A Broken Bone.
Let me tell you a funny story - not funny as in ha ha lol, but hilarious in happenstances and implications.
Last week in Paris, on the day-before-last of my stay there before flying to the States, I broke my big left toe with the heavy metal and glass door of my Parisian building. The kind of door you must pull (not push) with all your strength after pressing on the PORTE button to exit the building.
Well, after pulling said door (of several tons I am sure) to the street countless times before, this time I pulled it so hard that it flew open into my precious toe - I screamed in pain, enough to wake sleepy heads, and to alert the concierge who came running (well, walking slightly faster than usual at least.)
If this had been America, she would have been concerned about me suing the building owners about the fact that that door in itself is a self-harming apparatus, but as a real sympathetic French concierge, she just stated: "Oui, it is a very heavy door." And that was the end of her participation in the matter.
Uber is my Friend.
Hoping in a friendly chic Uber, for a quick visit (joking here) to the nearest ER, the very young (he looked like he was 12) doc on duty told me there was nothing-he-could-do-unless-I-wanted-a-total-cast-on-my-foot-which-he-did-not-recommend-at-all, he gave me a prescription for pain killers and told me NOT to walk much.
In Paris? Me? Not walk? So I went everywhere limping like hell in my comfy worn out espadrilles, watching doors gallantly opening in front of me like if I had the bubonic plague, with kind people letting me sit in the bus and gentle souls holding doors everywhere (where were they when I needed to open that dreadful door?)
Luckily this was my last day in Paris. Expected in Texas for a conference and a few visits, I did not want to cancel my flight, hoping that my toe would be understanding of the situation and that the meds would be enough to get me through the next few days. After all, if it had to hurt, it was the same on Earth or in the air for a few hours - and in Texas all the same.
After another Uber trip to the airport, I arrived at the ticket counter huffing and puffing like a mad woman. The first security officer directed me to the First Class line to check my bag so I would not have to stand in line with the ordinary minions with their two feet intact. Whoa! That was nice!
Then the lady at the counter said she was going to ask for a chair for me, and I thought she meant I should not stand up.... silly me, she meant a wheelchair! To go through all those endless lines at the CDG Airport, a massive arrangement of sometimes undecipherable corridors to get to your actual lounge for departure. What a treat!
Not only did I not leave my wheelchair, but at the security line, I did not remove my shoes, the nice young woman pushing me took care of my bag and jacket and we went through a pat down by a female custom person who also scanned the chair with me in it.
No puffing machine, no waiting in line, just a breeze!
Did I need to use the restroom she asked? Was she going to take me there too?? No thank you, I'll manage in the plane. It's true that hopping from one seat to the next helped me stand and move about a little bit during the 11 hours in the sky. Good lawd, such a long flight!
Wall-e's World.
At Charles de Gaulle Airport, since my plane was what is called a no-contact boarding, meaning that passengers had to be bused out to the stairs of the aircraft, they put me in a contraption that reminded me a little of the adorable Wall.e robot! It was a huge tall elevator box on wheels, two stories high that allowed the wheelchair (and me) to go directly from the terminal level into the front of the airplane - where a secret door I had never noticed before, was the way into the cabin.
This allowed the chair to arrive at the exact location where my seat alley was starting. Remarkable!
Four Babies and a Dog.
In Dallas, another wheelchair was waiting for me at the plane door and I was rushed to the luggage belt by a very old man who looked like he should have been in that chair with me pushing.
The connection was tight so he was almost running to get to the new gate - and let me tell you, the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport is a massive enterprise with wings and tentacles seemingly never ending - we even had to take a metro to change terminal. It's a beautiful airport, all modern white and space-ship-py (I make up words all the time.)
I was boarded first into that plane, with a family of four babies (yes, 4) and a man with a service dog, a nice shepherd mix kind wearing a vest that said "Do not pet me."
There was no way I would have been able to walk all that distance! Arriving in San Antonio, same luggage rush, and then a quiet ride to the front of the taxi line, yes sir.
All this without ever asking for anything at all! I was very impressed with that service offered to passengers, as I had no idea it even existed!
The communication between the Paris airport service and my final destination was flawless and totally impeccable. It almost made me like the exorbitantly long flight!
Did I feel guilty of using a service necessary to real handicapped people? No, because I was not able to walk, and luckily I will get better, but I don't know how I would have traveled without the chair. But, no, I won't break another bone on purpose when I leave San Antonio in three weeks - that is way too painful!
Questions or comments, reach me at sidoniesawyer@gmail.com.
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