I admit it. I have potty envy.
I dream of a world filled with beautiful accessible bathrooms.
An accessible bathroom first and foremost has space. There are grab bars, easy-to-reach soap, towels, sinks/faucets and personal product dispensers. The mirrors are hung horizontally and vertically. There are open trash bins. Stall doors lock. There are hooks/racks for personal items. Exterior doors open with clicker buttons or without Olympic strength. Floors are dry and safe. Toilets flush without an instructional manual.
Bathrooms, or the lack of them, have been used for a very long time to exclude blacks, women, migrant workers, gays and people with disabilities from certain opportunities.
I've lost count of the number of times someone has said to me that they would like to hire me, educate me, entertain me, host me as a guest in their home, worship with me, serve me in a restaurant, medically treat me or transport me, if only they had a bathroom I could use.
Basic needs and basic rights are connected.
Most of my close women friends carry tape measures. They know "how wide I am." They are constantly on the lookout for accessible bathrooms. They know firsthand my bathroom frustrations, because they're often with me when they happen.
I've often waited a long time for able-bodied people to come out of the handicap stalls. I've seen a woman with four small children and a double stroller in tow, a restaurant employee drag out cases of wine or booster seats or boxes of paper goods that are stored in the stall, a woman with a large luggage cart filled with tech-computer equipment, a teen smoking in the stall on the telephone (a long loud conversation) with her legs stretched out, a woman purging after binge eating, a sleepy woman who told me she took a nap and a couple having sex and emerging red-faced. Most of the women appear embarrassed and apologize. Others tell me that all the stalls should be large and that "it's not just for you people."
I've also seen people with varying disabilities compete for the one handicap stall. A surreal stampede has occurred as the woman with a walker races ahead of the wheelchair user who cuts off the blind woman with the guide dog!
When I don't know if there's an accessible bathroom, my mind is preoccupied with finding one.
When I'm out and about, my train of thought goes something like this: I wonder if I can use the bathroom? I've just spent a lot of money to have a nice dinner, but I don't know anyone with a disability who has successfully used this bathroom. The staff has said it is accessible but I better not drink anything, even though I'm thirsty or have to take a pill or would like to fully experience this place.
I know it's the law, so why can't I know for sure? Why can't bathroom access be standardized?
It looks like it might work, no, it's close but not close enough ... oh well.
How did the code inspector OK this place? Where's that inspector now? I'd love to have him with me in this bathroom. I guess I'm going to have to file a complaint, even though that doesn't help me right now.
I've literally been wedged in a stall unable to move (that was an interesting 911 call), because I wasn't able to open a very heavy exit door that only swung one way. I washed my hands until they were raw and cleaned my purse 50 times until an hour later when a woman finally came into the bathroom.
I've been corralled in the vestibule between two doors of a bathroom. I've leaned over the toilet and had the electronic eye read my body movement and flush the toilet too quickly -- and there went my keys, my failing-clasped necklace and the makeup in my purse down the toilet.
On numerous occasions, I've been hooked by a "pretty" vanity or table and had to yell at the top of my lungs for someone to come into the bathroom and release me. I've even crawled on the floor in a cocktail dress to get into a stall. Also, there's my March column per my nightmare in a local department store bathroom (at www.record-eagle.com/susanodgers).
Everyone at some point has desperately needed an available bathroom, whether you're the parent of a sick or needy child, pregnant, have a prostate condition or urinary issues.
Basic needs and basic rights are connected.
Susan Odgers, a resident of Traverse City for the past 22 years, has used a wheelchair for 33 years. She is a faculty member at Northwestern Michigan College and Grand Valley State University. She can be reached via the Record-Eagle. For more Adapted in TC columns, log on to record-eagle.com/susanodgers.
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