“Gobble!” I yell into the phone, “What up?”
“Yeah, man. How are you doing, Stonnyman?”
“Great. I got your invite—congratulations! I just gotta finalize one thing with the airline, but, yeah, everything else is good to go.” I ramble on. “Tina, my nurse, is going to come, and my dad's got a hotel for us in Westlake.”
“So, you're definitely coming?”
“Hell yeah, I'm coming! I wouldn't miss this for the world! Why?”
“I gotta know for the planners. We're going to have to rent a ramp so you can get into the reception hall. It's in Little Italy.”
“Oh, shit. I bet there's stairs in those old buildings, huh?”
“There's only a couple. Don't worry. It's not that bad. I'm glad you're coming, brotherman.”
“I'm getting very excited for the reunion. I haven't flown back in years. I just got to get on that goddamn plane.”
“You think it's going to happen?”
“I'm about ninety percent sure, don't worry buddy.”
“Good luck, John J!”
“Thanks, Gobbs! See you next week! Can't wait to meet Angelina.”
Marcus Baptista has been my friend since seventh grade. He was in the Knucklebeasts, my high school band, and he was like a brother to me. He's one of my last friends to get married and l badly want to be there to celebrate with everybody.
Unfortunately, my Multiple Sclerosis symptoms have gotten worse the past few years. I'm now in a power chair, so planning's been extra challenging too. My parents have been very helpful so far and even bought my United Airlines ticket. I'm just super worried about getting on the plane and flying again, especially in my debilitated condition. I'm going to call the airlines again to make sure they're ready to go.
“United Airlines, this is Evelyn, how may I help you?”
“Hello, Evelyn! My name is John Mistur. I'm calling about Flight 101, leaving next Wednesday afternoon.”
“Hello, John. When I pull you up, I see that you have a wheelchair riding along.”
“Yep, that's me. Is there a weight limit on power wheelchairs? My chair is like four hundred pounds.”
“Five-hundred-pound weight limit. They will put the chair in luggage after they get you on the plane.”
“Okay…about that. How exactly are you guys going to get me on the plane? I'm non-ambulatory and need a lot of assistance. Are you guys going to assist me to my seat? Maybe the fire department will help?”
“I'll tell you the procedure here at United Airlines. We don't work with the Fire Department. However, we do work with a third-party vendor with experience transferring people with disabilities.”
“I weigh two hundred and fifty pounds. Are they going to be able to lift me over to the seat?”
“No. They will not lift you to the seat. We have an aisle wheelchair they'll transfer you into, and then push you to your seat.”
“An aisle wheelchair? What's that? Is there a weight limit?”
“It's a small wheelchair that fits between the aisles and holds up to three hundred pounds.”
“Have you seen one? Does it have some place to put my legs?”
“I've not seen one, but I'm sure it does.”
“O-kay. One more thing. I weigh two hundred and fifty pounds—are there going to be more than two people to help out?” I am concerned. “I’ve got to get on this flight, Evelyn, it's very important. Can you please put in a request for more than two transporters, to be safe?”
“Trust me. The vendors have a lot of experience doing these transfers with the handicapped. Mr. John, it shouldn't be a problem. Every customer is important to us, so I will put a note here for the vendor to have three people.”
“Thanks so much, Evelyn. I just need to get on that flight.”
“Thanks for flying United.”
I'm starting to feel more confident about flying again. I’ve got an extra person to help. I know three people can lift my fat ass up! The aisle wheelchair is what I'm worried about. Let's hope that I fit on that thing. Soon I'll be off to Cleveland!
***
The day arrives, so together Tina and I get me up and ready to go, grab the carry-ons, and take a yellow cab to the airport. When we get to our gate, Tina throws the bags onto some chairs and sits down. “Whoo,” she remarks snarkily, “the things I do for you!”
Tina's been my loving caregiver for at least three years. She's from South Seattle, and today she looks great. Instead of wearing her light blue scrubs, she's wearing her Sunday best. She has on a long blue stretchy dress. Her hair, makeup, and nails are done. Watching her as she looks through her faux Gucci purse, I smile. Just like me, she’s very excited to get out of town, and she wants to make an impression on my parents.
“You sure these people are going be able to do this?” she gripes. “I'm not going to help with these nice shoes on!”
“Tina, don't worry,” I say, my voice quivering. “I’ve got an extra person. We'll be fine.”
