I know exactly how wide and long my wheelchair is. I know exactly how much space I take up and I am an excellent judge of where I will fit. I have excellent control of my wheelchair and can stop very abruptly if needed, with no braking distance required. I am also very aware of my surroundings when I am wheeling myself.
Still people insist on leaping back as if they were in my way, some when they are many metres away from me. People pull their children back and clutch them protectively against their bodies as I pass them, like I will crush their child under my wheels. People also stare constantly; they stare as I weave my way through crowds, they stare as I eat in restaurants and they stare as I look at clothes in my favourite shop. They stare. These things hurt me, they make me feel like public space is not for me. Like having a disability revoked my right to community spaces. As much as these things hurt me, they are not the thing that bothers me the most. No, they are not the behaviour that makes me wish I could send people to the special level of Hell Shepherd Book talked about. After that build up, this may seem rather petty but it happens all the time and it is infuriating.
I am out in town with my partner, in a big shopping centre. We wait for the lift with a group of other people, usually families with a child in a pushchair or a pram. We allow people to get off the lift, this usually entails me wheeling a way back from the lift and flattening myself against a wall - otherwise people look at me like I am an immovable object in their way and they find overly complicated ways to pass me, that is if they don't freeze up in panic. Anyway this moving back usually means everyone rushes into the lift before me, finding ways to take up as much space as possible. But still there is space for me, even if it'll take a bit of manoeuvring to get into place. I perform that manoeuvring with grace, trying to ignore the pained expressions from the other lift occupants and the occasional panicked gasp - usually men to be honest but sometimes women to. Sometimes people move their hands and I tend to think of that as backseat wheeling. Once I am in place, my partner finds a space and the lift doors close. This is when someone looks around at everyone with a strained smile and cracks "Nice driving!". Sometimes someone follows up with a joke about "That thing needs mirrors!". And that is when I think about the special Hell.
It is condescending and Othering and not at all original. Unless you see me perform a backflip or win the Grand Prix or do something else out of the ordinary, it's an unwelcome reminder that you see me as different. That my presence makes you uncomfortable. I am not responsible for your feelings, it is not my job to be the butt of your joke. Of course I will smile or try to laugh, but inside I'll be cringing. Sometimes I feel like responding with a joke of my own, "Nice walking" I could say with a smile. But somehow I don't think you'd find that so funny.
