An Open Letter to Mayor De Blasio

Dear Mayor De Blasio,

I recently had the privilege of drinking morning coffee in your great city. I chose Starbucks over Chick-fil-A due to the stores close proximity to my hotel.

With my foot in a post-surgical boot, I was forced to navigate on a knee scooter and factor in travel distance every where I went. Limited energy and joint strength due to mitochondrial disease further demanded I consider each step.

So you can imagine my surprise when I entered my first restaurant and heard a young hostess say, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave that outside."

"On the street?" I inquired.

"Yes," she explained. "Fire codes demand all strollers and such be left outside. We don't have room for them indoors."

Tired from an early morning flight, I started to roll away. Maybe I've watched too many episodes of Blue Bloods, but leaving my knee scooter alone on the sidewalks of New York made no sense.

But once outside, rolling away didn't feel right. Indignant, I tried again.

Facing the same hostess, I explained "I just landed in New York City for the first time. I'm from the south and have never been here before."

My hands moved in rhythm with my words, "Since my foot is still healing from a serious surgery, I'm puzzled that you want me to leave my scooter out free on the streets of New York. Forgive me if I've got this wrong, but that sounds insane to me. If someone takes it, I won't be able to function in your city because I can't walk on my foot. Doctor's orders."

Then I brought it home, "Does that really mean I can't eat in your restaurant?"

Startled, the young woman compromised. She let me wheel to a table near the entrance and then stored my scooter in the small lobby area where she stood guard.

The bathrooms were up a flight of stairs. So I limited my liquid intake while eating an overpriced meal and listening to wanna-be Broadway singers entertain their captive audience.

The small victory helped. But hours later, when I showed up to check in to my hotel, I was disappointed to learn our room wasn't ready thirty minutes past the check in time.

When I asked why, the hostess stated, "You changed to a handicap room."

Stunned, I stepped away. The change had been made over a week before and only because my doctor insisted I remain no-weight-bearing until after the trip.

Waiting for a room was one thing. Waiting because I requested a handicap room made me squirmy.

In time I showered in my handicap hotel room, only to have water spill over the skinny floor drain onto the marble tile, creating a distinct hazard for someone managing life on one foot. I used towels to sop up most of the mess and gingerly maneuvered on the slick floor as I readied for bed.

But I was surprised at the lack of consideration for someone in need. I could manage. But I know many others in worse shape than me who could not.

This brings me to ask, "Mayor DeBlasio, does your city hate handicap people?"

By your own definition, you must.

As I rolled the sidewalks I found large swaths of concrete changed patterns every few feet, especially on 7th Ave. The bumpy terrain caught my wheel once or twice, causing me to almost face plant just up the street from China Town.

Ramps at pedestrian crossings rarely matched on both sides of the street. At some crossings I rode down a small, bumpy slope, only to meet a curb on the other side. Other times, I rode down the incline and across the street only to find that the up ramp accommodated those crossing perpendicular to me.

For the average person, those things matter little. For the handicapped person, they matter much.

In fact they matter so much that I have since learned that several wheelchair bound people have had to leave your city once injured because it was too difficult to maneuver freely.

Those people loved their NYC home, but found it was not designed to embrace them after life dealt a catastrophic blow.

If I used the same rhetoric you recently embraced, I might even insist, "Mayor De Blasio hates handicapped people."

But since I don't expect the entire world to accommodate my needs, I understand that your city was built during a time when builders were not called on to consider disabled and handicapped individuals. Expanding the city's tight quarters now would require an expensive remodel.

Still, for a city called The Melting Pot, there's a distinct segment of our society that is unable to meld into the scenery and blend with your thriving metropolis.

So, does that mean that you, Mayor De Blasio, hate me?

I would be wasting an incredible amount of energy if I concerned myself with that kind of negativity. My greatest challenge in life is to overcome the fear and disappointment my the wobbly legs conjure up some days, and to live with joy and dignity.

Still, when I heard you join the rhetoric that claims Chick-fil-A spreads hate by espousing values long endeared, I couldn't stay quiet. Yes, the company believes differently than you. But does that really mean they spread hate?

Since your city is not able to host disabled people with ease, does that mean you hate them? If you don't focus solely on meeting the needs of the mobility challenged, does that mean you abhor that part of society?

The Metropolitan Museum of Art had wheelchairs available for free. As did the Central Park Zoo. So all was not lost.

And the same is true for Chick-fil-A. As quoted from their website:

"Over the past three years, Chick-fil-A, Inc. and its franchised Restaurant Operators have given more than $68 million in contributions to over 700 educational and charitable organizations and have provided millions of dollars in food donations all across America."

www.chick-fil-a.com/Company/Responsibility-Overview

When I look at a National Geographic Magazine, or simply read the world news, the vast array of distinct cultures captivates me. Thus I'm all the more amazed at how streamlined our culture demands we live.

If I don't believe like you, then I hate? If you don't believe like me then you hate? It just makes no sense to me.

So some day, I might even travel back to NYC and traverse your bumpy terrain again. I'll marvel at the mass of humanity that bumps elbows on the sidewalks and even smile at the Naked Cowboy if I pass him again.

And no doubt, the next time I'm there, I'll find some chick-coffee and wait in that long line to savor my favorite chicken sandwich.

photo credit: Move to NYC via photopin (license)