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ailbheA woman in my penultimate stop (M&S, for my lunch, before going to Eclectic Games to eat it) stopped me to say "What would you do if they weren't so well-behaved?" to which I said "Stay at home, I'd have to." They were pulling the shopping trolley and carrying things, and being obedient and safe and so on. Mind you, they had already had their lunch, because they wanted chips and since it's their pocketmoney they are allowed to spend it in Burger King if they like; having eaten always helps (though because junk food isn't properly filling, they also later ate a large portion of my lunch, which I knew they would ahead of time).
It was nice to get the compliment, but startling. At some point in the disjointed conversation (while I was hungry and in pain and trying not to let the children get bored while I talked to a stranger) I did say that yes, they are brilliant, because they are.
And I got to check out the change-mat we want for the bathtop, and bought Emer's summer sandals - in a colour she swore blind she didn't want last time we were in a shoeshop, but there you go - and we investigated the local Aldi, and found a shop called Range which has a horrible lift for people with buggies or a disability, and either travelators or stairs for everyone else. I can handle going up or down on an escalator with steps, because me and the crutches can be on a level surface, but I can't manage downhill on a travelator very well at all, and Emer was frightened by it. So we tried the lift.
It was one of those platform-in-a-shaft ones, with one half-height wall for the internal controls. To summon the lift, one pushes and holds the button outside until the lift has gone from the ground floor to the first floor. Then one lets go, and presses the button again to unlock the door; the door must be pulled open while the button is being held or it relocks. Then one pulls the heavy door open and enters the lift before it springs shut again on one's arse.
In other words, it's for disabled people with able-bodied helpers. The children and I needed ALL of us to get the door open, for a start. And once we were in, Linnea had to hold the down button down the whole time, and we all had to be careful not to brush the walls of the shaft. Then we had to get out by pushing another heavy door open, and immediately outside the door was a small, short ramp from the lift-level to the actual floor-level, which was a bugger to navigate with crutches, two children, and no free hands to open the door. If Linnea wasn't so big and strong we'd have been in trouble.
I shall write them a letter. And not go there alone until I'm able-bodied again.
It was nice to get the compliment, but startling. At some point in the disjointed conversation (while I was hungry and in pain and trying not to let the children get bored while I talked to a stranger) I did say that yes, they are brilliant, because they are.
And I got to check out the change-mat we want for the bathtop, and bought Emer's summer sandals - in a colour she swore blind she didn't want last time we were in a shoeshop, but there you go - and we investigated the local Aldi, and found a shop called Range which has a horrible lift for people with buggies or a disability, and either travelators or stairs for everyone else. I can handle going up or down on an escalator with steps, because me and the crutches can be on a level surface, but I can't manage downhill on a travelator very well at all, and Emer was frightened by it. So we tried the lift.
It was one of those platform-in-a-shaft ones, with one half-height wall for the internal controls. To summon the lift, one pushes and holds the button outside until the lift has gone from the ground floor to the first floor. Then one lets go, and presses the button again to unlock the door; the door must be pulled open while the button is being held or it relocks. Then one pulls the heavy door open and enters the lift before it springs shut again on one's arse.
In other words, it's for disabled people with able-bodied helpers. The children and I needed ALL of us to get the door open, for a start. And once we were in, Linnea had to hold the down button down the whole time, and we all had to be careful not to brush the walls of the shaft. Then we had to get out by pushing another heavy door open, and immediately outside the door was a small, short ramp from the lift-level to the actual floor-level, which was a bugger to navigate with crutches, two children, and no free hands to open the door. If Linnea wasn't so big and strong we'd have been in trouble.
I shall write them a letter. And not go there alone until I'm able-bodied again.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-13 09:40 pm (UTC)Sheesh, I've used a lot of goods lifts over the last six years, between buggies and disability, and mostly they have walls, and staff to help you. Today's goods lift closely resembled the short-hop lifts other places use (Debenhams and John Lewis spring to mind) so I assumed it was from the same, er, stable, or herd, or whatever. But those are easy-push buttons, glass walls, grab-rail, automatic doors etc, even if they tend to have only two rather than four actual walls, and those only half-height.