Suddenly the gate attendant gets on a speaker. “Now boarding Flight 101. Veterans and special needs, come forward to board.”
This is it. All the planning has come down to this moment.
Tina grabs our bags and we go to the airplane tunnel, where a uniformed redhead flight attendant stops us. “Hello. Let me see your tickets,” she says.
Tina pulls them out.
“Where the hell is my transport team?” I ask the flight attendant. “You guys told me they'd be here.”
“They'll be here, sir. Just head down the tunnel to the plane.” She shrugs me off.
As we descend down the tunnel, the engine gets louder and louder. I stop to look at Tina. “What the fuck, Tina?” I shout. “This is bullshit!”
“Now, calm down, John. I think I see the transporters,” she assures me.
Once we get to the door of the 747, the engine is very loud. A whistling comes from the wind at the end of the tunnel. I turn around and I see the flight attendant walking towards us with an oddly-shaped Tweedledee and Tweedledum. They have the aisle chair. These are the promised transporters? One transporter is six feet tall with glasses. His gut is hanging out of his untucked button-down staff shirt. The other guy is an Ethiopian man half his size. Hardly the strong firemen that pick me up off the floor when I fall at home.
“Hello, sir,” the fat man grumbles. “How do you want to do this?” He starts unfolding the small aisle chair in front of me. Beads of sweat drip down his face as he finishes up. The chair is dangerously low to the ground. It has two little pedals as foot holders, and no arm holders.
“Someone needs to get behind me to lift under my armpits, and someone needs to lift my legs to get me on that small-ass chair!” I huff at them. These guys have no experience.
The Ethiopian guy gets behind me and starts lifting my armpits, while the fat guy lifts my legs. This causes my body to spasm, stiffening up like a board plank. “Stop! Put me down!” I yelp. “This isn't going to work,” I shout at the flight attendant. “Where is the third person I asked for? You guys promised me!”
“What can I do to speed things up?” she responds inconsiderately. “We need to get you loaded ASAP so I can board the rest of the passengers.”
I start barking orders “Help. Please! You guys grab my legs. Have the big guy get behind me to lift my armpits.”
The Ethiopian man and stewardess lift my legs while the sweaty guy miraculously gets me airborne, out of my chair. Somehow, they manage to get me onto the aisle chair. I must look like a hippo balancing on a tricycle. “Okay,” I say. “Put my feet on the pedals. Someone will have to hold my legs while we go through the aisles.”
They start pushing me forward to the door of the plane, but when we get there the wheels get stuck in the crack between the plane and the tunnel. I'm stuck only centimeters from getting on this damn airplane.
“This isn't going to work, sir,” says the flight attendant. “We're not going to be able to get you to the seat. I'm sorry, but we’ve got to turn back. I'm already late loading the other passengers.” She is shutting down the operation.
“Oh, come on Ma'am,” I plea, tearing up. “We're so close. Can't you call the Fire Department? I have to get on this goddamn plane!”
“No. No. We need to get you back in your chair.” She starts pushing me back towards my power chair. I hear the fat guy breathing heavily down my neck as he begins to lift me up. Only, I'm not going up to my chair. I'm actually getting lower to the ground.
“Oh, no you don't!” Tina screams. “You're not letting my client hit that dirty-ass floor!” She flips off her shoes. She jumps into action to help the fat man lift me back to my power chair, straining her back.
“You all should be ashamed of yourselves. Treating him that way!” Tina yells at them.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” I cry to the flight attendant. “You guys promised me three people to help! You promised to get me on this plane. This isn't fair!” But it's too late. My hopes and dreams of going back home to see everybody are crumbling before my eyes. We ascend out of the tunnel to the gate.
When we emerge, the other passengers start clapping.
I feel even worse. Jesus, can't they see my struggles? Tears are falling onto my shirt. Tina and I sit back down where we started and watch everybody else board the plane, until the gate is clear. Everything is quiet. I check with the gate attendant one last time about rebooking tonight, but nothing can be done except issuing a refund.
***
After that horrible nightmare, I don't know if I'll ever be able to fly back to Cleveland again. Let alone get on an airplane to go anywhere. Especially if the airlines treat me like that! More accommodations need to be made for people with disabilities because this shouldn't happen.
I just want to ride an airplane like everyone else.
Author: John Mistur
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