G’day, Friends, and welcome back!
Growing up disabled, the challenges of navigating an inaccessible world became second nature to me. Calling ahead to ensure a restaurant had accessible seating and access. Scanning Google Maps for ramps before leaving the house. Accepting that certain shops, cafes, or clubs were simply off-limits because of stairs, narrow aisles, or obstacles. It was “just the way it is,” and I didn’t question it for a long time.
But recently, I shared some of these experiences with my coach, and her reaction stopped me in my tracks. I mentioned, almost casually, that I couldn’t access the Christmas section at Myer because the aisles were too narrow. I described how I call ahead to ensure venues are accessible or wait outside shops because my mobility scooter can’t navigate inside. I even told her how a colleague once had to carry me—and my scooter—up a handful of stairs so I could join friends on a night out.
She was shocked. Horrified. Angry.
Her reaction made me pause and reflect. Why was I so willing to accept this reality? Why was I shrugging off something that, frankly, isn’t okay? Her disbelief stirred something in me—a realisation that this isn’t normal and shouldn’t be accepted.
I have had keyboard warriors say, ‘You have the DSP and the NDIS, and you can access some places. Just be grateful instead of being greedy and asking for more’.
Don’t we, the disabled community, have the right just as much as the person next door to enjoy a night out on the town free from constantly thinking, ‘Can I even get into the front door?’ let alone ‘Can I order a drink at the bar myself’. Don’t we have the right to shop independently just as much as the fellow shopper next to us? Of all the things that we have to worry about when it comes to living with and managing our disability, accessibility shouldn’t even be on the radar.
Once I realised that it isn’t okay and it isn’t ‘just the way it is’, I became so much more aware of accessibility issues.
One example occurred two weekends ago when I was out shopping. I had just met up with a friend at the Gunshop Cafe in Grand Central, which I must say is arguably one of the most accessible coffee shops. Even mothers with strollers could easily navigate the coffee shop and the counter!
I then ventured to Target to pick up a few things. When it came time to check-out, I ran into a major problem. Target’s self-serve checkouts are entirely inaccessible. The counters are standard height, too high for someone using a mobility aid. The screens are angled upward and pushed far back, out of reach for me on my scooter. I was stranded, unable to pay for my items.
I looked around for staff, but no one was nearby. A group of shoppers walked by, witnessing my struggle but offering no help. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask a kind stranger for assistance. She abandoned her own shopping to help me and expressed her frustration that something as basic as a checkout wasn’t accessible.
Her kindness stayed with me, but so did the experience. This is what independence looks like for me—navigating a world not designed for people like me and relying on the compassion of strangers to complete tasks that for most is not even a second thought.
Once I got home, I reflected on my conversation with my coach and decided to contact Target about the inaccessibility of their checkouts.
Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, depending on your take on the situation, their response was disheartening. I explained the issue, detailing how inaccessible the checkouts are and that I would be more than happy to consult and work with them to find an accessible solution. I went on to say that it will continue to be discriminatory without changes to their checkouts. They apologised but dismissed my concerns, calling the checkouts “not ideal” for me, as if the issue were a minor inconvenience rather than a complete barrier to my autonomy.
Personally, I was left feeling discarded due to their response of, ‘Sorry, they are not ideal for you.’ It felt as if the issue wasn’t really a concern for them, and instead, it was my fault I couldn’t use their register. I clarified that it isn’t that they aren’t ideal; they are completely unusable to me and almost 5 million Australians. After being lodged, I asked what would happen to the feedback, and they said it would be sent to the relevant people.
This is not an isolated experience. Stories like mine are far too common. Many disabled Australians face similar challenges daily—being unable to enter a building, use a bathroom, or pay for their shopping because of inaccessible design. One person cannot shop at their local Aldi or Coles because they can’t get out through the checkouts. Others said they had complained to companies before and got the same response and no action.
Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you had to call ahead to confirm accessibility at an entrance, or been compelled to abandon your shopping due to an inaccessible checkout? These are the daily challenges faced by numerous individuals.
It is unfair that many of us feel undervalued and unable to live a life that is effortlessly afforded to those without disabilities. It’s unfair that so many of us cannot live a life full of dignity, independence, and freedom from having to think if we can even enter a building or shop purely because we can’t use our legs in the way they are intended, our brain fires differently, or we can’t see.
I feel as though there are two choices: I can either stay silent so not to cause an issue and keep saying ‘it is the way it is’, or make some noise and decide to try and make Toowoomba more inclusive and accessible. Perhaps it will then filter through each town and become a key agenda at the Federal Level.
So I have a plan. I am going to start recording my experiences, the good and the bad, to document and share what it can be like going out in town or on holidays as a disabled person. So many people don’t know what it is like, so I hope that recording my experiences will help make people more aware and make accessibility issues harder to ignore. I am also creating a petition and a survey that will help me get as much data as possible on the accessibility problems our community faces. Once they are running, I would love your support in signing the petition and participating in the survey. One voice is only one voice, but multiple creates a movement, and when done well, creates a unity that is so desperately needed, especially now.
I feel it is about time we fight for a future where accessibility isn’t an afterthought. Where independence, dignity, and inclusion are rights, not privileges.
Let’s do this, shall we!!?
Till next week,
Rhi