Before we went down to the gates where the smaller planes are docked, we were pushing over towards the elevator going down. To get there we had to stop and negotiate the chair and our carry on luggage around a group of three men, taking up a fair bit of space, talking and laughing with each other. No big deal, this happens in airports all the time. At the elevator I wondered aloud if there would be accessible toilets down in the gate area. Joe quickly volunteered to go check and I stopped, with lots of space around me, to wait for his return.

I glance up from checking my phone for email and see an airport employee striding towards me. To get to me he also had to step around the three men who had spread out even more to accommodate the large gestures they used when talking. They were animated about some sport or other and having a great chat.

So why is this airport dude headed towards me?

As he approached he put his hands out, as if grabbing the handles on the back of my chair, I suppose an indicator that this is what he was going to do. “Let me help you get out of the way,” he said.

Out of the way.

I am in the way.

There is space on either side of me for a group of 10 to pass and I’m in the fucking way.

I grabbed my wheels, and said, “I’ll move when you make them move,” releasing one wheel so I could point at the group of three men taking up much more space than I was and in doing so requiring people to actively have to get around them. In my area, not one person even had to slow, but I was in the way.

“I don’t mind helping you,” he said.

“I do,” I said, “and I’m not moving until you make them move. Why do they have more right to space than I do? Why am I in the way and they are not? Let me ask you are you a bigot regarding people with disabilities in public space?”

I was calm but firm.

And no fucking way was I going to move.

And.

You know what.

I didn’t.