Post 4: Hold the Door
The Nashville airport incident tweet, circa 2021. Left: a huge extra garbage can Eben pulled out of the bathroom Right: Ev, displeased, in a cramped bathroom
Hold the Door
I feel a great sense of relief and good fortune when I get right into the accessible bathroom at the airport. Because the majority of the time we wait... and wait...and then an able-bodied person bounces out ten minutes later. What have they been doing in there?
Most likely scenarios:
Pretending it’s their personal getaway spa within the airport. A mini personal kingdom even!
Treating it as a writer’s retreat where they can work on the next great American novel
Mini gym, where they can use the handicap bars for stretching
When a couple exits…one can only assume one thing led to another beginning with the removal of belts in the security line. I long to shout “get a room that’s not a handicapped bathroom!!” Then passerby’s erupt in laughter, the couple disintegrates in embarrassment
Being an entitled asshole who is too important and/or pristine to use the bathroom amongst others
If I could project my voice I would say something snarky (would I though?). I try to get Eben to do this but he is nicer than me and gives people the benefit of the 1% doubt that this 25-year-old in a traveling sports team sweatsuit or that TSA agent has a legitimate reason for using the accessible bathroom.
Said person makes a hasty and guilty-faced exit when they open the door and see me, waiting with my best pathetic and pained face.
While waiting outside the bathroom Eben and I have some version of this conversation:
Me: “Jiggle the door handle.”
Him: “I already jiggled it.”
Me: “Then knock on the door.”
Him: “No, I’m not doing that.”
Me: “Harumph.” (turns into Winnie the Pooh, arms folded across chest)
So, we have reached a compromise about how to handle these situations now.
As they’re exiting the bathroom we ask the long-term tenant to hold the door for us, interrupting their emergency escape. You have to interact with us now, and we are putting you to work. I imagine these people are repeat offenders and this experience will break them of their habit. Or it won’t in which case they are truly item 5.
Signage makes a difference, I think. The best I have seen was in the Detroit airport. Detroit’s sign is a gritty 50-something man who wears whatever the hell he feels like and has nothing to lose as he laments his city being underestimated and casually ignored. He shouts on a large blue sign that this bathroom is for people with disabilities, the elderly, and families only.
The sign on the accessible bathroom in Nashville is a sweet woman in sensible shoes who definitely brought a homemade salad to work for lunch, who doesn’t want to offend anyone, and wants to do the right thing. She is a small blue sign that says family restroom with a wheelchair icon under it.
The Chicago sign is in their early 30s, wears thick-rimmed glasses and a locally sourced organic cotton t-shirt, and in an effort to be progressive above all else has failed to look at every angle of the situation. At O’Hare airport they have changed all accessible bathroom signs to read “all gender bathroom.” I am for it in principle and spirit but...it effectively makes the bathroom for anyone and everyone thus doing people who rely on it a disservice. By all means add all gender bathrooms, but not at the expense of designated accessible bathrooms.
One time in Nashville we went into the makeshift accessible bathroom (due to airport renovations). Between two garbage cans and a huge changing table we and the wheelchair couldn’t navigate the tiny space. Eben dragged one of the garbage cans out of the bathroom, but not before taking a photo of the impossible space with me in it displaying my best “I-can’t-believe -this-shit” face. I then tweeted about it and tagged BNA. To their credit, they immediately responded and remedied the issue. Sweet, little victory.
I got my first taste of righting the perceived wrongdoings of companies when I was 9 or so. As a child of the 80s, a single mom, and the Midwest we ate a lot of microwave “tv dinners” (is there a sadder name for a meal?). The ones geared toward kids with names like Kids Kuisine and cartoon animals skateboarding on the package, letting you know you were in for a wild time with the processed food inside. The tray quarantined the corn, meat element, fruit in sugar sauce, and apologetic dessert from each other, each in their own little compartment. As I ate my oval-shaped, sauced-up Salisbury steak while watching one of our 7 channels, suddenly…. “What. Is. THIS?” Upon examination, a tiny, sharp, bone. “How dare they. Not in MY “steak”!!”
So troubled by this was I that I cleaned the offending bone, and mailed it along with a letter explaining my experience to the corporation. They sent me an apology letter and a check for $2.19. I felt triumphant and slightly richer.
Enough about you being an entitled 9 year old Ev, can we get back to bathrooms?
Sure. The next best thing to getting right into the accessible bathroom is when another person in a wheelchair, or a frazzled mom with 2 kids, or someone else who the bathroom is intended for opens the door. We give each other a mutual look of respect and camaraderie. Thank you for playing by the rules, we are in the Air Travel is Extra Hard club and I see you.
Here’s to celebrating small victories and not being an entitled asshole.