Saturdays with Seniors: Bridget’s Ride to Work

Today’s guest blogger, Bridget Hayman.

Disclaimer: Today’s Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger, Bridget Hayman, is not a senior. One of the Zoom memoir-writing classes I lead on Thursday afternoons is open to writers of all ages. Bridget is the Director of Communications at Access Living (a leading force in Chicago’s disability advocacy community) and is using her lunch and taking PTO time to attend class while working from home these days.

Tomorrow, July 26, 2020 is the 30^th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act. Bridget has cerebral palsy – she has been disabled her entire life, and the essay she came back with is a great example of how the ADA made many positive changes for people with disabilities but leaves room for improvement.

When I Became an Adult

by Bridget Hayman

Accepting an internship in Chicago was just my beautiful pipe dream…until my Grandpa turned it into a feasible reality. “I called all of the taxi companies,” he said with a glint in his eye, casually handing me a thick envelope of $10 bills. “That’s the exact amount of money you’ll need to take a cab to and from work everyday.”

I stared at him, openmouthed. I’d just turned 21 and had never seen so much money in one place, let alone in my hand.

And so, there on my grandparents porch in Denver, my plans for a summer in Chicago suddenly solidified. Grandpa then added one more tidbit. “I almost forgot,” he said with a sly smile. “I found out there are more affordable ways for you to get around the city, too. Either way, the cash is yours.”

A month later, I was sitting on the corner of Dearborn and North Avenue with my arm in the air and unwelcome tears stinging my eyes. I sat alone, exposed and invisible, watching the taillights of another taxi pass me by — the 8th one to do so that morning. Damn. I’d be late for my 9 a.m. for sure. I probably should have just stayed home in Denver.

When I’d first arrived in Chicago a week earlier, a cabbie named Frank picked me up and told me what was quickly becoming a familiar truth. “Most cabbies won’t stop for you, they won’t touch your wheelchair,” he warned, passing me a card through the partition with his cell phone number scrawled on the back. “Next time you need a ride, you call me directly.” I’d already called Frank that morning. He wasn’t available. Same with Abdul, Jamal and Samir.

So, I headed out to hail a cab. And still, there I sat.

Ahh, hell.

It was getting later and later. Maybe I could wheel to work? No… not with the missing curb cuts and broken sidewalks along LaSalle Street.

That’s when I spotted the bus stop on the opposite corner. Could I take the bus? I’d heard it was accessible, but I hadn’t found the courage to try it.

A woman standing by the sign smiled when I pulled in next to her. “Give up on getting a cab?” She asked.

I nodded.

She paused.

“Ummm … have you taken the bus before?”

Oh my God. Was it that obvious? “No,” I conceded. “Does this one go to the Loop?”

My new friend assured me it did. When the bus arrived, she watched me get on the lift — It folded out from the stairs! — and showed me how to pay for my ride. Only $1.25! “It’s her first time on the bus!” She announced to everyone.

Ugh.

The driver showed me how to hook in my wheelchair and looked pointedly at me in the rearview when we got to my stop. The office was a short block away, no streets to cross, no curb cuts necessary. I made it to my 9 a.m. right on time.

I was an adult, after all.