at risk of not being available to them when they might need it.”
The only problem with the “acknowledgement” idea is that everyone would forget it even happened two seconds after they say it–just like all of those school board meetings. Anyway, if you see me waiting at the door at the Y some morning, feel free to say “hi”. Just don’t expect me to hold the door for you.
