Author: Sheri Denkensohn-Trott
When you have a disability, you always expect the unexpected. But I must say that a couple of Saturdays ago I never expected to be rolling around DC with a close-up view of large rats and cockroaches. And I never would’ve imagined how it would happen.
I was participating in the first storytelling production of the Capital Fringe 
Festival, The Body Show. It was a hot Friday night and after the show my friends and I went to the Dupont Circle, Metro station. We pushed the elevator button and saw that the elevator was there, but the door didn’t open. We pushed the call button to access the Metro personnel, but nobody answered. My friend went down the escalator and spoke to the individual on duty, and he was less than helpful. Many times, an elevator is not stuck, but can be accessed by the control panel and opened. My friend was appalled at the reaction by Metro personnel. He was not interested in trying and showed no desire to attempt to get me a shuttle. My friend came up to where I was anxiously waiting, was shocked by the treatment on the issue (I wasn’t) and offered to escort me to the next Metro station. Because she was headed to Maryland and I was going in the opposite direction to Virginia, and it was already 10 PM on a scorching Friday night, I told her I would be fine and she should go her way.
Power is a big deal when you have a wheelchair. I had enough power in my wheelchair battery and seemingly enough power on my phone. On the Metro system in DC, elevators are not always located next to the main entrances. At the stops I usually use, I know exactly where the elevators are. The closest Metro station to Dupont Circle is Farragut North. I had never used this Metro station before. It’s not close to any area that I frequent. It was starting to cool off, so I put on my GPS and rolled in the bike lane (yes, they are multipurpose) and about 20 minutes later arrived at Farragut North. There are multiple entrances to the station, and there were markers with a wheelchair symbol for the elevator. But for the life of me, I couldn’t find it.
I was in an upscale part of town, near the iconic Mayflower Hotel. I asked the concierge, and three other employees to direct me to the Metro elevator. They kept pointing to the escalators and I kept explaining that I needed the elevator. I had enough of the Abbott and Costello routine and left. This is considered an upscale hotel? I went up the street, back down the street, around the corner and decided as it was getting darker and big rats and cockroaches started crossing my path that it was time to give up on finding this elevator.
Meanwhile, my GPS was draining the phone, I kept checking my wheelchair power and it was going down but not in the red zone, and my husband was texting trying to figure out where I was. It was 10:45 and not the best time to be rolling around DC. Gentlemen’s clubs and other nighttime establishments were gaining lines, so I decided that it was best for me to make a beeline to the Metro station that I knew best even though it was almost a mile. It was worth it because I knew the streets and it was on a line that would get me directly home. I put my phone on battery save mode, texted my husband my plan, and started off.
You might ask, “Why not call a taxi, Uber, or Lyft?” I wish it were that simple. At almost 11 PM on a Friday night I would be waiting hours for a wheelchair taxi and there are no wheelchair accessible Uber or Lyft vehicles to accommodate my large power chair. It was up to me.
Many of my friends call me “Speedy” as a wheelchair nickname. I met their expectations that Friday night. I was speeding to avoid any potential altercations, fat rats, and cockroaches. I never knew there were so many roaches and rats in the city when it went dark. All the while, instead of worrying, my mind was playing the lyrics to, “Hot in the City,” by Billy Idol.
I finally made it to the elevator of my destination and when I got to the card reader I asked the woman in the control booth of Metro to help me scan my card. The woman was far from friendly, and despite her gloves and mask told me that she could not touch my Metro card. I replied that she was incorrect, and I needed her to swipe my card and not her card because otherwise I would have trouble at the other end. At this point I did not need her attitude. She walked about snail’s pace huffing and puffing and finally swiped my card. I asked her to call the elevator so I could go down to the Metro level and she sneered at me, but did it. Note to self, I will report her. And I did.
I arrived back in my neighborhood with a breath of relief, exhausted, and frustrated. 
Once in bed, my husband and I simultaneously said to each other, “Well, this will make a good blog.”
Some of my friends were not so entertained. Fair comments and suggestions such as dangerous, go out and buy a backup battery for your phone, you could’ve gotten shot, and many other statements from good people hit me from all sides. And I’m not saying that any of them were wrong. But I’ll never forget my night of fat rats and cockroaches. And in the daylight hours when I have some free time, I’m going to find that elevator at Farragut North.
